Chapter 13
13
T here’s a knock on the door while I’m deciding on which shade of lipstick to wear.
I pause deliberations between tubes to go answer the door. Charlie said he’d pick me up at eight, and it’s only seven forty-five. I was planning to meet him in the lobby, not have him come up to the door, but I wouldn’t put it past him to be early and come upstairs to ambush me. Charlie seems to enjoy catching me off guard. Or maybe he’s just naturally talented at it.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about him, it’s to expect the unexpected. After a resounding victory—my only consolation was that he beat Tripp and Theo as handily as he did me—Charlie didn’t even gloat.
He handed his helmet off to one of the pit crew, told me he’d pick me up at eight, said something to Theo’s Irish friend, and then … left. Leaving lots of raised eyebrows and curious glances behind.
When I open the door to my hotel room, there’s no sign of Charlie.
Chloe’s the one standing in the hallway. She whistles long and low when she sees my outfit.
I fiddle with my Cartier bracelet. “Too much?”
“You said you didn’t want to go on this date. That somehow turned into you wanting him to fuck you before you make it to the restaurant?”
I roll my eyes at Chloe’s dramatics as I step aside so she can enter. I’m down to twelve minutes to debate between pink and red. “I brought limited options.”
This also happens to be the shortest, lowest-cut dress I packed. I want Charlie to get a good look at what he walked away from.
If he’s going to manipulate me into going out with him, I’m damn sure going to make him regret that decision.
“And earlier, you told me I couldn’t use your wedding tomorrow as an excuse not to go … so I feel like you should have limited input on what I’m allowed to wear.”
Chloe flops onto my bed and rests her chin in her hands. “Bridget said you guys kissed at JoJo’s party.”
I snort, imagining Gigi’s reaction to being called JoJo. “Yeah. So?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Ri- ght ,” she drawls. “That bet seemed super casual.”
“It’s just a date, Chlo. Actually, I’m not even sure it counts as one since I was coerced into it.”
“Coerced?” She snorts. “If you didn’t want to go, you wouldn’t be going, whether or not I approved of an excuse.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him. If it makes you feel better, I probably would have mentioned it at some point, and I definitely would have said something sooner if I had known he’d be coming to your wedding .” I give her a pointed look.
“He was on Theo’s half of the guest list. I didn’t ask for details about every name.”
“How well do they know each other?” I ask.
Chloe sits up. “Not that well. Theo said they hung out a few times at university, but that his mom was the one who insisted on inviting him to the wedding.”
“His mom? Why?”
She rolls off the bed and strides toward me. “Because the Marlboroughs are a big deal here, Lili. Theo says, even before Charles inherited the title, everyone treated him like a god. Now, he’s one of the most powerful men in England. That hotel we went to in London? His family owns it. When it got out he was coming to the wedding, several other schedules mysteriously cleared. Just … be careful.”
I raise an eyebrow in the mirror where I was doing my makeup. “You think I can’t handle him?”
“I think he’s a guy who doesn’t get attached.”
I spray on some perfume. It’s a bottle Mom gives me for my birthday each year, the kind I only use on special occasions. I brought it for Saturday, but one spritz tonight won’t hurt. “Do you remember when we talked last August while I was at Atlantic Crest? I told you I’d met a guy named Charlie?”
“The one you couldn’t find later, yeah.” The pieces click together on Chloe’s face. She gasps. “Wait … that was him?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he remember you?”
“I think so. I pretended not to know him though.”
She laughs. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know.”
It’s not a complete lie. I might have been harboring some residual anger about the insults I’d overheard, but I was mostly just … stunned to see him standing with Asher. And knowing Chloe, if I confided the full truth, I’m sure it would end with her storming downstairs to tell Charlie off. I’ve forgiven him—mostly—so that’d be totally unnecessary.
A glance at the clock makes my heart speed up double time. Five minutes to eight.
I pick up the red lipstick, slicking a layer across my bottom lip, then my upper one, blotting carefully before dropping the black tube in my Birkin.
I make sure I have my phone and my room key, then blow a kiss to Chloe. “Have a good night.”
“You too.” Chloe’s smile is sly as she follows me out into the hallway.
And into the elevator.
“Please tell me you’re not escorting me to the lobby.”
Her shrug is sheepish. “Hugo suggested we meet for dinner at eight …”
I groan, resting my head back against the wall as the elevator descends. “Are you kidding me?”
They were all there when Charlie announced what time he was picking me up. I should have been more suspicious about their conspicuous lack of nosiness, aside from Chloe showing up at my room, and seen it as a warning sign, but I was too busy—and nervous—getting ready.
My friends’ lack of boundaries has never bothered me much before. We’re a close-knit crew, and I appreciate knowing they always have my back.
Tonight? Tonight, I would appreciate some subtlety.
“If it helps, I said it was a bad idea.”
“Bridget and Fran went along with it?”
Chloe’s lips twitch. “Bridget said she wanted to see him in a suit. Fran was, uh, napping.”
I sigh as the elevator doors slide open. He’d better be wearing a suit. Otherwise, I’m tragically overdressed. If Charlie’d stuck around the track, I would have asked where we were going on our date. Since he didn’t, I went full glam.
Jasper spots me exiting the elevator first, sticking two fingers in his mouth and letting out a loud wolf whistle. Cal, Tripp, Hugo, Fran, and Bridget turn in unison, their expressions ranging from delight (Fran) to disapproval (Cal).
A quick scan of the lobby reveals no sign of Charlie, which is a small relief. I can go wait outside and avoid this entire scene.
“Not cool, guys,” I call out, stalking past them. The tap of my heels against the hardwood floor emphasizes my annoyance nicely.
Bridget shouts after me, “You look hot, Lili!”
“Ask him where the fuck he learned to drive like that,” is Tripp’s contribution.
I hear Chloe hiss, “Could we not shout swears in the lobby of my wedding venue ?” before I step outside.
The sun is just setting, bathing the gravel driveway in golden light. I inhale a deep breath that tastes like honeysuckle, stopping just past the second set of columns. I glance back at the red-brick building, the brilliance of the sunset blinding in the reflection of the windows.
Crunching gravel makes me spin back around. Instead of the town car I’m expecting, the same black Mercedes bus that’s shuttled our group around this week is stopping in front of the door I just walked out of. Blake climbs out, giving me a respectful nod, then slides the back door open.
I know what’s about to take place before it does: the loud boom of Tripp’s baritone announcing his imminent arrival.
Another car is driving up the long, tree-lined driveway. I have a sinking suspicion it means Bridget will get her wish after all. My friends are making the short walk from the stairs to the bus last as long as possible, their attention fixed on the same place mine is.
Butterflies wreak havoc in my stomach as I suddenly become extremely self-conscious. I swap my bag between hands. Tug at the hem of my dress to ensure it’s falling straight. Clear my throat. Tuck my hair behind one ear and second-guess my decision to wear it down when I realize he’s driving a convertible.
Charlie navigates around the bus easily, then stops right in front of me.
My nerves continue to duplicate as he climbs out of the driver’s side, tossing the keys in the air and catching them easily. His attention is all mine. Charlie ignores my gawking friends fifteen feet away, giving me a once-over that makes my thighs clench tight.
He’s wearing a suit. I’ve seen him in a suit before. The first, second, and third time we met. At the Red, White, and Blue party.
But none of those times were when he was picking me up on a date.
That makes a difference, if you ask my sweaty palms.
My heart trips over itself as Charlie approaches me, a confident smirk pulling up one corner of his mouth. I have no idea why he changed his end of the bet to a date. One he was certain he’d win.
Charles Marlborough is a heartbreaker. A gorgeous, charming player who’s apparently considered a god in this country.
But that’s fine. I only want him for one night.
He stops a couple of feet away. “You look good, Lili.”
His intense stare makes me feel like a fly stuck in honey. I know I can—will—work my way out of it. But for now, I’m stuck. And I’m okay with that because it tastes sweet.
“I always look good, Charlie.”
His smirk transforms into a full grin. “Glad you recovered from your case of amnesia.”
I glare at him. “I did. And I remembered I already had plans tonight, so …” My voice trails off as he leans over and procures a bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat.
I think I hear a distant sigh. Probably Bridget, the eternal romantic.
“Couldn’t ruin tradition,” Charlie tells my surprised expression, holding the bouquet out to me.
I take it reluctantly. They’re beautiful, each blossom in full bloom. “You bringing me flowers once does not make it a tradition.”
“Twice,” he corrects, opening the passenger door. “Let’s go.”
The warning bells Chloe was trying to ring earlier finally chime to life. Not because Charlie’s being bossy or demanding—which he’s already managed in less than a minute—but because the butterflies are still flapping around. I’m giddy in a way I’ve never experienced before. On other dates, I always felt comfortable and in control. And it was nice, but not very exciting.
“You don’t have a driver?” I ask. Aside from at the track earlier, I can’t remember the last time I was in a vehicle that didn’t have a professional driver.
Charlie shakes his head. “I like to drive. Promise to keep it under two hundred miles per hour this time.”
“How reassuring,” I mumble as I climb into the seat.
It’s surprisingly soft, the leather supple yet supportive. I don’t know enough about cars to tell anything about this one, but Theo—who does know a lot about cars, I learned today—has clear envy on his face as he stares at the green convertible.
I avoid looking at anyone else as Charlie hands me the flowers and then closes the car door.
I finger one of the delicate petals as he rounds the front of the car, lifting one hand in a quick wave, which is the only acknowledgment of our audience. The black bus passes us by a few seconds later, taking my friends to their dinner.
“Where are we going?” I ask once he’s settled in the driver’s seat.
“You’ll see.”
His vague response prompts an equal amount of exasperation and excitement.
I’ve never been on a date where I didn’t know where we were going. Cal would always run plans by me ahead of time, knowing I liked to think out my outfits. Lawrence, the lawyer I briefly dated in Chicago, sent me multiple options for me to choose from.
Thinking about my exes is not what I should be doing right now though, even if I’m still not sure a bet makes this an actual date. Charlie gets points for the suit, the flowers, and showing up on time, but for all I know, his vagueness is because he didn’t plan anything at all.
I open my handbag and start digging through it, hoping a hair tie is hiding in one of the pockets. Real date or not, I spent way too long on my hair to have the wind turn it into a snarled mess.
“What are you doing?” Charlie asks.
“Looking for a hair tie,” I answer.
He leans toward me. I inhale quickly in response to his close proximity, the sudden closeness catching me off guard. Then inhale again because he smells incredible.
He opens the glove box and rummages through some papers, and then his hand emerges with a pink hair tie. “Turn your head toward the window.”
I raise an eyebrow.
Charlie raises one right back.
I look away.
His touch is gentle as he pulls my hair over my shoulders and combs through the strands with his fingers before braiding it faster than I could. He snaps the elastic into place, then releases my hair.
I brush the plait before I turn back around, impressed by the neat ridges. “You keep hair ties in your car?” My tone falls far short of casual, which is what I was aiming for.
Rather than reply, he starts the car.
I watch his hand shift deftly. Some of his dominance on the track earlier makes more sense.
“Are you jealous?” he asks once we’re rolling down the driveway.
Not as a taunt, more like he’s really wondering.
Which makes the fact that I am jealous- ish that much worse. It would bother me, if the convertible and the flowers and the perfect braid are all a routine he’s trotted out for a long line of women before me. It is bothering me.
“Curious,” I say. “Is it a British thing?”
Charlie shifts again. We left Carys Park and are speeding along the main paved road.
“It’s a little-sister thing,” he finally replies. “Blythe always complained about her hair whenever I drove her around. Tried to ride in the bloody boot one time. Drove me bonkers, so I stuck those in there.”
A thousand tries, and I never would have guessed that. I assumed—wrongly—that Charlie was an only child based on his brooding superiority. The image of him as a doting big brother is harder to picture.
A reminder I hardly know this man, even if we feel far from strangers.
“Do you have other siblings?” I ask. “Besides Blythe?”
Charlie’s knuckles turn white on the steering wheel when I say her name, like maybe he didn’t mean to mention it. “No. It’s just us two.”
Just us two has a protective emphasis. Recalling what little else I know about Charlie’s family, I realize he’s not just talking about siblings. His father is dead. His mother lives in New York. I’ve seen her from a distance twice—at Number 34 and at Atlantic Crest. But I’ve never spoken to her.
“Blythe taught you how to braid hair?”
He pauses before answering, “Yes,” like it’s a difficult question to answer. “Or”—his grip tightens on the wheel again, eyes never wavering from the road—“more like I taught her.”
It’s another glimpse—a small glimpse—into a side of Charlie I doubt many people get to see.
“She’s lucky to have you,” I say softly.
Charlie swallows, the most self-conscious I’ve ever seen him. I don’t think he knows what to say.
“I would have been more impressed if you’d done a French braid,” I add, steering the conversation into lighter territory.
“If you wanted a French braid, you should have agreed to date a Frenchman.”
“I didn’t agree to date you. I lost a bet.”
“A bet you’d agreed to.”
I can’t come up with a quick counterpoint, and Charlie chuckles under his breath.
“You couldn’t just say thank you , could you?”
“Thank you,” I say primly.
“You’re welcome. Figured it was fair since you put so much bloody effort into your appearance to impress me.”
“I’m not trying to impress you.”
“Whatever you say, love.”
I scowl, but it’s only to hide my smile.
We’re back to bickering. But it also feels like something has shifted between us, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.