A Brit Unexpected (Castle Calder Book 2)

by Brenda St John Brown

  “Like your grandmother?” Greyson’s voice is soft when he asks.

  My nose tingles and my eyes sting. You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not crying over her after all these years. I shrug and it’s at least fifteen strides until I speak, my voice wobbly. Dammit. “My grandmother would never ask a charity for help. Don’t you know it’s the other way around, darling?”

  Greyson steers me into a doorway and peers into my eyes. “Don’t do that. Don’t pretend with me.”

  I look down at the sleeve of his hoodie. “It’s been a long time. I don’t really feel like rehashing it all.”

  “I’m not asking you to.” Greyson’s fingers find my chin and push it up gently until I’m looking him in the eye again. “But I’m an ear if you want it.”

  He doesn’t say any more than that. Just kisses me and starts walking again. The silence feels heavy and I argue with myself about what to say and how to say it. Strangely, remembering a conversation with Scarlett is what convinces me.

  “I don’t understand you, Claire.” Scarlett was annoyed at me for turning down a guy who’d asked me out while I was visiting her in London. My rationale was that I didn’t live in London, so it made perfect sense to me, but she disagreed. Vehemently. “You say you don’t want to be alone, but everyone you meet has a fatal flaw. A date is just a date. Until you start saying yes to a few of them, even if you’re pretty sure they’re not Mr. Right, you’re still alone. When are you going to realize you can’t have it both ways?”

  Now. Because I can’t accuse Greyson of hiding behind his actor façade when I’m doing the same thing but calling it self-preservation. We’ve just stepped onto the Millennium Bridge when I say, “My grandmother didn’t want to be my mum and that wasn’t her fault. But she could have tried. She could have tried to figure out a way to help me grieve and gotten me some professional help. God knows I couldn’t talk to her because I was afraid if I complained or got too upset, she’d send me away. And even though she was shit, you were right in what you said before. She was the devil I knew.”

  “So you felt trapped,” Greyson says.

  “And so did she.” It feels good to say it, even if the reality of it sucks.

  “Do you think if she felt comfortable going to talk to someone, it could all have been different?”

  I shrug, but there’s that tingle in my nose again. “I’m not naïve enough to think it would have turned my childhood into a Disney film, but it might have been better. It might be better now as well. I’m not even sure why we keep in touch except out of obligation.”

  I half-expect Greyson to weigh in with more of his own family story because, in my experience, when you make someone uncomfortable they bring it back around to themselves. It’s a kind of distancing mechanism with overtones of one-upmanship. Most people don’t realize they even do it, but Greyson’s more self-aware than I give him credit for because all he says is, “I’m sorry. I’m sure that’s hard.”

  “I think the alternative would be harder.” The words surprise me, but I continue. “My grandmother is my last tie to my mum and if I let her go, it’s like letting my mum go all over again.”

  Which hurts, even as a distant notion. Greyson squeezes my shoulder. “Do you think your relationship can change?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, even with you…” I let the words trail off because repeating what she said makes both Grandmother and me look bad.

  Of course Greyson won’t let it go. “Even with me, what?”

  I stop in the middle of the bridge overlooking the Thames. The lights glitter and the London Eye is lit up in blue tonight. Maybe the gorgeous backdrop can take away the ugliness of my words. “Even with you, she was all about what a good opportunity you were and how girls like me can’t afford to overlook that.”

  “Whoa.” Greyson lets out a long breath. “That’s cold.”

  “I believe calculating is the word you’re looking for.” I let myself peek at Greyson. His eyes are soft, even as he grimaces. “I remember when I was eleven I had a friend called Abbi. Her parents were really well off and that was more important than anything else to Grandmother. Abbi and I fell out about something—I can’t even remember what anymore—but I do remember Grandmother telling me how silly I was to let go of a friendship that could offer me so much. She didn’t ask who was at fault, but the implication that I was wrong was pretty clear because Abbi’s family had money and that trumped all.”

  “Money’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Greyson says.

  “Says the guy who doesn’t have to think about it.” My tone comes out harsher than I intended and I squeeze his arm. “I’m sorry. That’s not fair. I’ve never been in the situation where I’ve been able to take that for granted.”

  “So who pays for your school and your living expenses? You’re a full-time student, right?”

  “I do.” I tug on Greyson’s arm and we start back across the bridge. “That was the whole allure of getting-paid-to-be-your-psuedo-girlfriend thing.”

  “The whole allure?” I hear the smile in Greyson’s tone.

  I smile in return, but it’s not as easy. “Sixty percent, maybe?”

  Greyson laughs. “And the other forty?”

  This time my smile is more genuine. “Um, have you looked in the mirror?”

  “Yep, and I still sometimes see a gawky kid with stupid hair and braces.”

  “Trust me, that’s not what the rest of us see,” I say as we start down the stairs to South Bank.

  “Well, you’ve seen more than most.”

  I feel Greyson’s eyes on me and his posture shifts. Just a little. Just enough for me to think we’re not talking about his abs anymore. My voice is soft when I reply. “So have you, you know. So have you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When I walk back into Brew Brothers on Monday morning, my eyes sting from too little sleep, but my body hums. Even greeting the morning rush in full swing can’t keep me from grinning to myself as I clear dirty cups and napkins from the tables.

  “You need to stay late today,” Amelia says as she swipes a wet cloth over the table.

  “I have class at half-eleven.” This has been my schedule forever and Amelia knows it.

  She shrugs, a smile playing around her mouth. “I guess you’ll have to pray we get a lull then, so you can fill me in on your date with Greyson fucking Vaughn. There’s no way you’re leaving here until you dish.”

  I laugh. “How did you find out about that?”

  “The same way as everyone else—on Instagram. And Twitter. And Facebook. I’m pretty sure there were also posts on Tumblr, but I didn’t get to those.” Amelia raises her eyebrows. “I assume the fact you didn’t tell me why you needed the weekend off was an oversight on your part.”

  “Not exactly.” I bite my lip. “Sorry, not sorry?”

  Amelia lowers her voice. “So are you two a couple now?”

  Are we? Amazing sex does not a couple make, but combine that with everything else and… “Maybe? The weekend was ace and he’s a great guy.”

  “Ame, we need those cups and saucers in here,” Ben calls from the kitchen door.

  She rolls her eyes, but picks up her tray. “This conversation isn’t over. I expect details.”

  I stick my tongue out at her, but I have to smile. Amelia’s not the only one who wants details, and she’s going to be harder to dodge than Bea or Scarlett since she’s here in front of me. I’ve been avoiding Bea’s texts and sending Scarlett’s calls to voicemail, which isn’t the nicest thing, but I didn’t want to miss out on time with Greyson. And I sure as hell didn’t want to talk about him where he could overhear.

  He’s nothing like I expected.

  Yes, he’s hot, but it’s like he doesn’t even know.

  Oh my God, the sex.

  I squirm and clench my thighs together. I don’t need Greyson’s rough voice in my head right now telling me how and where he wants to touch me. No good will come of that except having to escape out the
back door so I can cool off.

  My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I grin. Speak of the devil.

  Ran along the Thames this morning thinking of you. I’m on set thinking of you. In case you weren’t thinking of me too, I hope you are now.

  My fingers fly over the letters. Why? So we can both be unhappy?

  Greyson’s reply comes thirty seconds later. I never said I was unhappy. Thinking of you is making me smile even though my run was freezing and the director’s in a pissy mood.

  Thinking of you is making me smile, too. I hesitate. Do I say it first? Is it even a big deal? No. Sod it. Go big or go home, right? But I miss you. A lot.

  My pulse skitters like I just said Those Three Words. Which is ridiculous. Until he doesn’t respond. I stare at my screen for a full minute waiting and then shove my phone back in my pocket with a deep breath.

  For the next hour, I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything that he doesn’t respond. Texting has conditioned me to expect immediate gratification, but there are a million reasons he might not reply and only a handful of them are related to our new relationship.

  But when he still hasn’t replied by the end of my work shift, my optimism has cooled. Considerably. Especially after a few covert scans of my Twitter feed. Greyson Vaughn isn’t trending, but a quick search is all it takes to see that there’s not a single mention of #VaughnGayle either. There are a few pictures of us, #whosthatgirl, but lots of tweets focus on his upcoming appearances in Germany and Rome. In other words, mission accomplished.

  “So, tell me about GV,” Amelia says, sidling up to me as I hang up my apron in the staff room.

  I think of all of the things I would have said and shrug. “He’s a great guy and we had a lot of fun, but, you know, it’s just fun.”

  Amelia scowls at me. “You don’t take two weekends off just for fun.”

  Reality check: I can’t afford to take two weekends off just for fun and Amelia knows it. My heart knows it too, traitor that it is.

  “I like him, but he’s a big deal. I don’t have any illusions about how this ends.” I slip my coat over my shoulders. “But I may as well enjoy it, right?”

  “Far be it for me to say, but you don’t look like you’re enjoying it.” Damn Amelia and her prying eyes.

  I turn away and push the door. “I’ve got to get to class, lovely. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Amelia calls after me and I wave without turning around. As soon as I’m clear of the coffee shop, I pull my phone from my pocket again. Nothing. Dammit. My heart sinks. I scroll to my contacts and dial Scarlett’s number before I rethink it.

  “It’s about time you rang. Do you know how many times I’ve called you?” Her voice is shrill through the phone.

  “I’m sorry. I’m a jerk. I did exactly the kind of thing I’d give you tons of grief for and you’re right to be mad.” It’s the right thing to say, and not only because it will get Scarlett to calm down, but because I mean it. So much.

  Scarlett huffs. “Bitch. Taking the steam out of my rant with an apology straight away. I have more where that came from, you know.”

  I smile. “Oh, I am aware. How are you?”

  “No. We are not talking about me. First of all, the photos are amazing and word on the street is that you two were out for a very low key Saturday night? People claim they saw you, but there are no photos.”

  “We were out on Saturday night, but it wasn’t an alert-the-media kind of thing. We just went out.” And it was lovely. Perfect. The best date I’ve ever had, right down to getting lost in Mayfair on the way back to Greyson’s flat and deciding that for every wrong turn we took, it was another button undone. By the time we found our way back, my coat was open and so was the button-fly of Greyson’s jeans.

  “So things between you two are great.” Scarlett doesn’t phrase it as a question.

  So I hate that I do. “As you’d expect?”

  “Meaning?”

  “I started thinking about us as a real relationship, but how is that even possible? Number one, I’m nobody. Number two, I’ve served my purpose because, hello, Alexa who? And number three, I don’t even know how to do this.” My eyes feel like someone’s sticking pins in them.

  “Wait. What? One thing at a time.” Scarlett’s tone softens and she lowers her voice. “What do you mean you don’t know how to do this?”

  “When have I had a functional relationship? You recall that Oliver, my last real boyfriend, dumped me via text? And the last guy I was sort of seeing got engaged to someone else after dating her for only two months.” I roll my eyes, even though Scarlett can’t see me. “A girl might take that old adage, ‘It’s not me, it’s you,’ to heart based on that.”

  “You think you inspire shit boyfriends?” Scarlett’s tone has lost its softness now.

  “I don’t think I know how to be a good girlfriend. Which, considering my role model—”

  “You are not blaming your grandmother for your adult insecurities?”

  I wasn’t. In fact, I owned it when Greyson and I talked in London. But now? “She hasn’t helped.”

  “Probably not, but what have you done to make him think you’re really in this thing?” There’s a tinge of accusation in Scarlett’s tone.

  So I tell her. “I texted him and told him I missed him and he’s fallen off the face of the earth.”

  “When was this?”

  “A few hours ago.” I shake my head, even though Scarlett can’t see me. “I know I sound like an idiot, so don’t hold back.”

  “You don’t sound like an idiot. You sound like someone who’s got it bad.” I hear the smile in Scarlett’s voice, but before I protest she says, “Which means you should give him the benefit of the doubt. If you don’t hear from him by tomorrow, then yes, he’s a tosser.”

  Tomorrow seems impossibly far away, but Scarlett pushes me until I agree and I hang up with her feeling not exactly better, but less agitated. I even manage to feel less dumb about my reaction by the time my macroeconomics class ends. Maybe I’m overreacting, but he’s Greyson Vaughn, for fuck’s sake. He could be with anyone he wants.

  I wrap my hand around the strap of my messenger bag, letting it cut into my palm, when my phone rings, my silly Star Wars ringtone blaring through the hall. A few people smile and turn to look, but once I see the name on the screen, I don’t notice anything else.

  I press the green button and bring the phone to my ear to hear Greyson’s voice on the other end. “Claire? I got your text. I miss you, too.”

  I lean against the wall because it feels like someone’s poured warm water through my veins, starting at my heart, all the way down through my toes. It’s a good feeling, but it confirms one thing. Scarlett was right. I have it so bad for Greyson Vaughn.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “I can’t believe you’re really here.” I’ve said this at least ten times in the past ten minutes.

  Greyson grins and tightens his arms around my waist, leaning back against the door. We’ve made it inside my flat to take our coats off, but not much further than that. “I told you, I had a free afternoon and when I was thinking about what to do, I kept coming back to the same thought.”

  “Drive three hours here and three hours back for a two-hour stay?” I still can’t erase the disbelief from my tone. When I got the text from Greyson earlier asking if I was going to be home this afternoon, I thought we were arranging a time for a FaceTime chat. I definitely did not expect the bright red Mini Cooper parked in front of my building with him inside, waiting for me to get home.

  “I could have spent the day in London, but it was raining and cold, and the thought of killing time until I have to be on set tonight was depressing as hell.” Greyson’s smile fades and I see real sadness behind his words. For a second I think about how weird his life must be, but then he continues. “I figured a couple of hours together was better than nothing because at least I get to do this.”

  He bends down to kiss me properly. And by properly I mean
long, slow, and deep enough to make my knickers damp. I moan into Greyson’s mouth and he tugs me closer, his lips moving to my neck. By the time he pulls away, I’m breathless.

  “I didn’t come all this way for a booty call. I don’t want you to think that,” he says.

  “Why not?” My eyes are still wide and my pulse pounds like crazy. “A booty call sounds kind of perfect.”

  Greyson laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “It does, but maybe we can just hang out?”

  His tone turns on the caution lights in my head and I feel my shoulders stiffen. “Why?”

  I glance around my flat – it’s messy, but not disastrous – and pick at a piece of lint on my jumper. Greyson doesn’t say anything until I look up and meet his eyes. When he speaks his voice is soft. “Because I miss you, and if we spend the whole time in bed, I’m going to leave here still missing you.”

  Oh. Well.

  “When you put it that way…” I have to swallow over the sudden emotion clogging my throat. “Why don’t you come in and I’ll give you a tour of my humble abode?”

  Greyson slings an arm around my shoulder and says, “You know what I’d really like? A sandwich. Do you eat sandwiches? I feel like I should know that about you, but I don’t. Like knowing whether you’ve ever had a dog. I don’t know that either.”

  Okay. This almost-manic version of Greyson makes my head spin. His tone is urgent – exactly the opposite of how casual his questions appear. For a second I think about pressing him, but instead I say, “I’ve never had a dog. No surprise there, I think, but I do eat sandwiches and I think I have some turkey that’s still good. I’m not sure what I have to go on it, but I probably have mustard somewhere. Let’s go see what we can dig up, and don’t you dare judge the contents of my refrigerator.”

  “Why? What’s in your refrigerator?” Greyson asks, raising his eyebrows.

  It’s more like what’s not in my refrigerator. As in, the package of deli turkey and a wilted bag of rocket are the only things keeping milk and butter company in there, and all four are rapidly exceeding their best by dates. I feel like I need to explain, even though Greyson hasn’t said a word. “I used to have a dining hall plan when I was on campus a lot. Now I eat at work or grab something on the way home. Plus I hate to cook, so I just don’t have a lot in the fridge.” Or the cupboard. Or the freezer.