Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Three days later, my temper’s subsided, and I’m more on the mortified side, still trying to unpack the evening with Florian in my mind while I worked the weekend at Ivan’s, crafting premium cocktails.
For the record, there were no more spilled drinks, in part because I didn’t offer any more table service and instead stuck to bartending, where I’m at least showing a flair for basic skills when no one is looking.
And I have an awkward realization, which is that I’ve returned Florian’s suit, but he’s neglected to return mine—definitely a problem because I need mine back.
The wedding’s next weekend, and I now have no suit and no money to replace it with a new one or, frankly, to pay for a rental. The rental would be the go-to option because I have no plans to speak to Florian ever again.
What I have is about fifty quid to take me to the end of July. Aside from the deposit for a new flat and my overdraft. The last thing I want is to get into debt for a suit that I should already have hanging in my closet. That’ll teach me to do good deeds.
By Monday, my stomach’s in knots. Opting for a change of scene and having the prepaid ticket already, I head south to Brighton.
I’m off to meet Noah since we share the same day off.
He works as a waiter, but unlike me, he also has his own studio.
To be fair, he’s been out of uni for a year and has since established his own illustration practice and was regularly selling work before graduation.
As the train glides away from London, tension leaves my body, as if I’m leaving that behind for later me to return to. Soon, brick buildings give way to broad green fields, and by the time we reach Sussex, I’m reborn. Finally, I can draw in a deep breath all the way to the pit of my stomach.
After the train pulls into Brighton Station in the city center, I walk through the city while seagulls reel and cry overhead and make my way through to the North Laines, where I’m meeting Noah at one of our favorite pubs, practically across from the Rose & Crown, where a lot of my friends have art studios.
Colorful shops line the street, and I reach my destination, an old pub on a corner.
Outside, there’re hanging baskets trailing pink and purple flowers, picnic tables with people seated under thin sunlight, and the pace is steady for Monday afternoon.
Noah’s already there when I arrive, in jeans and a light wool jumper. It’s early summer, but we’re a far cry away from the Med, though Brighton’s a great seaside destination. We do the ritual of hugs before I drape my coat across the back of my chair and sit.
“God, it’s nice to see you,” I say with some feeling.
Noah grins at me. “That good, huh? Thanks for letting me know I’ve become a god, by the way. Want the usual? Let me get this round.”
I nod, and he goes to the bar for our pints, and he soon returns holding two pints and a bag of crisps between his teeth.
“How’s London living?” Noah asks after we settle in and the bag of crisps is open between us.
“Ugh, I don’t know.” I shake my head. “London’s so big, and the only people I know are Arran, who’s away, and K.C.
, who hasn’t moved there yet for his job.
And, I guess…” My lips twist. “Florian, not that I know him. Technically, I’ve only seen him twice.
Which is more than I’ve seen Arran since moving to London, so there’s that. ”
Noah leans in, palms against the table, more than ready for me to dish, as if I’m living Sex and the City and I’m some unlikely take on Carrie Bradshaw. Which would make Florian my Mr. Big, and I really don’t want to go into an analysis rabbit hole right now.
“Now, that’s intriguing,” encourages Noah. “Go on, I’ve been dying to know if you’ve had your fake date. And possibly more.”
“No! I mean, it’s not what you’re thinking, and yes, we had our fake date.” He doesn’t need to get the wrong idea, though, knowing Noah, he’s already there as of yesterday. Wrong ideas are his specialty.
“A hookup never hurt anyone,” he drawls. “They’re good for you. Just like vitamins.”
“That’s not always necessarily true.” I shake my head as I reach for a couple of crisps. “And you know it.”
“No hookup, then?” Noah looks dead disappointed. “Shame.”
“No hookup.” Though under my long-sleeved shirt, goose bumps cover my arms. It’s probably the mention of the sex I’m missing in my life. It’s been so long since I’ve had a boyfriend that I swear I’ve forgotten what that’s like too.
“Your billionaire or whatever he is looked hot.” Noah works on his pint, looking woeful. His fingers glitter with rings, only matched by the collection of piercings in his ears. “Tell me everything.”
“Ugh.” I bury my face in my hands. “Disaster. That’s all you need to know. And he’s not a billionaire, for the record. You’ve been reading too many romance books.”
“There’s no such thing. I’d read love stories any day of the week.” When I look up again, Noah’s frowning at me, a line between his eyebrows. “What happened?”
Leaning back in my chair, a heavy sigh escapes me.
“Well, it started alright. I mean, we met on Thursday night at Sotheby’s so I could be his guide to the art.
Apparently, I was there to help him impress some business associates or something.
Be seen by the right people, I guess, like a proper decoy boyfriend.
I don’t know how I, of all people, would accomplish impressing others in business, but there you go.
He didn’t go into details why—he’s definitely not used to explaining himself, not to me, that’s for sure. ”
“Okay. Go on.” Noah waves a hand at me to continue. “No disaster so far.”
“And everything’s fine, I guess. We meet as planned.
I didn’t throw drinks on him this time.” I don’t mention Florian looking stunning in his suit, or the way he looked at me when I warmed his hands between mine.
Or the feel of his long fingers between my hands.
The familiar stomach knot appears again.
“Why do you look so down, then?” Noah arches an eyebrow at me.
I shrug expansively. “Most of the evening went fine. The art was incredible. I took him around and told him about the art as promised. We had champagne. I had too much champagne, actually. And then Florian told me about his most depressing outlook on art, that its value is as a commodity and nothing else. He’s just got this view that I can’t wrap my brain around.
Which, I guess, really bothered me, especially after three drinks. It’s just so… cold.”
“Huh.” Noah considers me. “So why did that upset you so much? He’s a stranger. He doesn’t matter. Billions or millions or not.”
“Hell if I know. I know enough about him to know that he’s totally business-oriented, and he’s not interested in feelings.
Honestly, he just seems interested in what’s profitable, what will benefit him, and that’s about it.
It just felt like a soulless way to look at the world.
I guess I felt kind of used, and we seem to fundamentally not get each other. You know?”
“But most of the evening was fine?”
“Well… yeah. ’Til that point. And then…” I flush, the hot knife of shame twisting in my soul. If only I could stuff those words back in my mouth. “I then said that’s why things ended with his ex, ’cause he didn’t get feelings.”
I slump in my chair, shaking my head at myself as I study the crisps between us. My face is hot. Florian was right: I went too far.
Noah lets out a low whistle. “Wow, Matty, that’s rough, especially coming from you. How do you even know about his love life, anyway?’ He does the eyebrow thing again. “Especially on your first fake date. You had your first fake fight and everything.”
“Er, he—Billy the ex-boyfriend—was there the night when I spilled the drinks. With Florian. Along with several friends. When we were in the elevator, I said to Florian that boyfriend from the bar would come looking for him, and Florian told me Billy was an ex-boyfriend. I caught his name when they were talking. So…”
“Why do you care about Florian’s love life?” Noah peers at me, clearly amused. “If he’s so rotten.”
“I don’t! I really, really don’t.”
“Afraid there’s evidence to the contrary, mate. And how.” Noah marvels at me as if he’s just made an incredible new scientific discovery.
“So… uh, to finish the story, that’s about when we ended the night. He got his suit back. One I dry-cleaned, with my limited cash, by the way, but I didn’t tell him that. London’s bloody expensive.”
“Like water is wet,” Noah confirms, still giving me an appraising look that makes me squirm in my seat. “Now, Matty.”
“What?”
“You’re into him, this Florian guy.” Noah shakes his head at me. He grins, cat-and-canary-style. “Obviously.”
“He’s an arsehole,” I say defensively. “I mean, we don’t get each other. He’s all about finances and profit, and I’m all about… feeling and creating. He’s rich. I’m poor. And we weren’t dating. We had one fake date, that’s it. We didn’t fake date well. End of story.”
“Is it, though?” Noah asks. “Seems like you have unfinished business.”
“We really don’t.”
“Sorry to say you were the arsehole, calling him out on his ex-boyfriend, which isn’t any of your business. I think you owe him an apology for that, if nothing else.” Noah nods to himself. “Yeah.”
I frown at him, starting to protest, then stop.
“I was an arsehole,” I admit sheepishly. “He may have said some stuff I didn’t agree with about art, but he didn’t say anything personally about me, that’s true. Except I took what he said personally. And I definitely said things to him that were clearly offensive. Shit.”
Noah nods. “Apology o’clock, mate.”
“And it gets worse.”
Alarmed, Noah sets his drink down. “How does it get worse? You told me that was the end of the date.”
“It was. It’s the suit thing that’s the latest problem.
On the night we met, we swapped suits after I spilled the drinks because I felt so bad.
I gave him his back after it was dry-cleaned…
but he still has mine. Which I need back for Paul and Caden’s wedding this weekend.
I can’t afford to replace it, even with a suit rental. ” I look glumly at him.
His eyebrows climb, and his eyes glimmer. “I think he likes you. He doesn’t strike me as the sort of person to forget things, or about returning your suit, from what you’ve told me. He’s keeping the suit as a souvenir to remember you. A trophy.”
“No way! He’s forgotten because it doesn’t matter to him. We agreed to one fake date. That’s it. And he’s got unfinished business with the boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Maybe he’s what the art thing was really about and who Florian wanted to impress. Or make jealous. Whatever.”
Noah gives me a knowing look. “Listen, did he say he has unfinished business with the ex-boyfriend?”
“No…”
“Then that’s probably just in your head, which, by the way, is very interesting.” Noah pops a crisp into his mouth. “Jealous much?”
I roll my eyes. But this time, I keep from saying anything else that Noah might analyze. The man doesn’t need more material than what he has already.
“And he didn’t mention returning your suit?” Noah asks.
“No. He’s probably too busy to think about things like that. And he has this terrifying assistant who I’m sure would do it for him. It’s probably still at the dry cleaner. Or who knows.”
Noah sits up straight, counting off on his fingers.
“First, you need to ring him and apologize for being an arse. Second, you need to make arrangements to get your suit back this week so you don’t go naked to the wedding and create more scandal.
Third, you need to see him again on another fake date because you spoiled the last one. ”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” I shake my head, grim-faced. “I can’t see him again. I’m too embarrassed. And I’m sure he probably hates me now, anyway.”
“I’m gonna wager that, in fact, he’s into you.”
“Not a chance. He thinks I’m a failed artist. And that I don’t know what I’m doing, fresh out of uni.”
“Did he say that?”
“The failed artist thing, yeah. Sort of.”
Noah holds his hands up in surrender. “Just think about it, okay? And I’m getting the next round since you’re skint.” He cuts off my protest with a hand. “You can pay me back some other time when you’re more settled. And I’m getting a food menu so we can eat, and don’t protest that either.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, watching him head off with purpose to the bar.
The unsettled feeling’s returned as I think about Florian and what Noah’s said.
And I can’t forget that hurt expression on Florian’s face when I accused him of being unfeeling, as I shift in my chair, heavy-hearted.
And Noah’s right—I need to apologize to Florian at the very least.