Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Bex
My heart hammers in my chest as those eyes lock on mine. I’ve seen that look so many times, full of love and passion. I love the fact that it’s now one hundred percent for me. It still catches me off guard sometimes. After years of lusting after him, he’s really mine.
Now we’re sitting in a romantic restaurant, drinking each other in. The music is soft, the drinks expensive, and the food needs translating to understand. It’s unnerving, so far out of my comfort zone, I feel like I need my passport to be here. But I love it.
“So, what do you fancy?” I ask as I peruse the menu, pretending to know what each item is.
He glances up and smirks as I take a sip from my glass. “Well, your pussy was mighty fine last night.”
I swallow my wine the wrong way. It shoots out of my nose like a fountain.
“You can’t say things like that to me and expect me to act as if you’ve said something normal.” He winks, and my heart flutters. I’m in love with him. I’ve only just admitted it to myself, but I am.
We’ve been sneaking around for four months since The Riley Foundation Ball.
The only people aware of our relationship are Eamon and Melissa.
The privacy has been enjoyable; it’s given us time to move forward without other people’s opinions.
But we both know we can’t stay a secret forever if we want a future together.
Ben’s still struggling with going public. I’m in touch with Kelsey on occasion, and Ben is in close contact with her dad. I’ve told him I don’t want to sneak around anymore. We’re not cheating. He’s adamant we’ll get a lot of negativity when people find out and keeps dodging the subject.
When it’s just the two of us, things are fantastic. But when we sit apart in groups, not allowed to touch each other, my heart breaks that little bit more.
I sometimes wonder if he’s embarrassed about being with me. The insecure teenager is rearing her head, whispering dark thoughts. She insists there’s no way a man like that wants to be with me. He’s using me for sex. I’m not beautiful enough to be seen on his arm.
Since the ball, we’ve not attended any other public events.
We go to obscure restaurants like this one or somewhere we can pass as platonic.
I feel like a naughty schoolgirl stealing kisses from her boyfriend behind her parents’ backs.
I don’t like it. Being kept a secret isn’t good for my heart or my mental health.
The waitress approaches our table. She’s an older lady with graying hair and an apron around her waist. She smiles kindly, glancing down at our hands intertwined across the table.
“What can I get you lovebirds to drink?” she asks. Her voice is so soft, it’s like she’s singing the words. “Could we have a bottle of the house white, please?” Ben says. She nods and wanders off toward the bar, as blazing blue eyes meet mine across the table. “You look stunning tonight.”
This is one of my favorite things about Ben.
He’s always full of compliments that make me feel amazing.
It’s not always what he says, but the way he looks at me that’s my undoing.
He knows the right thing to say at the right time.
When my confidence wavers over an outfit or I’ve had a bad day at work, he will wrap his arms around me, kiss my forehead, and say the words that take the worry away.
Our waitress returns with a bottle of wine and pours a splash into my glass. She does so elaborately, with a white serviette over her arm and the green glass held high. Ben gestures for me to try the wine. I stare at him blankly.
“Me?” I squawk, “I wouldn’t know a good wine from a bad one.”
He rolls his eyes at the server with a smile. “She never gives herself enough credit,” he tells her. “Just taste it, Bex.”
Laughing, I lift the glass to my nose, breathing in like in the movies.
I tip my head back to take a small sip, swirling the golden liquid around my mouth, trying to taste different flavors.
It’s sweet and sharp. Just like Ben, I think.
After what feels like an age, I swallow and bring my eyes back to his.
“It’s perfect. Just like you.” He turns to the waitress, who’s watching our exchange intently. She looks as if she’s about to giggle like a schoolgirl.
“Yes, I think the wine will do,” he murmurs. She smiles and fills our glasses. “Can we have ten minutes before we order?” Ben pauses. “Maybe just some bread for the table. We’re in no rush.” Our server scurries off.
His hands tighten on mine, his eyes holding me in place. I’d love to know what he’s thinking. It feels as though he’s building up to say something, steeling himself. My nerves rise, the blood rushing to my head. That familiar panic growing in my chest. He’s about to change things.
This, what we have, makes me so happy. I’m terrified it will end. He smiles softly as if reading my mind.
“There’s nothing to worry about, Bex. I know you want to make our relationship public. I know you’re fed up, sneaking around as if we are doing something wrong. I want to make you happy.”
I hang on to every word, waiting for the punch to my gut. It doesn’t come. My heart rate slows when I realize this isn’t the unwelcome news I’ve been dreading.
He takes a deep breath, then continues, “I want to tell everyone, too. I’m so proud to call you mine, but we need to give people time to get used to the idea of us as a couple.
I’m loving being with you. I don’t want anyone to ruin it for us.
” His eyes beg for my understanding. “So, I was thinking we should tell Amy and Terry first, if they haven’t already worked it out. Then tell our parents.”
Clearly, he’s been planning this little speech, but judging by his face, I don’t think it’s coming across the way he wants it to.
“How do you feel about going away for two weeks? Just us. Somewhere warm, where we can focus on each other and let everyone else get used to the idea. I don’t want to be dragged from pillar to post to justify our relationship.
” I stand and walk around to his side of the table, then sit on his lap, holding him tight.
Where we are or who sees doesn’t matter; being closer to him is all I care about.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea. A few extra weeks of summer sunshine with you sounds like a great way to end the school holidays before I go back to work.
And if it gives everyone some time to process us as a couple, even better,” I whisper, then kiss his forehead.
His arms wrap around my waist, the pressure increasing the longer we sit there.
Neither of us wanting to leave the moment.
During our meal, we speak at length about what we should say and who we should tell. I’m not stupid. When Ben and Kelsey broke up, their families and friends were devastated. It was a shock. They were the couple everyone assumed would last forever, childhood sweethearts meant to be together.
Many friends have been working to get them back together this year.
To my knowledge, neither has tried to reignite their relationship.
I know that the fact Ben continued to live with Amy and me once she left is a problem for Kelsey.
I anticipate questions about when our relationship began and if I had a role in theirs ending.
The truth is, I did. Before their relationship ended, Ben caught feelings for me, beyond our previous platonic friendship.
It made him question Kelsey and his future.
His admission had taken me by surprise after we shared a bottle of wine one evening.
I’m not sure he ever meant to tell me; the guilt that flickered over his features as he did suggested he hated himself for having wandering thoughts.
So, even though I didn’t actively have a role in their breakup, my presence didn’t help. He may never have cheated on Kelsey with me, but when we were discussing the situation, I did end up feeling like the other woman. Like the one who got in the way.
***
Amy’s in the living room in her usual position when not working. For a fitness instructor, she does a lot of lying around. She’s sitting on the sofa in her sweatpants with a large bowl of potato chips between her legs and a bottle of soda on the side table, engrossed in a celebrity dating show.
Ben and I walk in holding hands. She looks up, says hello, and returns to her earlier position.
A few seconds pass, then she pauses the TV.
Her focus returns to us. She stares at our knotted hands, and her jaw drops open.
Well, she didn’t know. Not surprising. Amy skips through life, oblivious to everything around her.
Her gaze moves from our hands to our faces and back again.
The cogs in her brain turn slowly as she tries to process what she is looking at.
I told her the ball didn’t go well. Explaining away the night, using my social awkwardness I’ve relied on for years.
She believed me within seconds, muttering something about I should take a chance once in a while.
“How long?” Her voice is clipped and abrupt. “How long has this been going on?”
“Four months,” I reply. “We wanted to see if this would go anywhere before we told anyone.” She raises an eyebrow suspiciously, holds my gaze for what feels like forever, then shrugs her shoulders. “Well, just don’t have sex in the living room, because that would be gross.”
She fake gags, and we all laugh. I don’t have the heart to tell her it’s too late for that; Ben had me bent over the couch last Thursday while she was at aqua aerobics. She walks over and pulls us into a hug.
“I’m delighted for you both.” She smiles, then turns to Ben. “And I meant what I said months ago. You hurt her, and I’ll cut your balls off.”
Ben visibly wilts. I look between them, confused. That was a conversation I wasn’t privy to, and I have no idea when it happened.
“When did you make that threat?” I ask her.
She reaches for my arm, and her fingers wrap around it firmly. “All you need to know is… he’s been warned. I’m not blind. I knew what was going to happen. You two would’ve been as well wearing flashing neon signs announcing you fancied each other.”
Ben moves behind me, pulls me to him, and lays his chin on my shoulder. He locks eyes with my sister. They’ve known each other for years, but there’s a change between them. Both of them staking their claim, so the other has no doubt about their position on this.
“I adore your sister, Amy.” Warm lips touch my neck. “I promise I’ll look after her. If I don’t, then I’ll hand you the scissors to castrate me yourself.”
My parents, however, are not very communicative.
They know my friends and the history of Ben and Kelsey, but never show much interest. I decide the best way to tell them about my new boyfriend is to write a letter.
They can digest the information, and I don’t have to deal with the awkwardness of a phone call.
It’s a win all round. Once I’m back from our trip, we’ll pop up to see them.
Ben’s parents were not thrilled with the news of our changed relationship status. He took the phone call with his mother in his room, shutting the door firmly behind him. I could hear his voice rising and falling, trying to calm her down
Amy and I stood with our ears up against it, like a pair of kids sneaking gossip. At some point, Terry appeared, leaning casually against the wall with a smirk.
“What’s going on?” he whispered.
“His mum’s freaking out,” Amy hissed back, scowling at him for interrupting.
Terry arched an eyebrow, disappeared, and returned with a bowl of popcorn. “This is better than TV,” he said, throwing himself down on the sofa. Amy and I strained to hear every muffled word.
Ben’s mum loves Kelsey like the daughter she never had.
They still go for coffee every week and speak daily.
Every time Ben talks to his mum, she asks him to make amends, telling him Kelsey wants him back.
That it’s inevitable they’ll reunite. Why waste time apart?
They were so good together, soul mates, she says. Repeatedly.
Hearing his footsteps, Amy and I dart over to the sofa and throw ourselves down. He appears, looking forlorn, like he lost a match.
“They want us to go and see them,” he says, looking anywhere but at me. “They want to meet you.”
I stare at him blankly. “They already know me.”
“She says she can’t remember you.” He pinches between his brows, talking to his feet. My jaw drops in shock.
“I ate in their damn restaurant every week when we were growing up.” Then a trail of expletives leaves my mouth. “When? When do they want to meet me?” My throat constricts as I try to form the words. This hurts. He shifts awkwardly.
“Now, if possible?”
I roll my eyes, feigning annoyance, when all I really feel is desolation. We leave for our holiday tomorrow, and now have to spend the evening brown-nosing his parents to keep them happy. And I have to do it knowing that they wish I was someone else.
Just. Fucking. Great.