Chapter 7
7
KATE
‘I feel like I’m going to be sick,’ I murmur to myself.
We’re walking to Willem’s house and the closer we get, the more intensely my stomach roils with nerves. I shouldn’t have had that second stroopwafel . Or the first.
Margot stops me with a hand on my arm. ‘ Actual sick or…?’
‘No, it’s just… Margot, what the hell am I doing?’
‘You are saving another woman from Arseface’s evil clutches,’ she replies earnestly.
‘Right,’ I say, setting off again. I check Google Maps on my phone. Two minutes. In two minutes, I’ll be confronted with Jon’s other fiancée. Gah!
I’ve taken extra care with my appearance today, telling myself that if I look good, I’ll feel good. That’s been about as effective as making tea in a chocolate teapot. An outfit – even a favourite one – only has so much power.
Even so, it can’t hurt that I’ve made an effort. I’m wearing dark-wash jeans, my one-shouldered slouchy top that Margot declared ‘sexy AF’, and heeled boots for an added boost – both literally and metaphorically. My hair behaved itself this morning and beachy waves fall to my mid back, and thanks to exhaustion and a decent bed, I slept well and my skin looks glorious.
If only I felt glorious.
We arrive at a terrace house with a dark-green door and I double check the street number, then turn to Margot.
‘Ready?’ I ask.
‘Are you ?’
‘No.’
I turn and knock on the door. Moments later, there’s the sound of heavy footsteps and a muffled, ‘Coming.’
Then Willem opens the door.
Involuntarily, I inhale sharply and behind me, Margot whispers, ‘Fuck me.’
I’d shush her if it wouldn’t be so obvious, but she’s right. In less than a second, I take in Willem’s appearance and OH. MY. GOD. I thought he was handsome the night we met…
He’s wearing faded, low-slung jeans, a well-worn T-shirt that drapes enticingly from his broad shoulders, and his feet are bare. His dark hair is still damp from the shower, his bright-blue eyes are creased at the corners, and (endearingly) he nicked himself shaving, a tiny spot of blood dotting his smooth, strong jawline.
Is it rude to swoon on a near-stranger’s doorstep?
‘ Hallo , hallo , come inside.’
He steps aside and I shimmy past him – it’s a very narrow entryway – emerging into a spacious combined lounge–dining–kitchen. At the rear of the room are floor-to-ceiling windows and a glass door that leads out to a small patio and a lush, compact garden with borders of daffodils. At the end of the garden is a free-standing structure that looks like it might be an office.
Willem closes the front door and we all look at each other for a moment before Margot steps closer, her hand extended.
‘Hi, I’m Margot – Kate’s cousin.’
‘Sorry!’ I say, embarrassed to have forgotten my manners. I did tell Willem that Margot was accompanying me, but I should have made the introduction. ‘Margot – Willem, Willem – Margot,’ I say redundantly.
Willem shakes her hand with a smile. I don’t know him very well – actually, barely at all – but he seems tense. Nervous even. Well, that makes two of us. It would make three of us if Margot ever felt uneasy about any situation ever.
‘Can I offer you something to drink?’ Willem asks, tilting his head towards the kitchen.
‘No thanks,’ I say, right as Margot replies, ‘Well, I see you have one of those fancy-pants coffee makers, and I could murder a latte.’
I could murder you , I think. This isn’t a social call. But as Margot pointedly avoids eye contact – she knows I’d scold her for being cheeky – Willem gets started on making her a coffee.
‘This is a beautiful house,’ I say, mostly to make conversation – although Willem’s house truly is something to behold.
‘Thank you,’ he replies, deftly handling the coffee machine. ‘This half belonged to my parents for many years – Adriana and I grew up here – and when they retired, they wanted to downsize, so I bought their house and the one next door and renovated both buildings. This level is now one home – the bedrooms and bathrooms are through there’ – he points to a large, wooden sliding door – ‘and I turned the upstairs of both buildings into apartments, which I rent out. And there’s a studio apartment at the back,’ he adds, nodding towards the structure at the end of the garden.
It’s an impressive undertaking and ordinarily, I’d like to learn more, but more pressing is Adriana’s whereabouts. Before I can ask, he starts heating the milk, filling the room with a screechy gurgle.
‘Uh, just wondering…’ I say when he turns off the milk steamer.
He glances over his shoulder, his brows lifted inquisitively.
‘Is Adriana here?’ I ask in a whisper.
He shakes his head. ‘She’s at yoga.’ He glances at the clock on the oven. ‘She’ll be home soon.’
The relief at being given a momentary reprieve is overshadowed by yet another revelation: Adriana and Willem live together, something I hadn’t expected.
Willem hands Margot her coffee. ‘Please, sit,’ he says, signalling for us to take a seat on the sofa.
I sit, but Margot doesn’t.
‘Actually,’ she says, pointing outside. ‘Would you mind if I had my coffee in your garden? I could use a moment to myself.’
‘ Margot ,’ I say through gritted teeth. For our entire lives, Margot has never once asked for a moment to herself – she’s the ultimate extravert. What is she up to?
‘Of course,’ Willem replies. ‘Just watch out for the money spiders. Ady hates them – she’s always walking through their webs in the morning – but I leave them alone because they’re supposed to bring good luck.’
Margot, the sceptic, grins up at him as if she believes in that sort of thing. ‘I’ll be careful.’
Still patently ignoring me, she excuses herself and heads out into the sunshine-filled garden, closing the glass door behind her. She’d better come back inside the moment Adriana gets home. That’s the whole point of her being here – to support me when I come face to face with Jon’s other fiancée.
And it’s obvious why she’s left me alone with Willem – she’s playing matchmaker, even though she’s well aware that romance is the last thing on my mind.
‘Are you sure I can’t make you a coffee?’ Willem asks, now back at the machine. ‘I’m having one.’
Our eyes meet for a second, sending a lightning bolt straight through me. Inconvenient timing for internal thunderstorms – not to mention inappropriate.
‘Oh, go on then,’ I say, ignoring the heat pooling between my legs. ‘I’ll have a latte. Same as Margot.’
I get up and go into the kitchen, sliding out a stool and sitting at the kitchen bench. While Willem grinds the beans for our coffees, I cast my eyes around the vast room, taking in more of the décor.
‘I like that,’ I say, pointing to a large rectangular artwork hanging on the exposed-brick wall.
Willem glances at it, then smiles. ‘I do too,’ he says, and I chuckle. ‘It’s actually a photograph.’
‘ No ,’ I say, peering at it more closely.
‘ Ja . It’s a close-up of that painting.’ He jerks his chin towards a painting on the opposite wall and I look between the two. ‘The bottom left corner – see?’
‘Hmm.’ I slip off the stool and walk over to the painting, my eyes roving its abstract details, then I cross to the photograph, scrutinising it.
‘Wowser,’ I say, mostly to myself. I straighten and return to my spot at the kitchen bench. ‘That’s quite the duo.’
‘I would like to have them side by side, but…’ He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to. There isn’t a wall that’s big enough to hang them both.
He finishes making two coffees and slides one towards me. He’s even made a heart design in the froth the way experienced baristas do.
‘Thanks,’ I say with a smile.
Willem sips from his mug and I do the same. It’s delicious – strong, but not burnt, hot, but not scalding…
Like Willem . The thought arrives without permission, and I shush it, annoyed at myself. Or maybe it’s just my mind trying to distract me.
‘So, Margot…’ Willem begins. ‘You felt like you need reinforcements?’
‘Reinforce— Uh, yes. I suppose so.’
I smile at him weakly, then sip my coffee, not wanting to explain further. Besides, I’m not sure he’d believe that I’d intended to come alone until Margot invited herself.
I look over and he’s still watching me, a glint of amusement in his eyes. He really needs to stop that. It’s unnerving.
And between his made-to-order coffees and Margot making herself at home, anyone would think we’re here for a friendly visit. Any moment now, he’ll put on a playlist and fire up the barbecue.
‘I understand,’ he says. For a moment, I’m not sure what he means, but then I realise we’re still talking about Margot. ‘I was shaking in my boots when I came to see you.’
‘You were not,’ I say, laughing spontaneously.
‘I was .’
I eye him disbelievingly, my mouth quirking at his wide-eyed, innocent look. ‘Mmm… like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth,’ I say with a suspicious shake of my head.
His eyebrows lift – he clearly gets that I’m teasing him.
‘Something’s just occurred to me…’ I say. ‘Your English – right down to the vernacular – it’s flawless .’
‘Thank you,’ he replies, as if he’s not sure it’s a compliment.
‘I mean it and you’re welcome. But why is that exactly? I know the Dutch study English at school but, seriously, yours is excellent.’
‘I did a student exchange to America in high school. A lot of Dutch people do. Ady did as well.’
‘Oh, wow. And where did you go?’
‘So-Cal, dude. I even learned how to surf,’ he replies with a remarkably good American accent. It makes me laugh again, easing the tension even further.
‘I suppose there’s not much opportunity for that in the Netherlands – surfing.’
‘You suppose correctly.’
‘And what about Ady? Where was her exchange?’
‘Chicago.’
‘Oh, I’ve always wanted to go there. I was obsessed with John Hughes films when I was a teenager. I had a massive crush on Ferris Bueller. I blame Margot for that – she led me astray, like always.’
He smiles.
‘And is it really like that – high school in America?’
‘Like it is in films?’
‘Yes,’ I say, propping my chin on my hand and leaning in.
He scrunches his nose – adorable (gah!) – and shakes his head. ‘It’s just normal. Although, I did like the pep rallies.’
‘Oh, I bet – the cheerleaders, especially.’
His eyes narrow. ‘I think you may have a distorted view of who I am, Kate,’ he says, his tone turning serious.
I’m about to backpedal when there’s the sound of a key in the lock. We both look towards the door, the air charged with anticipation.
Then I watch, mesmerised, as Adriana enters, a yoga-mat carrier and calico bag slung over her shoulder. She closes the door behind her and when she turns around and sees us, she stops, standing perfectly still.
She’s taller than I expected – at a guess, two or three inches taller than me – and her long, yellow-blonde hair is pulled up into a thick ponytail. She has a square-shaped jawline and pert nose, wide-set blue eyes, the same colour as Willem’s, full lips, and expertly arched, light-brown brows. Even without makeup, she’s beautiful.
Adriana reaches up to her ear and presses the stem of her earbuds to mute whatever she’s listening to.
‘ Hallo ,’ she says warily. To Willem, she says something in Dutch, her tone indicating that she’s less than impressed to find me here.
Wait until she learns who I am.
Willem replies, first in Dutch, then in English, which is clearly for my benefit. ‘Why don’t you get changed, then join us.’ This isn’t posed as a suggestion, more of an instruction, and Adriana’s terse expression sours even more.
‘I have things to do,’ she says pointedly. She storms off, swinging open the patio door and heading towards the studio. She doesn’t seem to notice Margot, who’s curled up on a rattan armchair at the edge of the patio.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ says Willem, standing. ‘I’ll be right back.’ He goes after his sister, crossing paths with Margot, who joins me inside, her face creased with confusion.
‘What happened?’ she asks. ‘Did you tell her who you are?’
‘We didn’t get that far,’ I reply, my eyes trained on Adriana’s door.
‘Well, one thing’s for sure – she’s even hotter than her brother.’
‘Margot!’ I chide, my head snapping in her direction.
‘Oh, don’t “Margot” me. I’m not apologising for stating the obvious.’
Before I can say anything more, shouting erupts from the studio. Unsurprisingly, it’s Adriana, and Willem’s low, rumbling voice fills the few silences between her rage-filled words.
‘We should go,’ I say, standing abruptly and sloshing coffee down the front of my jeans. Wonderful, now I look like I’ve wet myself.
‘We should stay ,’ says Margot, tugging on my hand.
I drop back onto the stool and we wait out the siblings’ argument in silence while I fish a tissue out of my jeans pocket and do my best to mop up the wet patch.
Eventually, Willem comes back inside. He lets out a heavy sigh, running his hands over his head and clasping them behind his neck, making his biceps bulge. Noticing this amid the mayhem makes me chuckle.
Realising my faux pas, I attempt to pass it off as a cough – unsuccessfully . Willem drops his hands, eyeing me curiously, and Margot looks over with a baffled expression.
‘Sorry,’ I tell them. ‘A little overcome by the absurdity of the situation.’ Another half-truth. I seem to be accruing them like crumpled tissues in a coat pocket.
‘It is very strange,’ Willem admits. ‘Maybe we should?—’
‘ Hallo .’
Three heads swivel towards the patio where Adriana lingers just outside the door, peering in at us with an inscrutable look on her face.
‘Hi,’ I say instinctively.
She studies me, her expression guarded, as she leans against the doorframe. ‘Willem tells me you claim to be engaged to Jon,’ she says evenly.
It stings, the accusation that I’m outright lying, but there’s a vulnerability in her eyes that softens my heart. She’s hurting, like I am.
‘That’s right,’ I reply.
‘You could be a friend , someone who’s willing to lie for him.’
‘Him who?’ asks Margot, and we all look to her. ‘Who do you think Kate’s lying for? Your brother or that conniving arsehole who’s screwed you both over?’
I sigh. If there were medals for anti-diplomacy, Margot would win gold.
‘Excuse me, but who are you?’ Adriana asks her – a fair question.
‘She’s my cousin,’ I reply before Margot can say something snarky. Well, snarkier . I shoot Margot my please-shut-your-mouth-this-instant look – one she is extremely familiar with – and she presses her lips together, contrite.
‘Look,’ I say, my attention back on Adriana. Her chin lifts and she openly meets my gaze, but I’m not fooled by the bravado. ‘When Willem came to me last Friday,’ I continue, ‘I was completely blindsided and, at first, I didn’t believe him either. I thought he’d got the wrong man… I thought perhaps you’d been engaged to Jon in the past… But when he told me about you and showed me evidence of Jon’s duplicity, I had no choice but to admit the truth. As hard as that was.’
She swallows hard and her eyes gloss with tears.
‘I promise that Willem hasn’t made this up and he hasn’t asked me to lie. This isn’t a ruse to break up you and Jon.’
I reach into my handbag and take out my phone, then open to the photo of me and Jon at Oblix, right after he proposed. We’re at our table, the lights of London visible behind us, and I’m holding up my left hand, the diamond ring glinting and both of us beaming. Without looking at the photo – it’s still too raw – I walk over and show it to Adriana.
‘You see, I really am engaged to the same man you are – Jon Dunn.’
‘AKA Arseface,’ Margot chimes in.
‘ Margot ,’ I say, spinning around and glaring at her.
‘ What? That’s his name,’ she states unapologetically. ‘Jon Arseface Dunn.’
There are several beats of silence, and my breath catches in my throat, then we all start laughing at once, even Adriana – albeit somewhat reluctantly.
When the laughter wanes, Willem crosses to his sister and gently rubs her arm. ‘Ady, I’m sorry for surprising you – with Kate, I mean – but I didn’t know what else to do.’
Adriana sniffs, then give him a tight-lipped smile. ‘I just didn’t want to believe it,’ she says with a shrug. Her tears start flowing, and she buries her face in his shoulder. He wraps her in a hug, his chin resting on her head and the muscles of his back straining against his T-shirt as he speaks to her in Dutch with a soothing tone.
I look away.
Amongst all the emotions coursing through me – including satisfaction at having helped Adriana accept the truth – what I can’t justify is my attraction to Willem. It’s terrible timing, for one thing, but it’s also horribly inappropriate considering the situation.
Eventually, he steps back and looks down at her, asking her something softly in Dutch. Probably if she’s okay.
She nods, then her gaze lands on me. She stares at me for a time, and I let her. I don’t mind because I’m as curious about her as she must be about me.
God, she really is very pretty – far prettier than me. And I know from Willem that she’s twenty-nine, teaches the Dutch equivalent of Year Four, has travelled extensively, and is fluent in three languages other than Dutch (English, French, and Spanish).
She’s beautiful, clever, accomplished…
No wonder Jon fell in love with her , I think with a sharp pang of jealousy.
Although, the jealousy doesn’t last. The logical side of my brain overrides it almost instantly. Because Adriana – or Ady, if she ever lets me call her that – is not my rival. I can tell, simply from the thoughtful way she’s regarding me, that I have a new ally in this, this… mess .
‘I want to ask you something,’ she says eventually.
‘Anything. And I mean that – ask me anything.’
She takes in a deep breath. ‘How did Jon propose?’
That’s not what I thought she was going to ask and my eyes widen in shock.
‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.’
‘No, I said I’d tell you anything and I meant that. Only…’
I glance at Willem and, somehow, he seems to understand without me explaining further.
‘Margot, how about you and I go for a walk?’ he suggests. ‘There’s an excellent café nearby. Great coffee.’
‘But…’ Margot holds up her unfinished coffee, then catches on. ‘Great idea,’ she replies brightly. She crosses to the sink where she deposits her mug. ‘Okay, Thor,’ she says, ‘lead the way.’
Willem’s head tilts in confusion. ‘Thor?’ he asks.
‘Come on, it’s uncanny,’ she says, as if it’s indisputable.
He laughs and they leave, then it’s just me and Adriana. Jon’s two fiancées.
‘Right,’ I say, ‘the proposal.’
‘Wait,’ she says, leaping off the stool. ‘Do you drink?’ she asks, opening a tall cabinet.
‘I do but it’s, uh…’ I glance at the clock on the oven. ‘It’s only 10a.m.’
‘So, too early for this, then?’ she asks, taking out a bottle of vodka.
I laugh. ‘Well, if Margot were here, she’d say no. But she lives on “Margot time”.’
‘Well, Kate, Margot isn’t here, so what do you say?’
‘Oh, fuck it. Pour me a drink, then we’re swapping proposal stories.’
She quickly makes two vodka oranges and hands me a glass, then sits next to me at the kitchen bench.
‘Tell me everything. And if that kanker proposed to you the same way he did to me…’
‘Is that the Dutch equivalent of arsehole?’
‘Kind of. It means “cancer”,’ she replies, her brows raised sardonically.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Well, the kanker took me up to the top of the Shard – that’s the highest building in London and it has the most spectacular restaurant?—’
‘Mm-hmm. Sounds a lot like A’DAM Tower here in Amsterdam,’ she says, and I take her word for it.
I’ve barely even started and already I anticipate striking similarities between our proposals.
I’m right.