Chapter 23
SARAH
Let It Happen | Gracie Abrams
‘What do they mean?’ Sarah asked, nodding at the thick, dark lines tattooed down the side of Alex’s stomach. She’d teased him about them before, but it really was beautiful work. If she ever got over her fear of needles, she might ask him for the name of his artist.
He paused with his hands on the second button of his shirt. ‘The runes?’
Sarah nodded, then felt awkwardness wash over her as she took in his still body, the surprise in his voice. After everything he’d said about his granddad at the bar, she hadn’t thought those could be any more personal, but maybe… ‘You don’t have to tell me, if it’s private or—’
‘No, that’s not it. It’s just no one’s ever asked about them before.’ He looked faintly pleased. ‘The ones on my arms, people see them at work or if I go out.’ His voice dropped. ‘I’m not going to pretend there isn’t a laundry list of people who’ve seen these ones, but…you’re the first person who’s been interested.’
And the way his eyes studied her then, branding her as permanently as the ink on his skin, she decided she didn’t care how many people had seen them, as long as she was the one who got the story. Alex fell back down next to her, grabbed her hand, and brought it to his ribs.
‘This is an Ansuz . The rune of communication and words.’
‘Is that why you talk so much?’ Sarah was aiming for snark, but it came out breathier than she’d intended. Ridiculous. He’d had his dick inside her five minutes ago, and she was getting flustered over her fingers on his stomach? She’d been touching almost the same spot while she worked herself to completion on his thigh. But suddenly his hand around hers felt…tender. Intimate, as he trailed her fingers to the next.
‘ Wunjo. Helps you achieve your desires. It’s also good for building business relationships, apparently. I got that after I applied for my job, since I figured I didn’t have a hope in hell of getting it based on qualifications.’
‘So all that talk about working your way up, and really you just cast a spell to make it easy on yourself?’
Alex pouted, and god , it made her want to kiss him. ‘I’d like to think my natural charm and ability to speak three languages has had some bearing on my success.’
‘English…?’
‘French and Italian. I took Italian for my GCSEs, and I spent six months studying in Paris. I was pretty fluent by the end.’
‘I’d love to go to Paris,’ Sarah said wistfully. ‘That’s going to be my reward for getting my work into a gallery. So I can pretend I’m free of painting fur forever.’
His laugh was an echo of that moment in his office a week before. That loose, light, real laugh. She moved her finger onto the next rune before she could dwell on the way it warmed her chest.
‘ Perthro . It represents joy, cheerfulness, exuberance.’
And a month before, she might have thought that fit him to a T. But cracks were beginning to show in that energetic facade. He’d looked tired lately, dark circles forming under those always astonishingly blue eyes. ‘Does it work?’
Alex shrugged, and his voice dropped to a murmur. ‘Also represents secrets.’
And that definition… That made more sense, she thought, picturing the shadows that sometimes crossed his face. The expressions she couldn’t always read.
‘And Algiz ,’ he continued, drawing her attention to the last rune, one that looked like an angular trident. ‘Protection and defence. It’s supposed to keep you safe from physical, mental, and emotional harm.’
‘Sounds useful,’ Sarah whispered, eyes locked on the place where her lavender nails touched the dark ink. It had been years since she’d painted with anything other than oils, but suddenly the dusty box of chalk pastels in her wardrobe was calling to her, primed to depict the contrasting colours, and the meeting point between the delicate flex of her fingers and the hard slab of his stomach. ‘Does that one work?’
‘I’ll let you know,’ Alex said softly. His eyes were on her when she looked up at him. It would be so easy to lose herself in them. In him , when he was like this, open and easy and feeling a little like hers.
She distracted herself by moving her fingers up his chest to his partially exposed right shoulder. ‘Why David?’ she asked, tracing the delicately shading. ‘Good Catholic boy who loves art, part of the Sistine Chapel feels inevitable. But why David?’
‘Firstly, good Catholic is about the biggest stretch I’ve ever heard. Secondly…David is the paragon of male beauty, right?’ He shrugged, his other arm coming to rest behind his head. It did things to his chest she pretended not to notice, even as she memorised every line to replicate in her sketchbook later.
‘And that’s what you think you are?’ He was . As much as she made fun of him for it, he was so fucking pretty it caused her to lose focus sometimes. But that—light banter, subtle slights—was all they were to each other. And she needed to remember it.
Shifting his weight below her, Alex sighed. ‘I realised early on that if I presented myself a certain way, I could get people to do anything for me.’
Suddenly it all made sense. The beautiful suits, tailored to within an inch of their life. The hair, always styled perfectly. The muscles he worked on almost every day, looking as if they too were carved from marble, like the artwork he wore on his body.
‘I told you about the ADHD. I didn’t know what was wrong with me when I was a kid, but I could tell my brain didn’t work right. I was forgetful in the extreme. I couldn’t focus at school. But my parents had enough going on with Erik. And because I was loud and outgoing and social, and he was so quiet and serious and smart, no one thought our problems could have the same root cause. Teachers thought I just needed to apply myself. So I did. Just not in the way they’d intended. You might be immune to my charm’—he turned his head for the first time since he’d started speaking. She’d half wondered if he’d forgotten she was there—‘but it turns out that when I try, few other people are.
‘I couldn’t magically make myself remember to study for tests or finish homework. But I could convince teachers to give me retakes or extensions. When I zoned out in classes, I could flirt my way to getting notes or tutoring sessions from other people. I was still a bratty little shit, sure. The tutoring was, in hindsight, perhaps not the most effective for studying , although I picked up different skills. And when I became popular with girls, I fell in with a guy whose parents travelled a lot, so there were a fair number of parties at his place. But as long as I passed, didn’t knock anyone up, and didn’t need to get my stomach pumped, my parents didn’t have to worry too much about me.
‘And the parties, the socialising, the fun …it helped. When I didn’t get that stimulation, it felt like my insides were too big for my body. Like I was testing the limits of what my skin could contain. And balancing the noise inside my head with noise from outside would stop that, just for a bit. It’s better now. The meds, they’ve helped a lot. All that pent-up energy, I can channel it better, you know?’ Alex was quiet for a moment, pensive. Then he said, ‘I also didn’t feel like I fit in anywhere. Least of all home. So I became someone who fit in everywhere.’
Sarah’s heart ached for the boy the man beside her had once been. She’d assumed he was awash with close but probably annoying friends, always up for a good time by choice. But if he’d continued on the same trajectory he had begun at school, maybe it was all still part of the act. She thought about that night at the bar, how he’d been eager to escape the crowd to sit alone with her, even though nothing physical had happened until later.
And for the first time, she wondered if loud, brash Aleksander Larsson just wanted someone to be quiet with.
In a scenario she couldn’t have even imagined just a few weeks before, maybe she could be that for him. After the wedding, when their arrangement was over, maybe she could be his friend.
‘So anyway,’ Alex continued, his voice back to normal, ‘that’s why David.’
That sent another pang through her chest, as she considered why he felt so comfortable going back to his facade after baring his soul. Wondered how many times in his life his feelings had been brushed aside because he seemed happy and easy-going. But for now, she’d follow his direction.
‘You know that sculpture is full of anatomical imperfections, right?’ Of course he did. If she’d learned one thing about Alex, it was that he became obsessive when he was interested in something.
‘I do. I also know Michelangelo was a genius, and if they’re there, they were intentional.’
Another image flashed through her mind. Alex’s arrival at her door with his sleeves rolled deliberately, showing off that vein running down his arm, and hitting at the perfect length to display his tattoos. A single lock of hair escaping an otherwise perfect arrangement to fall effortlessly over his eyes. His tie loosened just so, slung over a shirt unbuttoned only enough to hint at his sculpted chest.
The picture of casual curation. A masterclass in artful dishevelment.
She was desperate to know what it would take to see him come apart for real.
His reactions when she’d handcuffed him earlier had felt raw, more open than she’d ever seen him. And she craved more.
There was no reason for him to stay. Sex was long over. This was as close to post-coital cuddling as they’d ever come. But maybe he wasn’t ready to leave either, as he offered, ‘You can ask about one more.’
Her eyes roved his body. She was curious about the raven on his thigh, but he’d pulled his trousers back up, and if it came with the excuse to touch him some more, she’d wait until his skin was bared to her again. The strings of Roman numerals under his left pec—the ones she now knew were dates—had her eyes lingering, but it had been his first tattoo, and maybe they needed to veer away from things with too much meaning. If he opened up to her much more, she might handcuff him to her bed again. Not let him go until he felt safe and cared for and looked after.
She settled on the most innocuous-looking one she’d found—a bow and arrow peeking out from behind a disco ball.
When she placed her finger on it like a scrying crystal finding its mark, Alex laughed. ‘Sorry, wrong choice, Princess. You’ll make fun of me, and it’s too late to have you getting me all riled up again.’
She’d bug him about that one another time, then.
He was right. It was late. But she hadn’t been ready for him to leave half an hour before, when she’d asked about the tattoos she’d known would take the longest to explain. And she wasn’t ready for it now. ‘I finished a painting today. Do you want to see it?’
‘Does it have fur on it?’
‘Not a strand.’ Sarah smiled.
‘Then yes.’ His voice, low and rumbly, was so soft . So removed from the rounded vowels and crisp consonants that usually marked his speech. ‘Yes, I’d like that very much.’
When Alex joined her in the living room five minutes later, Sarah was floored at how quickly he could go back to the picture-perfect specimen who had arrived earlier. Almost unnervingly, she found that she already missed the way his hair had been mussed by her fingers. Missed the way his shirt had crumpled under her hands. The only pieces of evidence remaining from their tryst were the pink lines on his wrists and a slightly shiny patch on his left trouser leg.
Sarah winced. ‘Sorry.’
Alex shrugged, crossing the room until he was only a breath away from her, crowding her with all his bulk. And Sarah… She loved it.
‘I told you to ruin them.’ Again, that smile she’d once thought was painfully rare—the one that was coming out more and more, despite the overwhelming exhaustion that seemed to weigh him down each time he saw her—lit his face, igniting something in her chest along with it.
Then he turned to her painting, and his face dropped. Her stomach went into freefall. Did he hate it? It was a simple still life: a spray of wildflowers cascading from a partially repaired vase, with a butterfly resting atop the pink petal of a sweet pea. She felt slightly exposed as he scrutinised it. Abby had told her it was beautiful before leaving for dinner with Erik. But Abby didn’t have Alex’s eye, or his art comprehension. She wondered how much of the symbolism he would understand. If he would know how much of herself she had put onto that canvas.
Where bits of vase had been stuck back together, gold paint followed the repair lines, with a few sharp ceramic pieces still lying scattered. The flowers were lush, fresh blooms. And the butterfly, transformed from something mundane into something beautiful.
Life had been ugly for a while after Gregg. It was less to do with losing him—she’d decided pretty instantly that he wasn’t worth her tears—and more to do with the knock in confidence she’d taken. She hadn’t cared that he’d found someone prettier, skinnier, probably more flexible to fuck. She’d cared that he hadn’t respected her enough to end things. Stringing her along for months instead, just in case Lydia realised she could do better.
Now, she was rebuilding. She was only partially satisfied with her job, but that was still significantly more satisfied than she’d been with her office job. She had the best friends. And for another week, she had a godlike man who looked at her like she was strong and powerful and worth more than Gregg ever had. She was almost happy. And if she still had a few sharp barbs sticking out, stopping people getting too close, well, maybe she was just waiting to see who would pick carefully through them until they could trace the beautiful gold repair cracks.
‘Do the specific flowers mean anything?’
It wasn’t the question she’d expected after a minute of silence had passed between them.
Sarah shook her head. ‘I did a floriography short course at uni, so I guess subconsciously, maybe? But really, I chose them at random. I don’t plan my paintings. Not these ones. I just…let them come out as I need them to.’ And she had needed this one. Needed something tangible that acknowledged the growth and change she had undergone in the previous year.
Alex nodded, his jaw tight. ‘Can I buy it?’
‘You don’t have to do th—’
‘I love it, Princess.’ A small crack broke through his speech. ‘I really love it. Can I take it tonight?’
‘You don’t even know how much I want for it.’ Entirely at odds with her unaffected tone, that spot in her chest was now a blazing inferno, overwhelmed by his reaction. For someone to stand in front of her work, voice filled with emotion—and not because Bruno is just the most beautiful boy, isn’t he? —was all she’d ever wanted. And try as she might to pretend otherwise, that it was him made it all the better. Because he had taste, sure. But also because, despite her best efforts to keep their relationship purely physical, she found herself craving his approval, almost as much as she craved him.
‘I’ll pay it. Whatever it is.’
‘The gold. It’ll need a few days to dry.’
Alex nodded, eyes poring over her, reminding her that she was still wearing just her underwear and a sheer gown. But far from self-consciousness, his assessing gaze had begun to make her feel confident and powerful. The way she felt when she looked at herself, unhampered by concerns of what another person thought of her body. She had been utterly wrecked by the sex earlier, and going another round did feel impossible, but she wanted to drag him back to her bedroom anyway. To lie on his chest like he’d let her do minutes before and drift to sleep with his arms around her.
Sarah was, she decided in that moment, completely fucked.
Then Alex gave her a reprieve, walking to the door to pick up the laptop bag she hadn’t noticed on his arrival. ‘I’ll see you soon?’ he asked, fidgeting with the strap over his shoulder.
He was a walking, talking ball of energy, always moving, but always graceful. She’d never seen him fidget before. It implied a level of nerves she wouldn’t imagine he possessed. Her eyes fixed on that strap again. Sarah had assumed he’d come from a night out, and that was how he’d found himself near enough. But it was unlikely he’d lugged his laptop around a party. Had he come straight from his office? If he’d just wanted a release, he could have done that himself. Hell, they could have video called again if he really wanted good company. So why had he travelled double the distance to come to Ealing at midnight, only to travel all the way back to Holland Park?
Before she could spiral, he said, ‘I guess I’ll go.’
Sarah nodded, pulling her lip into her mouth as Alex lingered with his hand on the doorknob. ‘What?’ she finally asked, free of her usual bite.
‘I’m trying to decide if you’ll let me kiss you.’
And then she did roll her eyes, because even if her feelings were softening more than she’d care to admit, he really was an idiot sometimes. ‘You’ve kissed me like a thousand times. Have I stopped you recently?’
‘That’s different.’ His voice flattened. ‘That’s foreplay. Or heat of the moment stuff.’
Right.
Apart from at the pub and those times at Neon, they’d never kissed outside the bounds of sex. They might make out before. They’d certainly kiss during. A week before, a few kisses while they were still naked in bed together had led to Alex going down on her again. But once one of them left the bed, that spell broke. A kiss now, with him at her door, ready to leave—a goodbye kiss—was more tenderness than they’d allowed into their arrangement.
‘You can,’ Sarah said quietly.
Alex’s bag dropped with a thump that made her wince, and within four large steps, her face was in his hands and his lips were on hers. It was less frantic than the way he usually kissed her. One hand moved to tangle in her hair, but didn’t tug. The other planted itself in the small of her back and pulled her into him.
It was the kind of kiss that graced the cover of one of Abby’s historical romances. And Sarah was melting into the dizzying intimacy of it.
When Alex eventually pulled back, her mouth chased his for half a second. She’d never heard him even slightly winded before, even after his most athletic performances, but his breath was laboured as he said, ‘Have dinner with me tomorrow night.’ Her eyes must have flared with the same panic that slammed through her chest, because he quickly added, ‘As friends. Food could be considered a benefit, couldn’t it?’
‘You’re still trying to be my friend?’
‘I like a challenge.’
She was still crushed against his chest, eyes tilted up towards his, so she had a front row seat when his face fell. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea.’ Even as she spoke, she regretted the words.
The warmth that had been growing between them all night fizzled away instantly as Alex drew his hands back sharply. ‘Right. Sure.’
He was back to cool, crisp sounds, that lush depth that had filled his voice as he whispered to her gone too. Crossing back to the door, he said, ‘Let me know when the painting’s ready,’ before disappearing into the hall.