Deliciously British

by Scarlett Avery

  When I get in front of Piper’s, I pause. How time flies. I can’t believe tomorrow celebrates two weeks since I first hooked up with Ethan and Xander at Hush. I don’t think Piper will ever know how she changed my life by pushing me to go out on my own. I doubt anything would’ve come out of that night had she been there and of course staying home would’ve taken me out of the game and left the door wide open for another woman. Thank you, Piper. I shake myself out of my reverie and remember why I’m here. “Knock, knock, knock,” I singsong, turning the doorknob and cracking the door open. “It’s me,” I announce, peering my head through as if she needed all these theatrics to recognize me.

  “I know it’s you, silly. You just emailed me to let me know you were on your way. Come in.” Piper waves me in.

  “That may be the case, but it’s never good to assume.” I grin, closing the door behind me.

  “Take a seat. I know we have a few dozen things to talk about relating to the big gala in a couple of weeks, but I need a mental break. I left the gallery at ten last night, went home and worked until two and I was back here by seven o’clock this morning. I barely had three hours of sleep. I’ve been doping up on copious amounts of coffee all morning, but it’s not helping much.” Wow, talk about burning the midnight oil. “At this rate I’ll be cross-eyed when I meet Calysta Knight again.”

  I laugh. “That may be the case, but if anyone can pull that look off, it’s you.” Piper loses it. “I know I’m not the boss, but I think you should take the night off. I doubt Ashley will be here after six. She hasn’t left the gallery before nine o’clock every night this week—none of us have. I’m sure her kids and her hubby miss her.”

  The auction was such a huge success. The interest around Calysta Knight has skyrocketed. Those who weren’t present caught wind of how much her pieces sold for. I don’t have to tell you they can’t wait to meet the artist in person. As a result, almost everyone on the list has RSVP’d. According to the more experienced curators and Ashley, it’s unprecedented. As amazing as that is, it also means we’ve all been working like dogs. This past week has been insane, but we’re being carried through by the sheer excitement surrounding the event.

  “I think I’m going to follow your advice. I was going to stay until about eight tonight, but I’m going to nix that idea.”

  “Good for you,” I cheer. “It’s Friday night after all. Other than work, did you have any other plans for tonight?”

  “Nope. Now that I’m a singleton again, I’ll end up watching the telly, eating takeaway and stuffing my face with chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream afterwards. Of course, I’ll have copious amounts of wine to wash all that food and sugar down. While all of London is partying, I’ll wallow in self-pity. What about you?”

  I may be grateful beyond words that Piper allowed me to have an unimaginable sex life, but I’m not about to tell her. “I’m going out for dinner with a few friends.” Sometimes in life, less is more.

  “I’m pleased to hear you have friends outside of the gallery. It’s so important for you to spread your wings.” Oh, trust me, I’m spreading them wide. “It’s so incestuous if you stay in the same circle.” Yeah, I’m never stepping outside of the Ethan-Xander circle of perpetual orgasms. “Are they guys?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Really? Delilah has found herself a bloke.” She sounds so happy with herself—like she’s discovered my hidden secret. Yeah. No chance of that happening. “Is he a Brit?”

  “Maybe.” Yep, I’m sticking to monosyllabic words. I can’t really compromise myself that way.

  “I see how you’re playing this game. I’ll take that as a yes. Is it serious or is it simply a pleasurable shag?” Pleasurable doesn’t quite describe it, girlfriend.

  All right, I’ll give her a bite or else she’ll be at this for the rest of the afternoon trying to crack me open like a nut. “It’s casual, but I’ve seen him practically every night in the past couple of weeks.” With the outside world, I always use the singular when describing my lovers. No point in ruffling any feathers or giving anyone a heart attack.

  “So, should I assume you’ve put an end to your eighteen-month celibacy?” Her question takes me by surprise. Of course, I told her all about that. I guess my dry spell was really a shocker to her. I open my mouth to respond, but she keeps at it. “Please tell me you’ve kicked your ill-advised chastity vows to the curb and you’re finally riding a nice big thick juicy cock like a dirty cowgirl who’s lost her goddamn mind.” My eyes widen as big as saucers. My cheeks heat up like a furnace. Did she actually say that aloud? The look she flashes me is one of pure lust. I’m surprised her tongue isn’t hanging out of her mouth wagging like a bitch in heat.

  “Oh, my God, Piper. Where did that come from?”

  It’s her turn to blush. I guess there’s no hiding my bewildered expression. “I’m sorry, Delilah. I’m completely out of line.”

  “Well, that was a little intense.” Even for you. I’m really not sure what else to say. That totally came out of left field. It’s true that we’re colleagues and since we’re women, we do gossip, but things have never gotten this far. This is the kind of conversation I have with my cousin Maggie, not a coworker.

  “What must you think of me?” She looks genuinely remorseful. “I’m sure I sounded like a desperate whore. Heck, I am one. It’s just that two weeks without sex is killing me. I’ve used one of my sex toys so many times it broke two nights ago.” Yikes. “That’s one of the reasons why I didn’t have a problem working so late last night. Yeah, I could use my fingers, but at this point, only a mechanical toy will get me off. Being single sucks. And with all these projects coming out of the ying-yang, I haven’t been able to wrap my head around the fact that I’m going to have to go out into the dating world again if I ever hope to get fucked again.”

  I reach out and grab her hand across the desk. “You haven’t heard from Dermott since he moved out?” Everyone in the office has been very careful to stay away from that touchy subject since Piper announced her relationship with her boyfriend was over.

  She lowers her eyes and shakes her head. “No. Not a word. It’s as if our relationship never existed for him.” Crap.

  “I’m sure it’s more complicated than that,” I attempt. “I know we never talked about the fight you had on that night the two of us were supposed to go to Hush—”

  “It was for the best that I stayed home. I would have ended up dragging you down.”

  “What happened?” If Dermott has stayed away for this long, it’s not just some fight. It’s far more serious than that. “Obviously, you don’t have to share anything with me if you don’t want to,” I add quickly, worried I might be too nosy for my own good.

  “It was over furniture and kids,” she says.

  What? “Is this a British thing? I don’t get it.”

  She sighs and places her right hand on top of mine. I’m still gripping on to her other hand. “As you know, Dermott and I were living together for a year. When we moved in together, we furnished the place with what we already had and promised each other we’d upgrade later. His old sofa has been wobbly since I can remember.” It took me forever to understand that a sofa is what us Americans call a couch. “Two weeks ago, Dermott decided to purchase a new sofa. I suggested going for something dark gray or chocolate brown—you know, colors that are forgiving. Dermott felt I was being too conservative and I was playing it safe. I let it slide. Throughout the day on that Saturday you and I were supposed to go out, he kept texting messages with photos of sofas he thought would be a better choice. None of them were to my liking. I chose not to make a big deal out of it and shrugged it off. I figured since we had agreed to go out the following weekend to shop, we’d find something that suits both of us.”

  “That’s not quite how things turned out?” I know I’m asking the obvious.

  “Not at all. Dermott came home about an hour before I was supposed to leave to meet with you prancing like a rooster because he had p
urchased a new sofa. He wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? He took initiative,” I say in his defense.

  “It would have been a great thing had it not been a high-end all-white Italian leather sofa and the matching chair.” Yikes. Not the most practical. “When I pointed out a sofa is one of those purchases you make every decade and that white isn’t the most advisable color when you have kids, he said it wouldn’t be a problem since he didn’t see himself starting a family in the near future. I lost it on him. I was so gutted.” Oh, gosh. Piper is constantly going on about how she can’t wait to have babies. “I’m thirty-bloody-two years old. If I don’t start having kids within a few years, when will I ever be a mother? He’s known that since the beginning.” The sadness in her voice is heartbreaking. A stream of tears roll down her face. She wipes them away with the back of her hand, sniffling.

  “Oh, my God, Piper, I’m so sorry.”

  She shrugs. “Thanks, but it’s not your fault.” She pauses and sniffles again. “I thought that him forgetting to celebrate our one-year anniversary was just a mistake. I thought maybe he was so busy with work that it slipped his mind—”

  “What about all those flowers he kept sending you?” I thought that was so romantic.

  “Your guess is as good as mine on that one. Maybe he felt badly for a minute or two about letting me down. I don’t know. None of it makes any sense. What’s clear is that I have to come to terms with the fact that we no longer have a future together.”

  “Maybe there’s another explanation,” I offer in the hopes of bringing her some comfort.

  “The sofa thing suggests we’re not at the same place in life. We drifted apart. I was just too oblivious to see it. After so many days of rehashing everything in my head, I have to come to the conclusion that Dermott didn’t forget our one-year anniversary after all. It was a message. One I should have it heard loud and clear, but I didn’t.”

  “Gosh.”

  “Do you want kids?” Huh? The change of subject is abrupt.

  “Well… Er…” I hesitate. I never expected us to have this kind of conversation in the middle of the day at the office like this.

  “Do you or not?” she presses when I don’t give her a straightforward answer.

  I nod. “Yes, I do. I come from a big family and I can’t imagine not having kids of my own. I don’t know if it will be one or seven, but I definitely want to have babies.”

  “You’re still so young, so your clock isn’t ticking as fast—or as loud—as mine. And by the way, you don’t have to tell me anything about this guy you’re seeing—I should have never pushed like that. That said, regardless if it’s him or another guy down the road, make sure the two of you are on the same page when it comes to having a family as things get more serious between the two of you. Don’t leave any room for misinterpretation because in the end, you’ll be the big loser. I can’t buy back the months I wasted on Dermott’s sorry ass. Even if I had a bank account stuffed with billions of pounds, I still wouldn’t be able to.” She snorts. It’s impossible not to hear the bitterness in her voice. “Now I have to start all over again. Men can have babies until well into their eighties. We have a time stamp on our foreheads from the minute we hit puberty. Don’t ever lose sight of that.”

  I nod. “I won’t.” I’m not sure what else to say.

  Not that I’m anywhere near the type of relationship Piper had with Dermott with my guys. I’m not even sure I have a right to call what we have more than a fling. On the other hand, Piper’s situation does beg the question—how does it work when you’re falling for two guys? Is there any future or is it only about the sex?

  CHAPTER 50

  Xander

  Ethan is in the glass room setting the table while I’m taking care of the appetizers. I must say that I’m quite partial to baked Brie, but this new recipe I’m trying will have us all licking our lips. I can’t wait. Once the cheese is in the oven, I take care of wrapping the parboiled fingerling potatoes that have now cooled down with cherrywood-smoked bacon. Luckily this only takes a few minutes. I walk to the oven and place the dish inside. I straighten up and check the clock for the twelfth time in the last few minutes. Delilah should be here in the next fifteen minutes.

  The little Texan is changing a lot of things for us. Ethan has always had two left feet when it comes to cooking. Even ordering food at catering shops has been a challenge for him in the past. That said, this is the second time in a row that he’s aced it. The menu he ordered for tonight is absolutely spectacular. I was speechless when he opened the bags and revealed his selections. There’s no doubt in my mind, this meal will definitely seduce Delilah’s taste buds. The scrumptious dessert will be the perfect segue for us to ask her the question that’s been burning our tongues since we talked about it last night. I doubt she’ll ever forget this evening. I know I won’t. I turn around towards the kitchen island, intent on continuing to sip on my glass of wine, when Ethan bursts into my kitchen like a tornado.

  “Wow. You look great,” he exclaims, strutting towards me. His eyes brush the length of my body. Since I didn’t want to be too laid back, I selected a pair of fitted black trousers and a long-sleeved gray shirt with some white detailing running along the front, across the shoulders and inside the collar. It’s a look that screams Italian fashion. Both Ethan and I are wearing a pair of dressy black shoes.

  “Thanks, you look quite dapper yourself.” Ethan is clad in his trademark head-to-toe black look. Even though it’s supposed to be casual, he still looks like he means business.

  “Hmmm.” Ethan hums, inhaling the air around him. “Whatever you’re cooking smells absolutely amazing.” It’s impossible to remain impartial to the delicious aroma that permeates the kitchen.

  “You know my motto?”

  “I do. ‘Everything tastes better with bacon.’” He’s heard me say it thousands of times.

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” I challenge him.

  “I won’t argue with you.” He lifts his hand in the air in a sign of surrender.

  “The starter includes two of your favorites—French cheese and bacon.”

  “I’m already licking my lips. It sounds like I might be too full for the main course,” he mocks.

  I doubt that’ll happen since we had to place a special order for tonight’s meal, but sure, I’ll play along. “That means more succulent duck for Delilah and I.”

  “Keep dreaming, buddy.” I knew it.

  “Is everything ready out there?” I ask, pointing behind him. Ethan has done a phenomenal job with the glass room and everything else for tonight’s big surprise. We both decided to work from home to allot us more time to put the finishing touches on our plan. As a result, it’s been a frantic pace since we got up this morning. I took a few breaks here and there, but Ethan has been on the go all day. He hasn’t taken one minute of rest—not even for lunch.

  He nods. I expect a short answer, but I didn’t see the tsunami of words coming. “The table is set, the white is chilled, the champagne is on ice, I opened the bottle of red so it can air, the bouquet is set in the crystal vase and it’s on the table, I placed her gift near her setting, the dessert is cooling in my fridge, we have more than enough liquor for after dinner, you’re taking care of the appetizer, you’ve already taken care of the music selection, I guess you’ll start heating the food once she gets here and we’re done with the first course. Oh, I also checked on the taxi to make sure the driver will be here on time. I requested he drops her at your front door. Have I forgotten anything?” His eyes are shifting between mine.

  Whoa. When he starts obsessing over details like this it’s because it’s related to something—or someone—that’s very important to him. And Delilah definitely falls into that category. That said, what kind of self-respecting friend would I be if I didn’t tease him about his micromanaging ways? “I think you forgot to breathe, mate, but other than that, I think you have it all covered.” I flash him a cocky
smile. Ethan spears me with a stare. His mouth flattens into a thin line. “I’m just telling it like it is.”

  “You’re hilarious. A real comedian. Thanks for having my back.”

  “Good Lord, Ethan, take it easy. Everything is perfect.”

  His expression softens. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Okay.” He exhales.

  “Is the great Ethan Isaac Gordimer doubting himself?”

  “Of course not.” His answer comes faster than a boomerang. “Don’t be ridiculous, Emerson.” He calls me by my surname when he’s ticked off at me. “We get one chance at this,” he emphasizes. “That’s it. This is important.” I haven’t seen him like this since we asked Adele to move in with us. We skipped the part about asking her to be our girlfriend. It was implied since the first night we shared her. As far as we were concerned, her moving in with us was just a step closer to asking her hand in marriage. “I want to make sure we do this right and I want it to be memorable for her.”

  Since Ethan brought up the subject last night, we’ve talked about nothing else. We’ve gone over every detail with a fine-toothed comb. Things couldn’t be more perfect. I just wish Ethan wouldn’t stress so much. “She’ll remember this night for a long time. So will we. You nailed it, bro.”

  “Thanks.” His shoulders drop and I can tell relief washes over him.

  “One thing—”

  “What?” His eyes widen with worry.

  “Down, boy.” He’s jumpy again. “I would hide the gift for now. It’s more fun if we surprise her later.”

  “What was I thinking?” He slaps his palm against his forehead and before I can respond he’s already running back to the glass room. He’s back in a flash holding the hot pink gift bag containing a little token of affection we both selected for our little Texan. We lucked out. We found exactly what we were looking for in the first shop we walked into. “Where should I put it?” His expression is that of a person trying to solve the Rubik’s Cube for the hundredth time without much luck.