by Chloe Liese
I rolled my eyes as I backed up and spun toward the door. “I’m leaving. Bye, Lucas. Now call my driver, Salvatore. I need a day empty of testosterone and filled with alcohol.”
Zed laughed. “So long as you’ve got security escorting you, your wish is my command, innamorata.”
I threw open his door and steered down the hall toward the lift. “Overbearing, highhanded brute.”
Zed caught up with me. “I heard that.” He bent and kissed me hard, then pressed the lift button. “Remember, Nairne. I play to win. And when your safety’s in question, I don’t lose.”
The lift opened and we went in. When the doors slid shut, Zed glanced over at me. “We haven’t done it in an elevator before.”
“Fat chance.”
“Woah. What are the rules? Whenever, wherever.”
I laughed. “Those terms ended as of June 3, per our original agreement. Remember, Zed, I play to win, too. And when your libido’s in question, I always have the upper hand. Laters, love.”
I’d like to say leaving him gaping in the lift wasn’t highly satisfying, but it was.
Sixteen
Nairne
Tom Evans was my new bulky shadow, with whom I shook hands outside Zed’s flat as we were introduced. I didn’t like the idea of needing to be tailed all the time or chauffeured, but the man handled London traffic like a pro, and he didn’t mind driving in silence, so he had that going for him.
Lucas’ warning about the inevitable surge of press echoed in my head. He was right. When that time came, Tom would be useful. But Tom also couldn’t shield me entirely. Eventually, I’d be captured on camera, my features rendered clearly. Anxiety flooded my system when I worried about the implications of photographers, being once again recognizable and locatable. But could I hide forever? Wasn’t it cowardly to avoid the joys of life with Zed simply to mitigate its risks, too? He’d been so brave, fighting his way out of his circumstances. I could be bold and fearless like him.
When Tom escorted me to my little flat, he glared around as critically as Zed, huffed and poked at the windows, mumbling about insecure points of entry, at which time I shooed him out.
“I’ll be right outside your door, ma’am.”
“Oh, god, Tom, you can’t call me that. I’ll age before your eyes. Nairne will do just fine.”
He scowled again. “I don’t feel comfortable with that. You’re my client. We can’t be on a first name basis.”
“Mac?” I tried.
He shook his head. “Too informal.” He wrinkled his nose. “Also too masculine for a lady like yourself.”
“Oh, she’s no lady.” Elodie chimed in from behind him.
Tom whipped around and barricaded us from reaching each other. “You are?”
“Her best friend, silly.” She smiled. “Now may I get by? I need a Nairne hug.”
Tom glanced over his shoulder for my approval, and Elodie ducked under his arms and into mine.
I kissed her hair and breathed her jasmine perfume. “Welcome to the other side, my friend. You’re officially free of clauses, contracts, strict diets, and long-distance running.”
Elodie raised a triumphant fist as we both shouted, “Olé!”
Tom was trying not to smile when I caught his eye. Elodie rolled her suitcase over to the daybed.
“We’re fine, Tom, really,” I said. “This is Elodie Bertrand, my best friend—”
“Try only friend,” she teased.
“I’m selective. I have…female acquaintances. I just don’t call them friends. And you see how many female friendships you form when you’re surrounded by men pipetting bacteria who can’t even look at you without blushing crimson.”
Elodie snorted and started fiddling with the lock to her luggage.
“Anyway, Tom, she’s staying for the weekend.”
Tom nodded curtly. “Thank you for apprising me. I’ll note that Ms. Bertrand is allowed access to and from the premises.”
Elodie lifted an eyebrow as she looked between Tom and me. “What’s with the security?”
I waved a hand. “I’ll tell you once I’m drunk enough and not wanting to bash Zed in the head for it.” I turned toward Tom. “Do you need anything before you go out? A water, or can I brew you a cup of tea?”
“No, ma’am. You shouldn’t be serving me.”
“It’s Nairne, and why not, when you’re serving me constantly, ensuring my welfare?”
Tom scrubbed his neck and backed away. “It’s just not done, ma’am. And besides, I’m being paid to do this.”
I sighed. “All right, Tom. Well if you change your mind, just ring me. But I’m warning you, pretty soon we both might be absolutely rat-arsed. My tea-making goes downhill at that point.”
Elodie laughed as she strained to lift her massive luggage. It sank into the mattress while she unzipped it and dug around madly. “Guess what?” She reappeared from a mess of clothes and shoes she’d unloaded, double-fisting two long-necked bottles. “I brought wine.”
Tom smiled like he was trying not to be as amused as he was. “Very good, ma’am.”
I shut the door and bolted it to satisfy him, then poured us two glasses. We sat, Elodie on my daybed and me in my wheelchair with my legs on the daybed, and got ourselves well on our way to tipsy.
The ceiling wasn’t spinning when I stared at it. That was a good sign. “What are you going to do now?” I mused. “Take some time off before Maman and Papa suck you into the business?”
Elodie sighed as she stared up at the ceiling, too. “I don’t know. It’s certainly what they’re expecting, and who else could do it? There’s just me…”
I leaned forward and patted her leg. “That’s not really an answer. And just because you could take over their business, doesn’t mean you should. What do you want, Elodie? What will bring you joy?”
Elodie shook her head. Her pretty chestnut curls swayed along her shoulders as she sighed heavily. “What a question to ask me. I don’t know.”
“What will fulfill you?”
Her sapphire eyes landed on me. “How did you know? How do you still know and trust so readily what you’re meant to do with your life? How you’re supposed to live? You’ve always been so sure.”
I frowned in thought as I picked up my wine and had a sip. “I don’t know. I just identified what interested me academically, what I cared about morally, and where those two intersected. Then I set to accomplishing it.”
She sighed. “See, that’s wonderful. And you make it sound so easy. But for me, it’s not at all. I went into footie, because I was good at it and felt I should, and now I’m to go into our family’s business because I have to, as sole heir. That’s the way I’ve always seen it.”
My glass caught sunlight and refracted it into a prismatic splash of color along the wall. How easily a simple alteration in the lens could drastically change perspective.
I squeezed her hand. “Elodie, that’s not how you’ve always seen it. It’s how you’ve been shown it. You can live differently. When you picture your ideal job, what are you doing?”
She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall. “Making workplaces more equitable. Better diversity and inclusion of minorities, gender, ethnicity, and the like. Too many offices are full of stodgy entitled white men.”
“There you have it. Diversity and Inclusion Officer.” I clinked my glass with hers. “Now go after it.”
She threw back the rest of her wine, emptying the glass. “But that’s not my world, Nairne. I’ve been told in no uncertain terms by my parents. And if I want my life to be different, I’ll have to leave the one I know. I don’t think I can abandon my family and their hard work.”
“Their hard work, Elodie, exactly. It’s for and about them. And they don’t get to guilt you into taking over. Would you follow your own path if they supported you?”
“Of course, but they don’t.” She groaned as she sat up. “They’ve made it clear what’s expected of me. And until I find a spine like
yours and stand up for myself…” She grimaced. “Merde, what a horrible thing to say!”
I laughed and set my wine down because I was laughing too hard. “Elodie, you didn’t mean anything by it.”
She looked so horrified it just made me laugh harder.
“It’s not funny, Nairne! It was very insensitive of me.”
“Give me that.” I snatched her wine glass and filled it generously. “You need to get tanked, because if you can’t laugh about that, then clearly we are not far gone enough. Drink up, darling. The day is young!”
She laughed and shook her head. “I’m going to regret this.”
“All right.” I gasped. “We are not eighteen anymore.” A shiver racked me as the shot went down. Drinking whiskey neat was one thing—and the only way to drink it, mind you—but shots were a different animal. And they brought out the animal in Elodie.
“I’m freeeeeee,” she sang. We were at that point, the chatting, nonstop dancing part of the night, wherein Elodie became an adorable liability.
And it was dinnertime. I hadn’t really thought the timing through. I knew she needed to blow off steam, and I also knew I’d made plans for dinner with Gianno, who was trying to give me space while still making an effort to regularly speak on the phone and find time in person. He was retired, loaded, and liked to travel. When I’d invited him to visit—which was before Elodie’s life more or less went off the rails when she abruptly quit playing professional footie for reasons we still hadn’t quite unpacked—he’d jumped on it.
When I’d asked him whether he minded Elodie joining us, Gianno had been so easygoing and gracious. “Of course, tesora. Any friend of yours would be a joy to meet.” He strolled into the restaurant that minute, and found us, eyebrows raised in good-natured amusement as he saw the state of affairs.
His kiss on my cheek was gentle and soothing, before he sat down and directed himself to my friend. “You’re Elodie.”
She stopped singing to herself and shut one eye as she tried to focus on him. “I’ve been told so, yes.”
Gianno laughed and ordered a wine and something else I didn’t catch from the waiter before turning back to us. “Elodie, how would you like to eat something, bella?”
“Good luck with that,” I muttered. She was obstinately stubborn about not eating once she started drinking.
Elodie shook her head petulantly. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry. I’d like more wine, though.”
Gianno smiled and discreetly pulled her glass away. “Eat first, wine later.”
Elodie frowned. “I don’t like you very much right now, even if you are awfully handsome.”
“Oi.” I smacked her shoulder. “That’s my father.”
Gianno’s smile widened. I hadn’t said father out loud before. I returned his smile and sipped my whiskey self-consciously.
Elodie squinted between us. “Huh. You do look alike. Same eyebrows and cheekbones. But N-Nairne”—she hiccupped—“has that beautiful Scottish skin and hair. I think her eyes are a bit like yours…” Elodie leaned forward and tried to whisper but mostly just hissed it loudly in my ear. “What’s his name again?”
“Gianno,” he offered. “Giancarlo, but everybody calls me Gianno. And she has the shape of my eyes because, but for their color, mine are the same as my mama’s. Nairne has her nonna’s eyes exactly. It was the first thing I noticed when I found her.”
My face grew warm when he said it. Like it was the best and most wonderful thing to find me. “I do?”
“Yes!” Gianno pulled out his phone and scrunched his nose as he pressed buttons. “Oh, damn these contraptions. I can’t find a picture. But I’ll send you one on email soon.”
I squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” I whispered.
He smiled and squeezed back. “Of course!” A giant bowl of pasta with cream sauce, peas, and pancetta was set in between us. Then rustic bread and a salad.
“Gianno, this place doesn’t serve Italian food.”
He smiled as he scooped heaps of cheesy pasta onto Elodie’s plate, then mine. “Any place serves Italian food, if you know how to ask nicely.”
Elodie groaned over her pasta as she twirled a forkful, took a monstrous bite, and chewed happily. I bumped shoulders with him. “And by ask nicely, you mean, pay a fat wad of quid, don’t you?”
Gianno shrugged as he forked his pasta and took a bite. Then he grinned over at me. “I can’t tell you all my secrets, yet, tesora. Then I lose my air of mystery.”
“I don’t want you to be a mystery,” I blurted. “I want to know everything.”
Gianno paused and set down his fork quietly. “I want that, too, Nairne. I just didn’t want to stifle you, push too much too soon. But mimma believe me, I want nothing more than to bring you home and introduce you to your cousins and your aunts and uncles and your nonna. To show off my beautiful, brilliant daughter. But they can be a lot. They’re loud and a little overwhelming, even for me. I like my quiet home, and my time alone, so I understand. Do you think you’re ready for all that?”
I smiled and blinked away unexpected tears. “Yes, Gianno, I think so.”
He set a hand on my back gently. “We’ll plan it then. For now, eat, too, eh? You’re too thin. You need some hips, for when you and Zeddo have lots of babies. He was four-and-a-half kilos when he was born, did you know that?”
I choked on my pasta because marriage and babies were about twenty-five steps down the line from where Zed and I were. We were barely surviving the try-not-to-kill-each-other while semi-cohabitating phase. The idea of pushing a nearly five-kilo child out my lady bits on top of that was absolutely terrifying.
He patted my back softly as I cleared my throat and drank half my water. “We’re not quite there yet, Gianno.”
He shrugged. “Not my business. You two aren’t getting any younger, though. And I want babies to hold.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes. “You’re as bad as Brando.”
Gianno smiled widely. “No. I’m definitely worse.”
Commotion near the door broke our conversation and I looked over to catch camera flashes and the maître d’ backing some paparazzi out the door. Two tall men had entered and made their way to the VIP area where a pianist played covers. When we’d passed it on entering, I’d noticed an ornate bar with copper tiles and glittering lights. Velvet cushions and lots of posh people enjoying genuinely good music in an atmosphere that struck me as marred by the self-satisfaction thickening the air. I always felt it around people who were out to be seen for seeing’s sake.
I’d been in that world, and I didn’t miss it one bit. For some reason, because I had no idea whether they wanted to be among the upper echelon or if it was simply a publicity requirement of their career, I felt pity for the blokes. They couldn’t just meet their mates for a pint without being hounded. They had to keep up appearances at fancy bars rather than sit among the plebs if they wanted. One of them turned and glanced in our direction. Ours eyes locked and his widened.
“Lucas?”
Seventeen
Zed
If I had to summarize my day, it sucked. After Nairne left and I kicked Lucas out, I’d only had practice and conditioning since it was still pre-season. After practice, I lifted and ran some more because I wasn’t worn out enough. Then I ate my weight in food from the pub nearby, which was probably the highlight so far, seeing as they nailed a super-rare burger. While I ate, I’d tried to watch a cricket match on TV. Horrible bastardization of American baseball.
I’d driven home, showered, and found myself painfully hard because I couldn’t stop picturing Nairne in the shower. That woman’s body was sin when it was dripping wet, with her long auburn hair dark and plastered over her breasts. The way the water ran down her fair skin in rivulets and slid over her ribs and hips. I knew rubbing one out paled to her—the last month had been ample reminder of that—so I’d turned the water cold until I was shivering. But while it relieved my hard-on, I felt completely miserable without her.
/> So, I made myself a pizza because mixing dough from scratch and smashing tomatoes for sauce was pretty cathartic when trying not to compulsively worry about your girlfriend, who had a complex about taking practical safety measures.
Which brought me to sitting on the couch, flipping through channels because I was too pissed to read, and I needed a distraction. British TV was thus far underwhelming. I chucked the remote on the chair and scrubbed my face. Responsibility and oppressive to-dos had consumed my life in Boston. I’d had so many damn balls in the air at once. This new solitude was uncomfortably unstructured, a cavernous opening that Nairne had implied I needed to enjoy?
Why? It wasn’t like I had an identity crisis on my hands. I knew who I was, what I valued. And now I could live that more honestly, without compromising my beliefs or being pulled in a hundred directions trying to hold my ethics intact. I knew myself, and unlike a lot of unlucky fucks, also did what I loved. Playing soccer, a beautiful game of collective effort that I was damn good at. And who didn’t like doing something they were good at?
I simply wanted to share that with her, and receive what Nairne wanted to share with me. To experience life together without the copious drama we’d weathered thus far. Which was why Nairne inspired me and drove me nuts in equal measure. The woman challenged me like it was her life’s calling, blasting through my rationales for behaviors, pushing me further to pursue possibilities in my life choices.
Yet I valued doing the same thing for her. She had her career on lockdown. She didn’t need anything from me on that front, except my open ear and genuine interest in hearing about her day and her work’s progress. But when it came to closeness, openness, intimacy, and communication, I’d pushed her as she’d pushed me. Demanded her honesty, strove to earn her trust.
