19. “Firestone” - Kygo Conrad Sewell
“Firestone” - Kygo + Conrad Sewell
There are a few places on earth I’d prefer not to go if given the choice. The spa is one of them. But when I wake to the soles of my feet hurting even more than they did yesterday, I don’t have a lot of options.
Roberts & Co. arranges for me to have the spa to myself for an hour-long massage, and while I don’t relish the thought of a stranger putting their hands all over my naked body, I do relish being able to walk. If I don’t do something about these weird pains soon, that might not be an option anymore.
The receptionist has a small Christmas tree on her desk. It’s white with pink ornaments and doesn’t look the least bit like a Christmas tree should, but even that small symbol of holiday cheer feels good after the Scrooge wasteland I’ve been living in.
Once I’ve stripped down and wrapped a towel around myself, she leads me down a corridor, stopping outside the sauna.
“I think there’s been a mistake,” I say. “I booked a massage, not the steam room.”
Her ever-present smile doesn’t falter. “The sauna is included in all of our packages. It helps you relax those muscles before the massage.”
I debate whether to stand here and explain to her that sweating does not relax my muscles but decide it will probably be faster to just do what she says. Opening the door, I step into the inferno. I startle when I realize my sister is already inside.
Her eyes fly open as I enter. “I thought you hated the spa,” she says.
“I do,” I grumble, and take a seat against the wall.
Since catching her with Henry, followed by that atrocious game night, I’ve managed to avoid her. She spent the weekend with Mum at the Carlton, so it wasn’t too difficult. If I weren’t already naked under this towel, I’d turn around and leave, sore feet be damned.
I was looking forward to spending the holidays with Bea, and now I can barely stand to be in the same room as her. Maybe it’s time to act like an adult.
“How’s Rhett doing?” I ask. “You never said if he’s able to come for a visit or not.”
She drops her gaze. “He’s not.”
“Everything good between you two?” Maybe he also found out about her fling with Henry.
My sister’s smile is as fake as plastic, and I can see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “No, actually. He broke up with me.”
“Bea, I’m so sorry. I know he meant a lot of you.”
“Yeah, he did.” She sniffs and wipes at her nose. “Turns out he just wanted my fame to help him reach his own.”
The bastard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
A garbled laugh floats across the steam-filled room. “I tried to when he started acting strange, but you said you were too busy for me.”
The vision of her tear-streaked and standing outside Henry’s office flashes through my memory. “I’m sorry, Bea. I had no idea.”
She shrugs. “I’m not upset anymore. I just wish I hadn’t gone to Henry instead.”
Oh god. This is it. Can I still make a run for it? I really don’t want to hear about her rendezvous with Henry.
“He was great, of course. Told me I was beautiful and that Rhett was a jerk. Held me while I cried.” She swipes at the tears hanging in her eyelashes. “But then I had to make a fool of myself.”
The ever-present nausea churns in my gut.
“I tried to kiss him—because I’m an idiot—and he pushed me away. Said he cares about me but could never see me that way. And that’s about the time I almost died from mortification. Hence the real reason I decided to stay with Mum. I get stupid around him.”
I try to swallow down the bile. You and me both. “He knows he’s not good enough for you.”
She sighs. “He can’t love me like that.”
“Or anyone, for that matter.”
“Come on, Celia. Please tell me you are not still blind where he’s concerned.”
“If by blind you mean realistic,” I say, “then yes I am.”
“I was here all of three minutes before it was painfully obvious how he feels about you.”
I adjust my towel, which is nearly soaked by now. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. We tried that before, and I discovered it was nothing but a game to him.”
“Trust me. It’s not a game to him.”
“I hate to play the older sister card, but you really have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Bea rolls her eyes. “One of these days you’ll realize I’m smarter than you think.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” I say with a smirk.
“And maybe someday I’ll find a guy who’s not a jerk.”
“Of course you will.” I move over to sit beside her and wrap my arm around her. “You’ve got plenty of time.”
“I’m not like you, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re strong and independent. You don’t need a man to make you feel beautiful.”
I give an awkward chuckle and remove my arm from her shoulders. “It’s too hot in here to touch,” I say, moving back to my original spot. “You know, independent or not, I’m just as susceptible to being wrecked by a guy as the next girl.”
“Then you do a better job of hiding it than me.”
“Um, were you there when I got back from London?”
She straightens and smooths the towel on her lap. “Okay, good point. But either way, you’ve inspired me to become Beatrice 2.0.”
“Ah. And what is she like?”
“For starters, she doesn’t need a man’s approval to feel good about herself.”
I give her a small smile. “That’s great, Bea. Truly.”
“And she doesn’t get upset when people don’t do or say what she expects.”
“Maybe you are smarter than I gave you credit for.”
She grins. “Told you. Oh, by the way, I’m going to stay with Mum for the rest of my holiday.”
I glance up from where I’ve been tracing lines on the tile with my toes. “What?”
“She begged me, and I thought it might be nice after all.” Bea’s dainty shoulders lift in a shrug. “I think she’s lonely.”
“But—” All I can think is that the last time we were in this room, my mother blasted away every positive image I had of her. “But what about what she told us?”
Bea looks completely unconcerned. “Ever since then, I feel like she’s a real person, rather than this statue of perfection.”
“She cheated on Dad, Bea.”
“I know. But we all make mistakes. It was a long time ago, and we don’t know the circumstances. She said she was sorry, and I chose to forgive her.” Bea crosses her legs, the picture of poise in spite of the heat.
“You chose to forgive her? Just like that?”
“What’s the point of holding on to it?”
“She needs to know that what she did was wrong.”
Her forehead wrinkles. “But she does know that. It’s eaten at her for years.”
“I don’t understand how you can just forget about what she did,” I say.
“I could choose to hang on to this, sure. But all that will do is keep me from enjoying a relationship with my mum. And personally, I hate grudges. They’re total buzzkills.” Bea rewraps her towel around herself and walks to the door. “I know she hopes you will come to the same conclusion.”
She leaves, and all I can think is, No way in hell.