Tara nods, her attention still on Bradley. “I see that. I mean, the last thing I’d ever expect is for you to show up at the pub on a Friday night, but I’ve never once doubted I’ll get a paycheck when I’m supposed to.”
“Are you sure Brad showing up at the pub is the last thing you’d expect? Because this right here is pretty close to the top of my list.” Tom laughs and points from Bradley to me and back again.
“Really? Not me,” says Tara. “He’s not her usual type, but he’s the kind of guy she was going to fall for when she finally fell.”
I’m pretty sure my face turns crimson. “Hello? I’m right here.”
Bradley turns to me. “You’ve fallen for me? As in ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up’ or head over heels?”
I lied. My face was only bright pink before. Now it’s crimson. Especially with all three sets of eyes on me.
“Probably the latter.”
“Probably?” Bradley’s mouth holds a trace of a smile. “I’m not sure if I can get on board with probably.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve got plans for us, Scarlett.” Bradley’s mouth widens into a smile. “And I’m going to need you to be all in.”
My own mouth twists with the start of a smile. “Plans, huh? What kind of plans?”
Bradley crosses the kitchen and out of the corner of my eye I see Tom and Tara slip back to the living room. Bradley stops a foot away from me and says, “I’m not at liberty to say until I know where you stand.”
“I’m standing right here.” I point to the floor.
Don’t worry. I’m not dumb. Not even a little. I know what Bradley’s asking, but the thing is…we were kind of busy reconciling and, aside from his declaration in the conference room yesterday, we haven’t talked about feelings. My feelings, specifically.
Bradley’s smile fades a little, but he wraps his arms around my shoulders. “You know I love you.”
I’m glad Bradley’s got his arms around me because his words leave me weak in the knees. For real. I look up to meet his eyes.
Which are trained on me and so intense, my knees have another wobble. But this time it’s not because I’m swooning, but because I’m sure. My voice is soft but clear when I say, “I love you, too. And whatever you’ve got planned, I’m all in.”
EPILOGUE
Three months later
Things I’ve learned after three months with Bradley Walking-Sex:
He’s willing to try almost anything. And I do mean anything.
He has a weakness for Cadbury Flake bars.
He’s incredibly good at project planning and organization when it comes to all things WS.
When it comes to hosting Thanksgiving dinner for eight people at his flat? He’s way less organized. In fact, he’s walking chaos. Or, if I’m being one hundred percent accurate, cooking chaos.
“I don’t think this pumpkin pie filling is supposed to be so soupy,” Bradley says, holding a dripping wooden spoon.
I glance up from dicing carrots. “I don’t know, babe. I’ve never made a pumpkin pie before.”
“I know. We should have gone with something else.” Bradley drops the spoon back in the bowl and pumpkin goop splashes on the counter.
“By the time we get to pudding, no one’s going to notice with all the wine you bought.” I point my knife at the bottles on the counter. “Did you get that much so no one would be sober by the time we got to pie?”
“Maybe.” Bradley grins. He has such an easy smile, I still wonder sometimes how I ever thought of him as too serious.
“Well, Greyson’s not drinking because he’s filming a whole bunch of shirtless scenes and he says he can’t be bloated,” I remind him.
“If you’re lucky, maybe he can act one or two out for you?” Bradley’s grin widens.
Note: Bradley Waring-Smith is not an insecure man. And his comment isn’t him covertly asking for reassurance.
But I’m more than happy to give it to him. “You know the only guy I’m interested in seeing half-naked is you.”
“Oh? Which half would you like to see naked?”
“Hmmm, I don’t know. Normally I don’t get to choose.” I raise my eyebrows, but before I can say anything else, my phone buzzes on the counter. I glance at the screen and then back to Bradley. “It’s Claire. Hold that thought.”
I bring the phone to my ear. “Hey, what’s up?”
“My mashed potatoes have failed. I couldn’t find the regular mixer, so I used the immersion blender instead and now I have potato slop. I’m so sorry. I can redo them, but only if you don’t mind us being super late,” Claire says.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll sort it. I think we have some potatoes around here?” I look at the counter like they might magically appear.
“I’m sorry. I know this is your first big couple thing with Bradley and you want it to be perfect.” Claire says this in a way that I imagine her lower lip sticking out in a pout.
“I do?” I shake my head, even though Claire can’t see me. “It’s fine. Trust me, we have enough food and, failing that, more than enough wine.”
Claire laughs. “Well, I’m still sorry. If you’re sure it’s okay, I’ll leave it.”
“I’m sure it’s okay. Mashed potatoes are just a vehicle for gravy anyway, and we have stuffing for that. I’m making Lou’s stuffing.”
“That’s way better than mashed potatoes any day. I don’t feel so bad now.” Claire lets out a breath. “I need to finish getting ready. We’ll be there in an hour or so, and I’ll come ready to help.”
I say goodbye to Claire and hang up, then turn my attention to Bradley. What comes out has nothing to do with potatoes or the fact that our friends will be here in an hour and the kitchen looks like a bomb went off. “This is our first couple thing.”
Bradley’s pinching a pre-made pie crust into a pan and doesn’t look up. “What is?”
“Thanksgiving. Hosting this dinner.” I hadn’t even thought about it, but Claire’s right. We’ve double-dated with Claire and Greyson, Tom and Tara, and Bradley’s friends, Simon and Olivia – who are super fun, but as posh as their names would lead you to believe – but now we’re hosting. As a unit. As a couple. “It feels like a big deal.”
This time Bradley looks at me. “Are you getting cold feet?”
“No.” I pause. “Yes. Maybe? I hadn’t thought of it that way before.”
“Do you want to call it off? There’s still time.”
“No, of course not.” My words come out without hesitation. “I mean, we have all this food and it’s Thanksgiving.”
“Say the word and we’ll pack it up and take it to Aid to the Homeless.” Bradley crosses the kitchen and puts his hands on my hips. “You know that would be fine, right?”
There’s nothing but earnestness in his expression. “You would do that for me just because I’m having a wobble?”
He tugs me closer. “You mean way more to me than a holiday dinner. Turkey, I can live without. You? Not so much.”
I grin and wind my hands around his neck. “You do know the right thing to say, don’t you?”
Bradley doesn’t smile in reply. “I’m serious. If you’re not ready for this, let’s cancel. Thanksgiving is overrated anyway.”
“It is not.” I narrow my eyes. “I loved Thanksgiving when I lived in America.”
Which is how this whole thing came about in the first place. Bradley closed the WS London office for the long weekend, and I had just enough vacation time to take two days off. We talked about going away, but when we both waxed nostalgic about a real Thanksgiving, making that happen seemed the better option, by far.
“I love Thanksgiving, too, but let’s face it. There’s no American football on, so it’s already not the same.” This time Bradley’s lips tilt up with the start of a smile.
“You and your American football.” I roll my eyes. “Everyone knows Thanksgiving is all about the Macy’s parade, which we do have, thanks to my diligent searching.”<
br />
“You found it on YouTube.” Bradley shakes his head. “Not exactly an A for effort, Ms. St Julien.”
“Don’t dismiss my efforts.” I give him the sternest look I can muster. “It’s more than you did.”
To be fair, Bradley ordered the turkey from the butcher – and picked it up – and bought the wine. I got everything else, but he gets all the credit for the key ingredients. He laughs and says, “You’re right, of course. I apologize.”
“Thank you.” I tug him closer. “I appreciate you giving me this small victory.”
“I’ll give you whatever you want. You know that.” Bradley kisses the top of my head and I play with the collar of his T-shirt.
“Except a set of keys to your car.” I raise my eyebrows.
“You forget, I’m aware of your driving record.” Bradley leans back to look at me. “But you have keys to my apartment, which is better.”
“How is it better?”
“Monday night when you got back from Germany, you came here straight from the airport and joined me in bed.” It’s Bradley’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “We couldn’t have done that in my car.”
God, no, we couldn’t have.
“Fine. You’re right.” I glance around the kitchen. “Speaking of your apartment, it’s kind of a tip. We should clean up a little before everyone arrives.”
“Or we could give all of the food to Aid to the Homeless and have a repeat of Monday night?” Bradley says with a grin.
“Tempting.” It is. No kidding. “But I like Thanksgiving, and we’ve gone to all this effort. I mean, your pie…”
Bradley looks at the pie crust on the counter and laughs. “Right. That is the best reason not to call this whole thing off.”
“Of course. And the Macy’s parade on YouTube.” My voice softens. “Besides, I feel like I have a lot to be thankful for this year.”
Bradley’s expression changes in an instant. Amusement lingers around his eyes, but his smile fades and he looks super-serious as he says, “I was wrong. That’s the best reason not to call this whole thing off. Because, Scarlett, if someone had told me this time last year…”
“I know. We’d barely even spoken.”
“And you thought I was a knobhead. Wasn’t that your word?” Bradley asks.
“I didn’t know you. I didn’t know what you were really like. Sometimes it feels like wasted time, you know? Like I spent so much time not liking you and what a waste that was.”
“Everything happens for a reason. You wouldn’t have gotten the offer from Kincaid unless you did the meeting rooms, and you wouldn’t have done those unless you were part of the workplace design team.” Bradley shrugs. “Besides, I could have never acted on my attraction to you if you were a student. It’s bad enough I’m almost ten years older than you.”
“I know. That is bad.” I force myself not to smile. “It’s just this side of robbing the cradle. And you were my boss.”
“That’s another thing I’m thankful for.”
“What?” I furrow my brow.
“James Townsend.” Bradley laughs, but it morphs into a sigh. “If you didn’t accept his offer, we wouldn’t be here.”
True that. The circumstances that led to us being together feel too good to be true. Almost.
“But we’re here now. Together.” I let my fingers play with the hair at the nape of Bradley’s neck and look up to meet his eyes. I wait until he’s looking into mine before I say, “I love you. No matter what happens between us in the future, I’ll always be thankful for you, you know.”
Bradley backs up until he’s almost a foot away. “I’m not sure what you mean. Are you trying to tell me something?”
Yes. But, dammit, it’s not coming out as I’d hoped. I squeeze my eyes shut. “Just that I love you. I’ve had boyfriends before. I even thought I was in love, but it wasn’t this. They weren’t you.”
Bradley studies me for a long minute, then steps close again. “I’m glad. I’m glad for the people who came before. For both of us. Maybe that helped us both have the sense to know this was special.”
“Well, that and the sex.” I grin. “I mean, come on. We don’t call you Bradley Walking-Sex for nothing.”
Bradley laughs. It’s big and loud and fills his kitchen. It’s the kind of laugh I’ve come to love because I know it means he’s in the moment. Nothing else has his attention, nothing else is on his mind. I get to hear that laugh often. Over the phone when I call him when he’s staying late at the office. In bed. In the kitchen. Walking through Camden Market.
I would never have imagined in a million years Bradley could be so easy. So free. That I know that and get to see it feels like the thing I’m most thankful for of all.
I stand on my tiptoes and give him a lingering kiss. “Come on. Everyone’s going to be here soon and you have a pumpkin pie to sort out.”
“That, I do.” Bradley’s gaze searches my face. “You’re sure you want to do this?”
I nod once. “I’m sure.”
About Thanksgiving. About us. About everything.
THANK YOU
Thank you so much for reading A BRIT COMPLICATED!
ICYMI - I’ve started a monthly email “magazine” featuring book news, reading recs and daily things that dazzle me — and I’m thinking they might dazzle you, too. (In my first issue I highlighted insulated water bottles and running pants with pockets for all of your stuff. I’m easily dazzled, obviously.) You can sign up here.
Monthly is too few and far between? I’ve also got a Facebook reader group, Brenda’s Book Babes, where I share sneak peeks, giveaways and the occasional hot guy pic. I’d love to see you there!
Want to find out about the rest of the Castle Calder series? Keep reading!
DO YOU WANT MORE CASTLE CALDER?
MEET BEA AND JASPER!
Bea’s English escape plan:
Work in a real British castle
Quality time with bestie
Figure out what spotted dick really is
Fall for bestie’s older brother. Hard.
Bea Gillespie would rather do anything than teach summer school math two classrooms down from her ex-fiancé. So when her best friend, Scarlett, invites her to England for the summer to work in her family’s castle-turned-hotel, she jumps at the chance.
Now Bea’s an ocean away from her problems at home, but she’s got a bigger one. A British one. Scarlett’s older brother, Jasper, is at Castle Calder for the summer, too. And he’s as sexy and smart as Bea remembers. Two years ago Jasper came stateside, and he and Bea shared a hot weekend. But that’s all it was — a weekend. One she purposely didn’t tell Scarlett about.
It didn't feel like much of a secret until now. As Bea falls for Jasper, what started off as a fling begins feeling more and more like the kind of thing you’d gush about to your best friend. If you hadn’t been lying to her all along.
READ CLAIRE AND GREYSON’S STORY !
How do you know when a fake relationship turns into a real one? #AskingForAFriend
Claire is not:
⁃ A natural athlete
⁃ Very good with mornings
⁃ Greyson Vaughn’s real girlfriend
But she pretends to be his girlfriend on television. And Twitter. And the gossip websites that question Every. Single. Thing. about his movie star existence. Including the question on everyone’s lips — #WhosThatGirl?
Enlisted by her grandmother to act as Greyson’s “mysterious English girlfriend” during a weekend at Castle Calder, Claire agrees to help the Hollywood hottie combat rumors of stalking his pop-star ex. She needs a a distraction — from grad school, bills and her dull-as-dishwater love life — and, well, it’s only for a weekend.
Until Greyson asks her to continue the ruse through his upcoming London premiere. And another trip to Castle Calder for a sexy weekend escape. Where there are no cameras and no reporters. Nothing but the two of them and a “fake” relationship that’s starting to feel very, very real.
Read on for a sneak peek!
A BRIT UNEXPECTED — SNEAK PEEK
MY SHOULDERS LOOSEN as the taxi crawls up the gravel drive leading to Castle Calder. From the backseat, I see white lights blinking in the trees, a massive potted fir by the door, and the old-fashioned light hanging over the entrance. The late afternoon sky is grey—damn British weather, it looks like it’s going to start pouring any second—but the castle-hotel glows like a scene from a fairytale.
“Pretty, innit?” the taxi driver says, turning to glance at me over his shoulder. He’s older—my grandfather’s age if I had a grandfather—and pure Yorkshire, which means I can only understand about half of what he says.
“I love it here.” Of all the places my grandmother could have planned this year’s family gathering, Castle Calder is the best possible option. And not only because the owners are incredible hosts, but because turning up here always makes me feel like a princess. And, okay, it’s not a “real” castle anymore, but a plaque in the lobby says Queen Victoria once graced these halls, and if it’s on a plaque it must be true.
“My wife and I stayed here for our anniversary one year. Kids got us a night away in one of the suite rooms. The owners are first-rate, too,” the cab driver says.
“They’re amazing.” I’ve spent ten summers working at Castle Calder, and I agree ten thousand percent. The St Julien’s are amazing. But I stop short of gushing about Hannah and Paul in case he’s the kind who’d pass me a stack of business cards and want me to put in a good word. Hannah would take them, but I’d feel responsible if he turned out to be a nutter.
The real nutters never look that crazy.
The taxi pulls up behind a shiny black Mercedes, its boot open to reveal mahogany-colored leather duffel and a sleek black Tumi suitcase that looks like it would be filled with designer clothes. My battered red Samsonite by my feet looks more youth hostel than a castle-hotel, but sod it. I have as much right to be here as anyone and I’ve brought my own designer dress, thank you very much. Granted, my LBD is my only designer dress, thanks to my ultra-fashionable friend, Scarlett, and her sample sale connections, and it still cost more than I’ve ever spent on a single piece of clothing. But with its fitted bodice and flared skirt, it’s a classic. I can probably get its per-wear cost down into the single digits if I can keep my ass from expanding for the next twenty years. Life goals dictated by wardrobe choices. Which, honestly, is as good a method as any at this point.
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