12. Lenora
12
LENORA
“S o, this is the master bedroom.” Honor leads the way into a spacious but warm space, her low heels clicking on the polished wood floors.
Considering her fiancé's net worth, their home is a surprise. I thought for sure he was the type to build some contemporary monstrosity in the middle of the woods and post guards every ten feet along the perimeter, but Julian Ballard went a different direction. Presumably following Honor’s fond recollection of time spent at our grandparents’ home, he bought it for her.
It’s been years since our mom’s parents sold it and even longer since we spent much time here, but the place is more or less the same. The old colonial stands at the end of a quiet, tree-lined street, surrounded by a sprawling yard. There’s a patio out back and a tire swing hanging by a rope. It’s the kind of house that looks like it should be covered in a layer of fluffy snow, with a Christmas tree glittering in the window and kids’ boots lined up to dry in front of a fire.
“So, are you pregnant yet?”
Honor scowls at me, but I don’t miss the flush rising over her cheeks. “No.” She holds up the glass of wine in her hand impatiently. “I know your maternal instincts are nonexistent, but drinking alcohol while pregnant is generally frowned upon.”
I shrug, unperturbed by this comment. “You have maternal instincts enough for the both of us. Which is why I’m surprised Ballard hasn’t sealed the deal. I thought he was in it to win it.”
“This looks pretty in it to win it to me,” offers Sophie, peering past Honor to admire the bedroom. “It really is gorgeous, Honor.”
My sister beams, her annoyance with me forgotten. “Julian gave me free rein with the decorating, but I made him help me with the paint colors. I’m really not sold on the wallpaper in the closet, though…”
She and Sophie wander through the doorway to my grandmother’s old walk-in closet, and I sigh, turning back toward the stairs instead. Dad and Julian seem to have developed a truce of sorts and get along well enough despite the multitude of awkward pitfalls to be had in such a relationship. I find the two of them sitting five feet apart on the couch, their eyes glued to the golf tournament playing on TV.
“You’re going to be wallpapering the master bedroom closet again,” I warn Julian, sinking onto the farthest end of the sectional from the two men. “Prepare yourself.”
My future brother-in-law chuckles, apparently unbothered. “I appreciate the heads up.”
Sure enough, footsteps sound from upstairs, and moments later, Sophie and Honor emerge in the living room. “The wallpaper has to go,” reports Honor with a sigh, rounding the couch to sink down beside Julian. “It’s way too dark in there. Sophie agrees.”
He wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, kissing her temple without taking his eyes off the game. “Whatever you want.”
“You see?” demands Sophie, perching herself on the end of the sofa beside my father and glowering down at him playfully. “ That is an acceptable response. Meanwhile, when I suggest changing one tiny thing?—”
Dad scoffs. “You suggested painting original wood, darling. I love you, but a man has to draw the line somewhere.”
If Holden were here, he would help me mock them for being so mushy and besotted. I can imagine the look he would give me, and the warm, cozy feeling of knowing whose eyes I would meet whenever someone in my family does something ridiculous. That’s not weird, is it? To wish he was here?
“Is Mom coming to the engagement party?” I ask Honor, eager to spark a conversation that distracts me from the mess of emotions I’m experiencing toward Dad’s business partner.
She grimaces. “She and Glenda are insisting on throwing us a party there, too. So we have to go up to Denver next month. And by we , I mean you too.”
“I’m going to be sick that day.”
Honor gives me a look. “Mom will be salty. You never visit.”
Yeah, because Mom’s new self-discovery phase is exhausting. You can’t be a neurotic, Type-A tax attorney the entirety of your children’s lives, only to change the game when they’re adults and expect them to magically fit into this new family dynamic. Our parents, bless them, raised us to be overachievers. Now, Mom is a meditating, lesbian blueberry farmer, and Dad is probably getting ready to go for a round two family with his decidedly not type-A girlfriend.
I sigh. “Let’s put it this way. I would rather drive back to New York, lick a subway seat, and undoubtedly contract some kind of flesh-eating plague than go to Denver.” This statement is followed with a look that dares Honor to try me. My sister purses her lips but doesn’t argue as she sinks back into the couch, curling closer to Julian.
In my pocket, my phone vibrates.
Holden: Is your thing done yet?
Family dinner? No. It is eternal. I will die here, listening to Honor question her decorating decisions and the last thing I will see in this life is Dad checking out Sophie’s ass when she gets up to pee.
Holden: Sneak out. I’ll pick you up.
I feel myself smiling as I glance up at the happy couples, both of whom are wholly consumed in each other and not paying me any attention at all. Dad and Honor will give me shit for it, but that seems worth it for spending the evening getting fucked by Holden instead of this .
Holden: What’s the address? I’ll text you when I’m close.
I tell him, and relax back onto the couch, much more cheerful than I was a moment ago. Only ten minutes later, just as Dad and Honor are beginning to discuss getting dinner started, my phone buzzes again.
Holden: If you walk down the driveway, you’ll see me.
Suppressing a grin with difficulty, I push to my feet with a stretch. Nobody asks where I’m going as I head for the back hallway, bypassing the bathroom door and slipping out into the garage. Honor’s fancy new SUV, which appears to be bullet proof, is parked there beside Julian’s electric car, and I stroll past both of them. As I push open the side door, however, I encounter an unexpected obstacle.
“Oh.” I blink dumbly at the security guy standing beside the structure. He’s dressed all in black, the outfit complete with a tactical belt, combat boots, intimidating muscles, and a close-cropped haircut.
He stares back at me, unsmiling. “Can I help you, Miss Vogel?”
“I’m sneaking out, actually. If they ask, will you let them know?”
The man looks like he wants to say something, but I brush past him, strolling down the same driveway where Honor and I used to ride our scooters and draw obstacle courses in chalk. My leg, which is more sore than usual since I started leaving my cane at home, throbs as I stop at the bottom of the hill.
Sure enough, Holden’s old pickup is pulled over a little ways up the street. It takes some serious effort to compose my expression as I approach, and it all goes to hell when I meet his eyes through the window. As I pull open the door and hop up on the long bench seat beside him, there is no hiding my smile.
“Princess,” he says by way of greeting, and my insides flutter as he wraps a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me in to meet his lips. I melt, my hands flying to his chest as we kiss slowly.
God, he tastes so good.
“Thank you for picking me up,” I pant, feeling a little flushed when we finally break apart. “Do I finally get to see where you live?”
Holden’s lips curve in a sly smile as he releases me and faces forward, his hand moving to turn the keys in the ignition. “Yes. You do. Though, I have to admit, I thought my days of sneaking women out of their parents’ houses were behind me.”
“Sister’s house,” I correct as I pull on my seatbelt. “Ballard is probably going to commission a naked portrait of her to hang in every room. That suggests ownership in my mind.”
Holden makes a noise like the crack of a whip, and I laugh, relaxing back into my seat as he pulls away from the curb, heading back into the more populated part of the city. I expect him to head straight to his house, which he mentioned is a few streets over from my father’s.
Instead, he pulls off. “We need to make a stop first.”
I stare out the window, watching as we drive onto a neat suburban street lined with cozy Victorian-style homes all painted different colors and surrounded by various combinations of fencing or shrubbery. It’s still early enough that a few kids are playing on the sidewalks, and one man is mowing his lawn, the low rumble carrying through Holden’s closed windows.
“Where are we going exactly?” I ask hesitantly as we park just outside a pale green house at the end of the street. It’s all lit up, and as I watch, a little girl bursts through the front door, running full tilt around the back of the garage and out of sight.
“It’s my college roommate’s birthday,” Holden tells me mildly, already turning off the truck. “His wife is throwing him a small party, and I said I’d go. We don’t need to stay long.”
“Oh.” I fiddle with the hem of my skirt, thrown off by this unexpected turn of events. Holden and I haven’t done anything even close to attending an old friend’s dinner party together. This is the kind of thing you do with someone you’re with , not someone you’re just fucking. “Do you want me to wait in the car?”
Holden shoots me an exasperated look. “Are you serious, Leni? Jesus. No. Come on, you’ll like them.”
Still reeling, I watch as he leans down to retrieve a bottle of wine from a bag on the floor. Before I can reach for the handle, he catches my wrist, and when I look back at him, my stomach flips at the intensity of his stare. “For the record, this isn’t something I do with other women.”
Without another word, and apparently unbothered by my gobsmacked expression, he gets out of the car and rounds the hood to my side to open my door.
We don’t say a single thing to each other as he guides me through the white picket fence gate and up to the aged wood front door. He’s barely rung the bell before it’s thrown open, and I find myself looking at a woman not much older than me, with wild, nearly black curls and a warm smile.
“Hi, Holden! How are you?” She beams, leaning in for a brief hug and taking the wine before turning her attention to me. “And you must be Leni! I’ve heard so much about you!”
What is happening?
“Len, this is Jo,” Holden informs me casually, indicating the dark-haired woman—Jo, apparently.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I blurt out, staring past her into the hall, which is lined on one side by jam-packed, floor-to-ceiling bookcases and on the other by an eclectic assortment of art.
She steps back to let us inside, and I stare around, my heart beating a little too quickly given the circumstances. Jazz music is playing quietly over a speaker somewhere, and the house smells like an unknown but delicious food. The entire space is worn but cozy and welcoming, and I start when the door clatters open behind me, knocking into my back as the small girl I saw earlier reenters the house.
“Zoe!” gasps Jo, eyes round and apologetic. “Can you apologize to our new friend, Leni? You knocked right into her!”
The girl, who has slightly lighter hair than her mother and wide, pale blue eyes, stares up at me and Holden, expressionless. “Sorry. You shouldn’t stand in front of a door, though,” she says, completely deadpan, before racing off up the wooden stairs to our left.
I can’t help but laugh. “It’s fine,” I assure Jo, “no harm done.”
She sighs heavily, shaking her head. “We’re working on apologies. Please! Come in! You’re the first ones here.”
We follow her down the hall into a combined kitchen and dining room. Food is steaming on the stove, and an assortment of appetizers is arranged on platters on the kitchen table. A man, who is nearly as tall as Holden, with graying, light brown hair, is pulling a bottle of something out of the fridge.
His eyes flick from me, then up to Holden, a smile spreading over his face. “You brought her!” he says, his voice colored by a thick French accent.
“I brought her,” Holden confirms, settling his hand on my waist. “Len, this is Ellis Delvaux. We went to Weston together.”
“Can I get you anything to drink?” he asks, gesturing to the selection of wine and liquor arranged on one corner of the counter.
His wife moves forward, holding up the bottle Holden handed her. “They brought wine.”
Ellis takes it, his smile turning to a playful scowl as he reads the label. “Italian wine? On my birthday, Holden?”
“Tradition is tradition,” Holden replies with an easy laugh. “You’ll remember the first time, I stole it for you. Risking incarceration is true friendship, sir, and don’t you forget it.”
“Yes, yes.” Ellis rolls his eyes good-naturedly, reaching into a drawer for a bottle opener. “It wasn’t at all for personal gain. Purely out of the goodness of your heart. Ask him how much of that bottle he drank, Leni.”
I feel myself smiling as I look up at him, put at ease by the casual, friendly couple. “How much of that bottle did you drink, Holden?”
He scoffs. “Half. Ish .”
All four of us laugh.
“Tell us about yourself, Leni,” asks Jo from her place in front of the stove, beaming at me over her shoulder.
So, I tell her.
At some point, Holden and Ellis wander off to meet another group at the door, but I stay in the kitchen with Jo, busying myself with arranging the cocktail napkins in a spiral formation. She nudges me with her elbow.
“He came to dinner last week and wouldn’t stop talking about you.”
I bite my lip, keeping my gaze on the napkins. There is no denying the way her words make me feel, no way to explain away the butterflies that erupt at the thought of these new, complicated feelings not being totally unreciprocated. We hadn’t even slept together last week. “It’s complicated,” I admit at last.
Jo snorts, shaking her head as she taps her wooden spoon against the side of the pan. “I definitely know complicated.”
“Yeah?”
She glances at me, a slight smirk curving her lips. “Ellis and I fell in love when we were living in France for a year. I went as his nanny and came home as his wife.”
I feel my eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “So, you’re not…”
“Zoe’s mother?” She shakes her head. “No. I’m not. Her biological mother isn’t super involved, unfortunately, so I try to fill that gap as best I can.”
Something tells me she succeeds.
Jo waves away the conversation, an eager glint in her eye. “Anyway. Less about me. I’m boring and married now. Are you guys together, or…”
That’s a really good question. I fiddle with the kitchen cabinet knob and make a noncommittal noise. “It’s still really new. I thought it was supposed to be a sex only thing, but that’s not what it feels like. It would just be such a shit show. He and my father are business partners.”
Jo is beaming at me, not put off by this in the least. “Ellis works for my mother. Next excuse?” She pushes off the counter as the new arrivals come toward us down the hall, talking loudly. “I went through all this, Leni. Trust me. Giving in is so, so worth the shit show.”
Despite his claims that we don’t have to stay long, Holden and I stay at the Delvaux home until nearly midnight. At one point, Jo disappeared to put Zoe to bed, then came down while Ellis went up. After that, we sat around the kitchen table with their eclectic assortment of friends, drinking Italian wine and playing a card game that made me laugh so hard I cried.
Jo and I exchange numbers and hug before we finally go, promising to get together again soon, while Holden and Ellis try to appear less pleased about the entire situation.
“Come here,” he murmurs in my ear when the door closes behind us, scooping me up into his arms, right on the front walk.
I yawn, looping my arms around his neck. “I’m very capable of walking twenty yards to the car.”
My heart flutters when he presses his lips to my temple. “I know you’re capable, Lenora. Let me take care of you, anyway.”
His chest is warm and solid and smells exactly as I knew it would. Somewhere in the past few weeks, the scent of him has burrowed into my subconscious and become a familiar, comforting thing. Probably because Holden makes me feel good.
“We’re in big trouble, huh?” I yawn again, pressing my face into his neck.
He kisses my temple before setting me back on my feet in front of the car. “I’ve been in big trouble for a while, Len.”