Beautiful

by Christina Lauren

  I looked over at him just as he seemed to be looking up at me, and our eyes caught. I saw it there, too, the unspoken acknowledgment that it had been so good.

  It had been . . . unexpected.

  THIRTEEN

  Jensen

  For the most part, my habit of waking early had served me well.

  An eternal early riser, I often wondered whether it was just the way I was wired or some direct result of growing up in a house with six other people. Being out of bed before everyone else meant a hot shower, dry towels, and a level of bathroom privacy—or any privacy, really—that was unheard of after seven. In college it meant I could party until the early hours of the morning, drag myself back to my dorm, and still get up early enough to tear through homework or study for an exam before class.

  It was only on this vacation that I’d somehow learned to stay asleep, rousing only when Pippa’s warm body began to stir next to mine and the smell of butter and berries drifted from downstairs. Most mornings we slept until ten. One morning—after a particularly memorable night in bed—we didn’t wake until after eleven.

  It was unheard of for me . . . but it was fucking blissful.

  So when my eyes opened early Sunday morning and the sky was still dark, I tried to go back to sleep. In only a matter of hours we would be leaving the sanctuary of the cabin and the bubble that kept the world locked safely outside. I wanted to stay here, mentally, as long as I could. I didn’t want life to come back just yet. Pippa was warm and naked beside me. Her hair was a jumbled mess across my neck, my pillow, her pillow; her lips slightly parted in sleep. But I felt the telltale buzzing in my thoughts—the list making, the mental tallying, the snapping into place of our schedule to return to Boston.

  No doubt I would be grateful for it tomorrow, but I cursed my internal clock and its prompt return just as my vacation ended.

  Wide awake against my own will, I lifted my head, careful not to dislodge Pippa from where she slept on my chest, and tried to make out the time on the bedside clock.

  Just after five. Fuck.

  I’d grown used to sharing a bed with someone again, and even though I knew I should stay and savor every last moment I could get—who knew when it would happen again—my brain was wired. At home I’d get up and work or go for a run, maybe catch up on some TV. But this wasn’t home. It was too early to go banging around the house and risk waking everyone up on their last morning to sleep in, but as I waited, listening to the soft sounds of Pippa’s breath against my neck, I knew I couldn’t just lie there and think, either.

  I shifted, careful to climb out without jostling her. My suitcase was in the other room, and I padded down the hall, pulling on my clothes and running shoes before slipping quietly out the door.

  I came back from my run to find Pippa sitting up in bed, reading.

  “Well, hello there,” she said, abandoning her book with a grin.

  I felt mildly guilty for sneaking out on our last morning together, but managed to tuck the feeling away. I pulled my shirt over my head and used it to wipe down my chest and the back of my neck. When I turned, I found her watching me.

  “I went for a run,” I said. “I tried not to wake you.”

  She kicked off the blankets and lay back, arms folded behind her head. Her legs were crossed, toes pointed as she wiggled them in my direction. “Hmm, I sort of wish you would have.”

  She was naked, skin creamy against the dark flannel sheets. My eyes trailed down her body, and despite knowing we were going home today and should probably have some sort of conversation—I’d been avoiding it up until this point—I couldn’t look away.

  “I need to shower first, but . . .” I said, trying to organize my thoughts but unable to keep my gaze off her breasts. Her nipples were pink, pebbled into tight little points in the cool morning air. Goose bumps covered her skin, and she stretched, arching her back.

  “A shower.” She sat up, swinging her legs to the floor. “Now, that is a brilliant idea.”

  I blinked up to her eyes again, catching the mischievous glint there.

  Maybe I wasn’t the only one avoiding conversation.

  Pippa stood and walked over, stopping just in front of me. With a faux-concerned pout, she reached up and traced the frown lines in my forehead.

  “Remember our deal?” Pushing up onto her toes, she pressed a kiss to my lips, making a smooching sound. “Fun.”

  Her naked body was only an inch away from my partially clothed one, and I felt myself harden in my sweats. She smelled warm, like honey and vanilla and something so distinctly Pippa I wanted to taste it again, remind myself of how she felt against my tongue.

  With a final kiss, Pippa headed into the adjoining bathroom. My gaze slipped down along the curve of her spine, to the roundness of her ass and down, down the length of her legs. She slipped out of sight and I heard the water start, followed by the closing of the shower door.

  I looked to the window. The logical part of my brain did its best to reason out why I shouldn’t just strip off the rest of my clothes and follow her in there, forget about everything else, and fuck her against the shower wall. We were leaving in a few hours—back to Boston and the inevitable mess I knew would be waiting for me. Pippa would head to her grandfather’s house and, eventually, back to London. Didn’t that mean I should stop playing house and start thinking about real life?

  I snapped back to the sound of her humming in the shower and stepped around the corner, catching sight of her naked silhouette on the other side of the frosted glass door. There was no way I wasn’t joining her.

  Since we needed to empty the fridge before we left, our last breakfast was big enough to feed an army. Will poured pancakes onto a griddle while Niall cooked what was left of the sausage and bacon. Ruby and Pippa sliced melon, strawberries, bananas, and anything else they could find in the produce drawers for fruit salad; I must have squeezed enough oranges to make at least a gallon of fresh juice.

  We stuffed ourselves while a Tom Petty record spun on a turntable in the living room, and if there was a more perfect way to end this entire trip, I couldn’t think of it.

  Dishes were washed and bags carried to the car. Pippa and I smiled as we passed one another in the hallway. Only a day ago, I would have reached for her without question, pressed her to the wall, suggested we sneak off into the woods or lock ourselves in the bedroom.

  But it was like an alarm had gone off somewhere and we didn’t have time for that anymore. Our sell-by date had arrived. Hands were kept to themselves and mouths turned up into happy smiles, but there was no touching, no teasing kisses or last-minute fumbles in the hall. We were friends again, intimate acquaintances, maybe. And that would have to be enough.

  With everything packed and a final goodbye said to our beautiful cabin, we set out for home. Will had done the bulk of the driving up until now, and so when I saw him stifle a yawn as we climbed in, I volunteered to take the first leg. I told myself it was because I wanted a change and not because it was the easy way out, that in the driver’s seat I could focus on the road and not on the conversation—or lack of—going on around me.

  Pippa sat in one of the back rows, next to Will, who, after the giant breakfast of pancakes—not to mention two weeks of vacation and probably a lot of sex—fell asleep almost immediately. Everyone chatted for the first little bit, and then conversation gradually tapered off and we either napped or turned to our headphones. Pippa’s voice was noticeably missing, and its absence seemed to echo in my ears. She looked thoughtful for much of the drive, and every now and then I would glance up to her in the rearview mirror. More easy smiles, more friendly nods.

  We switched places after a stop for gas, and I moved to the empty seat next to Pippa. Forest gave way to meadows, which gave way to country road and then highway. Highway emptied onto surface streets crowded with tall buildings and cars and people everywhere. Pippa was noticeably still. Gone was the quiet comfort I’d found with her all week, and in its place was a sort of palpabl
e silence, growing larger with each mile until it felt like another person sitting between us.

  I stared, unseeing, as we turned from one street to the next, a slew of random thoughts tumbling around in my head. I wondered if Pippa was excited about getting home. It would make sense. Her life was in England: her moms, her apartment, and her job. But all the things she wanted to escape were there, too, including the thrusting bum, as she so often referred to Mark.

  Which led my thoughts to why Pippa came here in the first place. It had to have been hard on her, hard enough that she’d kicked him out of the flat they’d shared together and flown halfway across the world to get some distance. I might have been a lackluster boyfriend at best, and apparently an even worse husband, but I could never cheat. Pippa was vivacious and smart, funny and beautiful, and I felt a level of smug self-satisfaction knowing how quickly she realized Mark was undeserving and that he had lost her forever.

  But there would surely be others, I knew. My hand moved to my chest and rubbed at the unexpected tightness there. It was jarring to note that while the idea of Becky dating again—and the reality that she had actually remarried—didn’t really bother me, the idea of Pippa dating back in London tasted sour in my thoughts.

  That’s not to say it hadn’t been really fucking hard to lose Becky, but the immediate pain had been short-lived. What lingered was the way she left—and my complete bewilderment over it—not really her absence itself.

  Pippa was different. She was an electric charge, a flash of light. Falling in love with Pippa and watching her walk away would be like watching someone extinguish the sun.

  For the first time, I actually pitied Mark.

  The car came to a stop and I blinked, looking around, realizing that we’d parked in front of Niall and Ruby’s hotel. We unloaded and I made my way to the back of the van, busying myself pulling out their luggage and reorganizing the rest.

  I shook Niall’s hand and hugged Ruby, smiling over her shoulder—Ruby was a great hugger. She and Pippa said their goodbyes, leaving with promises to meet up the minute Pippa was back in the UK.

  And the pressure against my breastbone was back again.

  Everyone was awake and decidedly more alert when we piled back into the van, but Niall and Ruby’s absence hung heavily in the air. I watched Ziggs check Will’s phone and giggle over Bennett’s increasingly anxious texts. I knew mine was in my backpack at my feet and would probably have service by now, but I left it there, knowing once I started scrolling through emails and calendar requests, there’d be no turning back.

  “What are our dads-to-be up to?” I asked, ready to think about anything but work or the tension I could feel radiating from Pippa. “Has Bennett run screaming into the night yet?”

  “Close,” Ziggy said, scrolling back through the messages before she began to read. “ ‘Chloe wants to talk about water births, hoping to bring the baby into a serene world without any jarring sounds or voices.’ And then Max replied with, ‘No jarring sounds or voices? Does Chloe realize this baby will be coming home with the two of you?’ ”

  Ziggs dissolved into a fit of giggles, and Will took his phone away. “I’m trying to imagine Bennett and Chloe as parents,” he said. “Bennett and his pristine suits and that white couch in his office. Can you imagine him wearing a BabyBjörn and helping someone blow their nose?”

  “I cannot wait to see it,” my sister said. “I’m a little sad we moved away and will only get to view it through text messages and FaceTime.”

  “Didn’t you say you were going out there for Christmas?” I asked. “Or at least after the baby?”

  Will made a right-hand turn and slowed to a stop as a group of children on bikes crossed the street in front of us.

  “That’s the plan. Hopefully she and Sara have them close enough we can see them both in one trip. This it, Pippa?” Will asked, glancing at her from over his shoulder.

  Pippa nodded, suddenly more alert.

  Turns out Pippa’s grandfather lived only about twenty minutes from me. We had stopped in front of a modest brick home on a tree-lined street, and she practically burst from the van, stepping to the driver’s side to hug Will before walking over to where Ziggy stepped from the passenger side to give her a tight, lingering hug.

  Reluctantly, I slid across the seat to climb out and caught sight of my sister, watching me.

  Of course she was.

  I gave her a warning look and walked around to the back of the van to pull out Pippa’s bag. I had no idea how to proceed here.

  Wordlessly, Pippa walked ahead of me up the tidy path from sidewalk to steps, up to the wide porch, and bent, pulling a key from a loose brick beside the door. I hovered behind her. “Is your grandpa home?”

  “He’s probably playing bingo,” she said, opening the storm door before fitting the key into the lock.

  “Do you want us to wait with you?” I asked.

  She waved me off as the bolt clicked and the door swung open in front of her. A dog barked happily from somewhere inside.

  “No, it’s okay. He’ll be home soon. Likes to flirt with the coat check ladies.” She reached for her bag and set it down just out of view.

  The wind rattled the storm door and I steadied it with my hand.

  Pippa glanced past me out to the street. Silence was new to us.

  I didn’t like it.

  Finally she looked at me. “I had fun,” she said. “A lot of fun.”

  I nodded, leaning in to kiss her sweet smile, which carried none of the awkward tension that had accompanied us the entire ride.

  It was meant to be a soft kiss, barely a brush, simple and warm. But I pulled away only to come back again, her bottom lip caught between both of mine, a tiny suck, a drag of teeth, and then again, and again, heads tilting and mouths open, tongues sliding against each other. I felt drunk from it, pulled into the undertow of the familiarity, stunned by the heat crawling up my spine, needing more.

  Abruptly, Pippa pulled away, eyes tight. She ran a finger over her mouth, swallowing thickly behind her hand. “Okay . . .” she whispered, ashen.

  My stomach dropped. Here we were, saying the dreaded goodbye.

  “I should go,” I said, and motioned over my shoulder, adding lamely, “I had a really great time.”

  She nodded. “So did I. It was a great partnership. Call me again when you need a fake wife or a holiday girl. I seem to be quite good at it.”

  “That’s a bit of an understatement.” Taking a step back, I ran my hands through my hair again. “It was really nice to meet you.”

  And . . . that was pretty terrible.

  I took another step back. “Have a safe trip home.”

  Her brow furrowed and then she gave me an uncertain smile. “I will.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye, Jensen . . .”

  My throat tight, I turned and jogged back to the van.

  Hanna was still watching me.

  “That was . . .” she said.

  I glared at her, feeling defensive, and fastened my seat belt. “That was what?”

  “Nothing, just, I don’t know.”

  I hated how clearly Ziggy saw this situation. It made me feel itchy, restless. “We’re dropping her off, aren’t we?” I asked, settling into the seat. “Wasn’t I supposed to kiss her goodbye?”

  “I mean after the kiss. Last night you missed dinner because of her. Just now you kissed and then it looked like you were thanking her for doing your taxes. I could feel the awkward from here.”

  “Last night we were on vacation,” I told her. “What were you expecting?”

  Both Will and Ziggs stayed quiet.

  “We aren’t getting married,” I reminded them sharply. “We didn’t spend two weeks together and suddenly decide we were in love.” I immediately felt bad for my tone. Ziggy wasn’t trying to tell me how to live my life, she was just telling me to live. She only wanted me to be happy.

  And I was.

  I waved to Will and Ziggs from my c
ar window before backing out of their driveway. Four minutes later, I was pulling up in front of my house.

  Home. Damn, it was good to be back, alone in my own space and surrounded by my own things, with Wi-Fi and cell reception, like the good Lord intended.

  Fall was in full swing now, with more leaves on the ground than in the trees. I made a note as I climbed the steps to call the gardener and arrange for a little extra time to clean everything up this weekend.

  I dropped my keys in the little dish on the entryway table and my bag by the door, taking a second to enjoy the quiet. My parents’ grandfather clock ticked in the dining room and a mulcher ran somewhere nearby, but other than that, it was silent.

  Maybe—and I couldn’t believe I was saying it—a little too silent.

  Fuck it.

  I was home, shoes off, soon to be in lounge pants with some takeout and a beer in front of me. I bent, grabbing the TV remote to turn on the system before heading into the kitchen. My stack of takeout menus slid easily from their perch on the counter, in a plastic envelope holder. In my hand, they felt worn and familiar.

  This was good, right? Unwind on the trip, unwind the rest of the way at home.

  I hadn’t felt this relaxed in years.

  I was putting my last load of clothes in the washer when the doorbell rang a few hours later.

  I opened the door and froze.

  I hadn’t been expecting this.

  “Becky?” I asked, and then stopped, because my brain was empty of even a single follow-up that didn’t begin with What the fuck are you doing on my front porch?

  She lifted her hand in an awkward little wave. “Hi.”

  “Hi?” I said, quietly confused. “What are you doing here?”

  “We’re visiting my family,” she said.

  “I mean, what are you doing here?”

  “I . . . um . . .” She cleared her throat, and it was only then that I noticed the thin coat she wore, the fact that I could see each of her breaths in the cold air in front of her. It was probably freezing outside. Fuck.