11. “We Found Love” - Rihanna Calvin Harris
“We Found Love” - Rihanna + Calvin Harris
“What’s the catch?” Bea asks.
“Why would there be a catch?” I’ve just asked my sister to spend the holiday with me, an invitation I thought would be met with more eagerness, considering the fact that I was nearly killed yesterday.
As I grab a bottled water from the fridge, I spy a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough that definitely wasn’t there yesterday. I pull it out and find a spoon.
“The only reason you’d ask me to stay with you is if there’s a catch. And you’re acting weird.”
“I’m not acting weird.” I pop a piece of cookie dough into my mouth. “And what’s so bad about wanting to spend time with my little sister?”
“First off, you’re acting very weird. And secondly, you never call me your little sister unless you want something, so spill.” Damn, she’s become more intuitive than I realized.
“I wouldn’t call it a catch, exactly . . .”
“Now I’m terrified,” she says.
“You have to promise not to breathe a word of where I am to anyone. Security reasons and all that.”
“Yeah, duh.”
“Swear it?”
“Yes, I swear. Quit stalling and tell me what you’re up to.”
I scoop one more ball of dough from the container before putting it away again. “I’m staying with Henry.” I’m not interested in hearing her thoughts on the subject, so I plunge ahead. “There are plenty of extra bedrooms, and it would be so nice to have someone else here.”
Bea doesn’t say anything.
“Well, what do you think?” I say when the silence stretches too long.
“You’re living with Henry,” she says in a monotone.
“I’m not living with him. I’m staying here. Temporarily. Obviously.”
“Are you two together?”
“What? No, we’re not together.”
“But London—”
“You know very well we weren’t together after London.” I never shared the details with her, but it’s not hard to put two and two together when your sister returns with puffy eyes instead of the guy she went after.
“Okay. So you’re staying with him platonically, and you want me there to make it less awkward?”
“No, of course not.” I’m getting better at these lies. “But I can’t leave the penthouse, and it—”
“You’re staying in a penthouse?”
“Yeah, at the Atlantis.”
“Isn’t that the place that does diamond microdermabrasion?”
“I have no idea. But probably.” This place has literally everything, including a grocery store on the third floor.
“I’m in. I am so in. Mum’s flat barely has running water.”
Rosalind is staying at the Carlton during palace renovations, so she probably has sparkling water on tap, but I’m not about to contradict Bea now that she’s agreed. “I’m glad it was the sisterly bonding that won you over.”
“Absolutely! We can bond over deep-sea mud masks.”
“God help me.”
“About Henry.” She takes on a more serious tone. “Will he be there much?”
I can guess why she’s asking, which is exactly why this plan should work. “Well, it’s his home, so I would think so. Although I do need to warn you that he’s a bit of a scrooge. Not a single Christmas decoration in the whole place.”
She gasps and launches into an account of her holiday plans, which include way more activities than she’ll ever have time for, but I just let her talk, because my plan has worked. I need a wall between Henry and me, and Bea is the perfect fit.
The golden whirlwind that is my younger sister arrives on Monday as promised in a cloud of silk, Chanel No. 5, and more luggage than I think I’ve seen in my entire life, and I’ve been to a lot of airports.
I watch as bag after bag is deposited into the penthouse foyer. “I’m positive you left with less than half of this,” I say after Bea releases me.
“Darling, what do you think I do on the weekends?”
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it’s probably not studying.”
She laughs like I couldn’t be any more ridiculous. “With London an hour away and Paris only a few, you can’t possibly expect me to spend my time studying.”
“Of course not. Studying at uni would be preposterous.” I guess asking for a loan from her trust fund is also out of the question. “I’ll let Henry know you’ll need a separate room just for your bags.”
She starts to follow me toward the guest bedrooms but stops and squeals when she sees Tundra. “Who is this?” She drops her handbag and just manages to hold on to her fancy water bottle as he barrels toward her. She sits back on her heels, but he nudges her backward until she’s on her bottom.
“Henry has a dog?” Her voice is muffled by Tundra’s thick coat, which she is burying her face in.
“Actually, he’s mine. Come on, Tundra. Let her up.”
I’ve given Bea a quick tour of the flat, turned down her request to swap bedrooms with me, and am just heading back to the foyer to supervise the moving of her luggage when Maisie arrives, vanilla latte in hand.
She holds the cup out to me while her gaze flits over the pile of Louis Vuitton suitcases.
There isn’t time to explain before Bea floats into the room.
“Maisie! How did you know I was dying for caffeine?” she asks, and snatches the cup from my assistant’s hand before either of us can object.
She takes a long sip, then makes a face.
“God, how boring. This must be yours.” Handing the to-go cup to me, she claps her hands.
“Now, which of you fine gentlemen is planning to move all of my bags?”
The eyes of the PPOs clustered near the doors were already glued to her, and now they move so quickly I’m sure someone is going to get trampled. Bea’s luggage is swallowed up within seconds. The entourage follows her down the hall, Tundra included.
Maisie’s eyebrows settle back into their normal position. “This ought to be fun.”
“At least she’ll keep us entertained,” I say.
Bea bounds back into the room, plate in hand. “I almost forgot. Addison’s mum made these right before I left and forced me to take some.”
“Please tell me those are not pot brownies.”
“God, I wish.” She shoves the plate toward me. “We have so much to catch up on. But for now, I’m going to take a nap. I need my sleep, because you know what tonight is!”
“I don’t, actually.”
“Party time!”
It takes Henry approximately twenty minutes to convince Bea that neither she nor I will be leaving the penthouse tonight, and me another fifteen to convince her that even if I could, I would never attend a club with her. Ever.
The three of us eventually settle on a compromise.
“You’re like a boring old couple. Movie nights are a complete snooze fest. Can’t we at least have some people over?” Bea says.
Henry’s hands are still on his hips, where they’ve been stationed for the past half hour.
I’m settled on the sofa, watching him duke it out with someone other than me and thoroughly enjoying myself.
He received the news of Bea’s arrival with a cocked brow and a mildly amused look that said Dear god, what have I signed up for?
I can only hope it makes him regret his decision to keep me locked up here.
“Absolutely not. Celia’s location—and yours for that matter—is a matter of national security.”
Somehow, Bea makes her pout look enticing rather than childish, and a prickle of unease crawls down my spine. I invited her here as a buffer, but it’s not like I hope they actually start something.
“Well, how about baking some special cookies?”
I recognize the discomfort in Henry’s laugh. “Afraid not.”
“When did you become so boring?” Bea steps close enough to him to grab his tie. She tugs on it, and had his feet not been firmly planted, he probably would’ve stumbled. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“Bea, come on. Let’s just have a quiet movie night here. It’ll be fun.” He pries her fingers off his tie, so she grabs his hand instead.
“Fine. But I’m picking the movie.” She spins away, stretching out her arm until their fingers finally release.
An hour later, we’re watching I’ll Be Home for Christmas and listening to Bea wax poetic about the hotness of Jonathan Taylor Thomas “for a nineties kid.” I glance at Henry to see if he has regrets, but he’s busy giving Tundra a vigorous belly rub.
Instead of reclining chairs, Henry’s home theater has several suede-covered sofas the size of king beds, piled high with pillows.
We all share one of them, and in an ideal world, we would each have a section to ourselves, with no less than twelve inches separating us.
In reality, I have half the sofa to myself.
Bea, Henry, and Tundra are sharing the other half.
To be fair, Henry doesn’t exactly look thrilled about the situation, but he isn’t trying to change it either.
Bea may not be in his lap, but my bet is she will be by the end of the night.
Henry needs a beautiful, vivacious woman at his side.
Someone who sparkles and draws the eye of the entire room.
Someone he won’t get bored with and cheat on.
Someone who isn’t hampered by her duty to her country but has enough rank to make her the catch of the century, just like him.
And Bea needs someone who will lavish her with gifts, who will push back when she’s out of line, who will treat her like the princess she is.
But even if they’re meant for each other, they’re not meant to have my dog.
“Tundra,” I call. “Come here, boy.”
He lifts his head and looks at me but doesn’t move from his position atop Bea.
She giggles and continues stroking his head. “He’s so comfy. Don’t make him move. Besides, he’s warming my legs.”
Maybe you should’ve worn something that covered more than your butt. Giving myself a mental slap for the thought, I scoot off the sofa. “I’m going to grab some snacks.”
I pad into the kitchen in my thick woolen socks and flannel pajamas, much more suitable December attire than Bea’s satin boxer shorts.
I rummage around in the kitchen until I’ve gathered an array of food: the brownies Bea brought, some popcorn I found in the pantry, the tub of cookie dough, and those honey mustard pretzels Henry likes.
Yes, I’m stalling.
I’m sliding the popcorn into the microwave when I feel him enter the kitchen. I don’t even need to turn around—my body reads his presence like a scanner. I shut the microwave door and program it, a churning lump of nausea now residing in my stomach.
Henry leans back against the counter, arms crossed. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I dump the pretzels into a bowl.
“You seem a little withdrawn.”
“Just tired.” I pop one in my mouth. “I think I’ll head to bed, actually.”
“The movie just started.”
I turn to face him. “Don’t pretend you aren’t eager to spend time alone with Bea.”
“Why would I want time alone with Bea?”
Laughing, I open the tub of cookie dough. “I’m not a fool, Henry.”
“Then I guess that makes me one, because I have no idea what you’re getting at.”
I slam the container onto the counter. “Really? That’s the way you want to play this?”
“You still think I have a thing for your sister?”
“I think you have a thing for women.” The microwave dings, and I pull the bag out. Stream rises from the seam, and I let it dissipate before pulling it open.
“I would never sleep with Bea.”
I empty the popcorn into another bowl. “What’s wrong with Bea?”
“For one thing, she’s your sister.”
“I didn’t realize you had standards.”
“Yeah, I’m aware.” He stares at the floor and rubs the back of his neck.
“Exactly how long did it take you after London? The next day? That night? Did you even bother changing the sheets?”
Henry crosses his arms again and narrows his eyes at me. “Three months.”
“Three months what?”
“Three months before I had sex with anyone.”
I bark out a laugh. “Right. Okay. I wouldn’t believe you if you said anything longer than a week.” I crumple the popcorn bag and toss it into the bin.
“It’s the truth.”
“London was three months ago, genius. So unless you’re about to confess to sleeping with my sister after all, I don’t believe you.” Grabbing a spoon, I use it to scoop out a ball of cookie dough.
“I had sex with you five days ago.”
I stop scooping, my hand frozen. The lump from my stomach has moved to my throat. I try to swallow it. It doesn’t budge.
He takes a tiny step closer. “I knew one time with you would ruin all other women for me.” Another step. “I was right.”
I hold up the spoon. “Don’t. Move.” It’s only a whisper.
“I haven’t been with anyone since you.”
“And I’m a two-headed horse. I’m not stupid, Henry!” I throw the utensil into the sink and spin around.
He’s right there, right in the space where I want to be, and then his hands are cradling my face, and they feel so good, so right.
I know I should push him away, but his touch is exactly what I’ve been craving, and I want his words to be the truth even though I know I’d have a higher chance of winning the lottery.
My nausea grows stronger. I place both palms on his chest and shove. He goes easily, as if he was expecting it. “Don’t you dare say things like that to me,” I tell him.
“Just because you don’t want to hear them doesn’t mean they’re not true.”
“Fuck you, Henry.” I whirl out of the kitchen before he can see the tears that have already formed in my eyes.