Mark leaned into the kitchen, which was relatively plain, with white cupboards and textured tiles on the wall. “Your family has their own tea? Do they get butter churned for them too?”
Griffith gave a carefree laugh, as if he didn’t sense the irony in Mark’s question. “They buy it at a farm close by. Mother was always very conscious of keeping our food organic and local.”
For a moment Mark just stared, feeling as if he were an alien who’d landed on another planet. With the things he’d done in his life, he shouldn’t be getting cold feet over something as silly as fitting in. And yet here he was, increasingly uncomfortable because of a boy who would have probably considered him dirt under his nails if he knew where Mark had come from.
Mark cleared his throat. “My dad likes it that way too, it just tastes fresher, right?” He would fit in. He deserved to. And under no circumstances would he be admitting to Griffith ‘I’m a law student’ Elswood that he’d just started attending a college for adults to complete his secondary education.
Griffith laughed and spooned some of the tea into a vivid orange teapot before pouring in hot water from the kettle. “Do you like florentines? I also have honeycomb shortbread.”
Mark leaned against the wall to look as if he were chill about all this. Why was he even getting nervous over some kid’s opinion of him? “Did your sister make them?”
Griffith sniggered and placed the cookies on a little platter. “Charlotte? No. Don’t tell her I said that, but the only thing she can cook is scrambled eggs.”
“How about you? What would you have treated me to if you invited me for dinner?” He shouldn’t be putting any more ideas into that blond head, but flirting gave Mark a bit of an upper hand, because Griffith got flustered about it each time.
Griffith’s eyes lit up as he approached Mark with a tray that contained the teapot, matching cups, and cookies. They both made their way back to the living room and sat on the sofa.
“I can’t say I’ve had much practice, since our housekeeper did most of our cooking back home, but I feel quite confident with pasta. Maybe spaghetti carbonara as the main, burrata with tomatoes as a starter, and tiramisu for dessert?”
Mark watched Griff for a while. The bubble around the boy was so painfully obvious Mark wouldn’t dare prod it anymore. “My dad’s Italian. He makes the best tiramisu. Though he adds way too much alcohol.” Just saying it out loud made Mark yearn for all the delicious treats Seth made for him at home.
Griffith said something back, but Mark’s entire attention focused on the sound of the door being unlocked in the distance. It was as if his ears had become deaf to anything other than the soft sound of Charlotte’s feet in the corridor
This time, he wouldn’t choke up. He would say something suave and poignant, something to mask what he was lacking. The hairs on his arms bristled when she walked in and stopped in the doorway the moment her eyes settled on him.
She’d matured so much it was hard to comprehend that she was the same girl he’d met lost and terrified in Colombia. Mark licked his lips, desperate to come up with something smart, but in the end, just said:
“Hey.”
Charlotte’s handbag dropped to the floor, and she stepped back until she hit the wall. “What...?” Her fingers twitched in front of her body when her eyes sought out Griffith. “What is he doing here?”
Griffith put his hand on Mark’s shoulder, as if he wanted to reassure him. “Charlotte, how about you have some tea with us? Or have you already eaten?”
“No.” She took a deep breath and stepped forward with new strength. “I told you what he did, and you invite him over for tea?” she snarled at her brother, and Mark’s smile dropped.
“You told him?” Had she told her parents too? What had happened was supposed to be a secret she needed to guard with her life for her own safety.
Charlotte’s blue eyes were liquid fire. “Oh yes! I told him all about how you made Morwen fall for you, and then dumped her! How you specifically targeted her because she was in a vulnerable position at the time, and you knew she would have no way to resist you!”
So she hadn’t told anyone, and instead, this would be the game they played? Mark rose from the sofa.
Griffith cleared his throat. “Look, Charlotte, I know Morwen is your friend, but we’re neighbors now. Let’s be civil.”
Charlotte opened her mouth a bit wider, staring back at her brother. “We... what? What do you mean neighbors?” She approached them in a few aggressive steps, and Mark instinctively prepared to defend himself in case she had tear gas in her pocket. “What does he mean?” she screeched, meeting Mark’s gaze.
“I moved into the apartment across from yours. Maybe you’d actually let me explain. About Morwen. Because it was all much more complicat—”
She raised her arms in exasperation, but then actually pushed Mark back. “I don’t want to hear any of this! Get out of my flat!”
Griffith shot to his feet. “Charlotte, stop raising your voice. You know the lady next door works from home. And shouldn’t you discuss this with me first? This is also my place now.”
Mark ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. All he wanted was a shot at talking to her. He hadn’t accosted her in the street. Hadn’t kidnapped her. Hadn’t threatened her. He was really trying here.
“No, Griff. There will be no discussion when it comes to him,” she said as if she were too disgusted to even say Mark’s name. “What he did to Morwen is inexcusable, and I don’t care if it’s your flat too!”
Mark moved half a step away in case she wanted to hit him again. “She wanted to be with me.”
Griffith swallowed, looking between Charlotte and Mark. In the end, after holding his sister’s gaze for what felt like forever, he cleared his throat. “Look, Mark, maybe it is better if you go now.”
Mark frowned. He couldn’t believe this shit. He’d moved to another continent for a chance to reconnect, and he wasn’t even being given the opportunity to say two sentences in private? After all he’d done for her?
“No, Griff, I think that you should go for a walk, so that I can talk with your sister.”
Griffith’s shoulders lifted as he sucked in air before exploding with words spoken in a quiet yet icy tone. “You have no voice here. Leave, now.”
Mark squinted at him in surprise. “Excuse me?”
Charlotte wrapped her arms on her chest and stared at Mark with eyes like lightning bolts. “He said you should leave. Do you intend to stay without permission?”
“I’m just trying to talk to you!” Mark growled, feeling like a cornered animal.
Griffith touched Charlotte’s shoulder and stood next to her. His gaze was sharp like a scalpel. “Oh, so all this time you wanted to talk to Charlotte? Too bad. She doesn’t want to talk to you.”
Mark huffed, and his fingers yearned to curl into fists. Violence would solve so much right now. But he was supposed to be normal, to blend in. “Shut your face, kid. You have no idea what we’re talking about!”
Charlotte pointed to the door. “Don’t you dare talk like that to my brother. Go back to the hell hole you came from.”
That stung more than she could have known.
Griffith’s lips trembled, but he squeezed them shut, leaving only the muscles at the sides of his jaw twitching in anger. “You will leave, or we’re calling the police.”
Mark looked around the white walls and the elegant furniture, feeling so out of place he wanted to scream. Charlotte would probably be too afraid to call the police, but her brother was unpredictable.
“I’m still living next door, Charlotte,” he said through clenched teeth. Griff would not even get a word from him. He could simmer in his most-likely-virginal gay juices forever.
“Stay away from my sister,” Griffith said, protectively putting himself between Mark and Charlotte, as if he believed himself capable of stopping any opponent above the age of fourteen.
For a moment, they stared each other down
like wild animals, but then Mark stormed off feeling like a cartoon villain. He even had an eyepatch to go with the part. Everything hurt, but his pride was what stung the most.
He slammed the door of their apartment behind him and leaned against the wall in the hallway for a breather. This was the worst. Nothing like he’d planned.
Charlotte’s voice came as a buzz from behind the door, and he blinked, suddenly on the fence about his earlier decision to not bug the Elswood apartment. Without thinking, he made a tube with his fingers and put it between the wood and his ear. Griffith he heard in much more detail.
“No way, Charlotte. He might be a twat, but I’m not moving out because of him!”
“I don’t want to live anywhere near him! He’s a fucking heartless psycho!”
Mark’s heart sank. Was that really what she thought of him?
“I don’t know what to tell you. It’s because of your crazy stunt that Mother and Father took me out of normal school and pretty much locked me at home. I want to finally live a little, and I am not leaving this place,” Griffith said with increasing agitation.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You have no idea how the world works. You’re so fucking naive, Griff. You invited him in here for tea. What is wrong with you?”
So she had no idea Griffith was gay, or she wouldn’t have missed the way her brother had looked at Mark at the stables. Her little brother didn’t want tea. He wanted Mark’s dick.
Griffith groaned. “We are not having this conversation. If you want to move out—fine, but I have a dance studio right here, and I’m staying. Nisha doesn’t like her current flatmates, so she might as well move in with me.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re going to stay here? You know what? Whatever. I’ll move in with Chris. He’s been asking me for ages anyway. And if Mark robs you blind next time you invite him over for tea, that’s on you.”
“Fine. You go play house with your fiancé. Maybe he’ll actually learn to talk about more than the weather and how nice the food is,” Griffith bit back.
But Mark’s brain stopped working, as if a vessel suddenly broke inside it.
Fiancé.
So dumb. He was so, so dumb.
Chapter 3 - Griffith
Griffith gave a sigh of relief when he put down the last box containing Nisha’s stuff on the floor of her new—and Charlotte’s former—bedroom. For now, it looked like a warehouse, with cardboard and bags covering most of the floor, but the large fitted wardrobe would surely accommodate it all. Griff assessed it as sixty percent of all the stuff Nisha brought with her when she moved to Bristol, with her other belongings remaining in the flat her parents still believed she lived at with two other girls.
She smiled at him widely once she put down her Chanel handbag. “My arms are killing me, but I’m so happy. Show me the dance studio again!”
Nisha was only a few months older than him, but they’d known each other for ages. They’d met at dance classes in their early teens when Griff had finally managed to convince his parents that it was what he wanted to do for exercise. The Kapoors lived close by and moved in similar circles as Griff’s parents, so Dad had approved of the friendship, and the rest was history.
Once Griff got pulled out of school to be taught at home, he and Nisha became even tighter, often visiting each other, so this would be a reunion for the ages.
He led her to the studio, proud of its size, the mirrors along one wall, and the barre for ballet exercise. Aerial silks hung from the beam close to the ceiling, and Griff even considered adding a pole, but worried his parents would find it too risqué. With large windows opening into the inner yard and lots of light, it was the perfect space for unwinding after a difficult day.
“Isn’t this just amazing? The woman who rented from my parents used to hold private classes here.” He grabbed the dark blue silk and used his weight to bring his body into a gentle spin.
Despite it being October, the day was so hot Nisha wore a pink and yellow summer dress, and its skirt floated around her midsection when she twirled around the massive room.
"Just think of the parties we'll be able to throw here!" She looked back with that spark of mischief in her brown eyes that Griff knew all too well. It was like that time she’d talked him into wearing matching Halloween outfits. She’d been ketchup, he’d been mayo, and Griffith realized only halfway through the school dance that the other kids were making dirty jokes about his ‘sauce’.
“Parties?” Griffith uttered, looking around the pristine walls that likely wouldn’t stay this way if they had too many friends over. Then again, wasn’t this why he’d wanted to live on his own, away from his parents, in the first place? To live a little and go a bit crazy? What was the worst that could happen? Walls could be cleaned and repainted. “I guess. I hoped we could enter a dance competition now that you’ve moved in. We will have plenty of time for practice.”
Nisha replaced Griffith at the silks and raised her feet above the floor. Her luscious bouncy blowout moved with the motion of the air, as if she were in a photoshoot. “Griiiiiff! Come on! I need to focus on my studies this year and have a social life. I can’t do competitions on top of that.”
Her answer created a dent in Griffith’s plans that was quickly getting larger. “Oh, I thought you wanted to keep dancing,” he said, trying not to express the depth of his disappointment. He didn’t want to pressure her into something she didn’t want to do. It would have been inconsiderate, though so was her moving in because of the studio and then wanting to turn it into a party space.
"I do want to keep dancing. And I can do Barrecore and other exercises here, save a bit of cash. Can you believe my dad only lets me buy shit on the card so that he can police what I do? Ugh! It’s like, I’m eighteen, dad, it’s legal for me to buy booze anyway.” She rolled her eyes but then laughed when one of her sparkly pink heels fell off while she was high in the air.
Griffith licked his lips. “That’s intrusive. At least he hasn’t yet sent one of your brothers to spy on you.”
Nisha stood on the floor, kicked off her other pump, and ran up to Griffith, grabbing his hands and shaking them vigorously. Bright sparks danced in her eyes when she gave him a wide smile. “He thinks I live with girls, so it’s all good. We don’t need to worry about anyone spoiling our fun and claiming it’s because they worry about us. No snooping Charlotte. No Dev insisting he comes over so that I don’t have to take a taxi at night. We’re independent. Let’s make use of that!”
Griffith gave her a weak smile, trying to psych himself up to match her enthusiasm. But who would he invite if there really was a party at their house? His friends from uni? They were nice, but he hadn’t connected with anyone yet, and he wasn’t the type of person who easily found new friends at pubs either.
“You’re right. It’s just so new. You know I’m not used to being around so many people all the time. I feel so tired when I return home after class,” he said, looking at their reflection in the floor-length mirror. It struck him that to anyone unfamiliar with the nature of their relationship, they might seem like the perfect couple—young, good looking, and with similar passions. At least Nisha had never tried to make a move on him. That would have been so awkward.
“Oh-em-gee. Griff,” she whispered into his ear. “Who is that?”
“Huh?” Griff let go of her and turned around, only to spot his daydream and his nightmare packed into one tanned, muscular body.
With the windows in the dance studio wide open, they were treated to a perfect view of Mark’s back as he did pull-ups in his balcony door across the yard. The lean body moved up and down like a well-oiled machine, and the gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, almost too close to exposing his ass.
Griffith grabbed the barre to steady himself, confused by the heat suddenly infusing his body. He made himself look away. “Oh, he’s a twat. Charlotte said he hurt her friend and we had a big row with him. Better just ignore him,” he said and glanced across the yard whe
re all that firm muscle was still at work, moving under light brown skin like a swarm of pythons.
He only realized Nisha wasn’t listening to him when he saw her colorful dress come into view. She walked onto the balcony. “Is he single?” she whispered all too loudly while staring up at Mark and playfully fanning herself with her hand.
What was she doing? Did she not realize she was setting them up for a catastrophe? Griffith’s heart raced so fast he could hardly bear it. And then the worst happened—Mark stomped to the floor, grabbed a towel, and turned around.
For a few heartbeats, Griff found himself completely transfixed by the gleaming sweat on Mark’s chest, but when he looked up and met the mocking gaze of brown eyes, he rushed behind the wall where Mark couldn’t see him. “Nisha, stop it, this guy’s bad news. You don’t want to draw his attention.”
And yet she giggled, as if this was no big deal. “Too late. Hey there neighbor! I just moved in. Are you any good with a screwdriver?”
Griffith froze, staring at the shadow Nisha cast on the wooden floor. “Nisha, come on! Don’t do this.”
Mark’s voice was too loud to miss. “I’m not too bad at screwing.”
Nisha laughed and when she took a step back into the studio, her face was flushed. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe you just said that!”
Griffith hid his face in his hands, but despite his embarrassment for Nisha, it would have been even worse if he stepped in and pulled her inside, so he listened on to the escalating innuendo.
“Your friend can’t help you?”
Why did Mark’s voice have to be so meltalicious?
“Griff’s useless at DIY!”
“Look who’s talking. You can’t even wash the dishes with those long nails,” Griffith snapped and, despite his better judgment, walked onto the balcony. Across the yard, Mark leaned against the metal railing of his own balcony with a smile that drizzled with the most exclusive Manuka honey.
A Breath of Innocence Page 3
