Chapter 5
I’m on cloud nine when we leave the museum.
“Did you see the man in the striped navy suit? In the far corner?” I ask Nate as we walk out of London Modern. “He’s one of the world’s largest art buyers. Renowned in the business. Renowned.”
“He should have put that on his name card,” Nate says, “so I would have known.”
“And the way they’d arranged the art in the South Gallery… I know we weren’t supposed to take pictures but I did it anyway.”
“I saw. What a rebel.”
I elbow him again. I feel like I’m floating. It’s the excitement and champagne and the glittering view of London. Across the river, the St. Paul’s Cathedral is lit up, towering over the surrounding buildings. “You mock, but I just had the best night in… I can’t even remember how long.”
“You know, I think you should change that,” Nate says. His voice is easy. Comfortable to listen to. I’ve always liked talking to him. “New city, new opportunities… you could have plenty of best nights.”
“I think I should. At least try to, you know? Do you have any more exclusive art events to go to?”
Nate runs a hand along his jaw. “Well…” he says.
I shake my head. “No, don’t worry about it. I know this was a one-off. And I greatly appreciate it, too. Also, I promise not to impose on you while I’m in London.”
“Mm-hmm. Thank God,” he says dryly.
“Besides, you’re likely very busy. What hot date did you have to cancel tonight to take me here instead?”
He rolls his eyes. “Harper.”
“Come on. There must be someone. Or many someones?” I wiggle my eyebrows. “I’ve heard stories from Dean, about your dating life.”
“All exaggerations, I’m sure.”
“I think he was underplaying it.” I nudge Nate’s shoulder as we come to a stop next to his car. It’s safe and sound in the VIP parking spot beside the museum, surrounded by taxis and people, but I still think it’s crazy to drive in London.
Crazy… and very him.
“I didn’t have a date for tonight,” he says. “You saved me from looking humiliatingly, embarrassingly alone.”
“Oh, because you’re never seen alone?”
“I avoid it at all costs.” He unlocks the car and opens the passenger door for me. “At your service.”
“I bet ladies love this car,” I tell him.
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling as he shuts the door.
I lean back in the seat and buckle up. Happiness is a beautiful lingering feeling in my stomach. What a night. And as I look around the vehicle’s interior, it’s easy to imagine Nate impressing his dates with it. I bet they would be impressed. Dean had mentioned some of the women Nate had gone out with. One was a model, I recall. And then there was a struggling actress, and I believe there was a singer at another time, too.
I know he was engaged. Once. Long before I met him and Dean. Nate was in his midtwenties then, and it didn’t result in a marriage. But more than that, I don’t know.
Nate slides into the driver’s seat. He reverses one-handed, turning around to look over his shoulder at the pedestrians. His jacket sleeve rides up to showcase a thick silver watch around his wrist.
I cross my legs. “I can’t believe you spent… I can’t even say the amount. That much money in one evening.”
“Mm-hmn. On the painting?”
“Yes? What else could I possibly mean?”
“Oh, parking here is outrageously expensive,” he says. “I drop a fortune on that alone each week.”
“The Tube isn’t that bad, you know.”
“I’m sure. That’s why I don’t go on it. Leaves room for other people to enjoy.”
“You’re such a philanthropist.”
He smiles, eyes still on the road. It’s a small, genuine smile, as if he’s enjoying this. Not like he’s trying to charm or impress. I hadn’t noticed there was a difference before.
“That’s me,” he says. “So come on. Tell me where I’m driving you to.”
“Uh, it’s a bit far.”
“I can do far. I prefer far.” He runs a large hand along the leather of his steering wheel, almost lovingly. “So where to?”
I tell him the name of the area first. He nods, but a faint frown invades his profile. “Right. A rental?”
“Yeah, short-term. It was all I could find, considering I decided to move so… so quickly.
“I’ve never been to Fairwood.”
“I can bring it up on the GPS,” I say.
“That’s all right. Give me directions instead,” Nate says. He sounds nonplussed by all the activity going on outside the windows. The road follows along the Thames, passing bridge after bridge, curving along with the river.
I do as he’s asked, guiding his route, and glance at him out of the corner of my eye. I hadn’t planned on him driving me home. It’s definitely appreciated, considering the late hour and the long Tube ride, but I’m not prepared for him to see where I live.
Idon’t even like where I live.
It was the best I could find on such short notice and within my budget, without completely exhausting all of my savings. It sucks. That’s the nicest thing I can say about it. When I protested about the deposit being twice as high as noted in our agreement, the landlady told me to accept it or move on. I should have left. I know that. But I had just flown overnight. I was tired from lugging my giant suitcase, and my eyes stung from so much crying, so I accepted the terms.
The buildings start to change the further out we get. The Shard and the business area around it are long gone and are replaced with half-maintained brick structures. Fewer vehicles are on the road, and those that are, are certainly not sports cars.
I glance at him again. He’s quiet, one hand on the wheel and the other resting lightly on the center console between us. But I can almost feel his mind turning.
“It’s good for now,” I tell him, almost preemptively. “But I might move later, if I find something else I like better. And that I can afford.”
He makes a humming sound. Not quite a yes or a no.
We approach a small roundabout with a liquor store beside it. A group of guys is hanging outside it. One of them shoves the other, and the fellow shoves back. Their loud voices reach us despite the closed car windows.
Nate’s frown deepens into a scowl.
“Take the first left,” I say. “There’s a park down the street, actually. It’s pretty in the daylight.”
“Mm-hmm,” he responds.
“Third house on the right here… yes, this is it.” He pulls the car to a stop at the curb, and I start unbuckling my seatbelt. “Thanks for tonight. I had a terrific time.”
But he’s leaning over, looking past me and up at the house to our left. The scent of his cologne is dark and spicy, with a hint of smoke. “This is where you live?”
His words drip with disapproval.
“Yes, but it’s only temporary.” I grip my bag tight and put a hand on the door handle. “Thanks again. Get home safe, okay?”
“I’m not worried about me,” he says. Then, he unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car.
I scramble to follow him. “Nate?”
“I’m coming in,” he says. His face is set in drawn lines, that playful smile is missing from his face this time. He locks the car and throws a glance down the street, to the roundabout and the youngsters we’d seen. “Let’s hope the car is still here in ten minutes.”
“Nate,” I say. Now I’m the one following him to my own front door. “What are you doing?”
“This place looks like it’s one bad storm away from collapsing. This intercom… it’s broken, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but they’re gonna fix it.”
He pushes on the front door. It gives way easily under his touch, and we both stare as it slowly opens. The silence grows tense. “The front door doesn’t even lock,” he says darkly. “Come on. Show me the rest.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“I think it most definitely is.” He shuts the door behind us but mutters something about it being useless.
I head to the stairs, and he follows. His presence feels heavy and judgmental, and I hate that he is seeing this.
Hate the idea of him telling Dean, who, in turn, might tell our mutual friends… I shove my hands in the pockets of my jacket and try to hide how my breathing grows laborious with every step.
“Look,” I say, stopping outside the scratched-up blue door that’s mine. “I haven’t exactly cleaned. I didn’t know I’d be having an impromptu house inspection after a lovely night at the gallery.”
Nate is staring at the scratches on the door with a dark expression. “What made those?”
“They were here when I moved in.”
“Charming,” he says. “Come on, Harp. Open the door.”
“You’re being very domineering right now. And hypercritical,” I say. But I put the key into the lock anyway. “I can hear it in your tone.”
“Good. I’m not doing anything to hide it.”
“No, that’s patently clear,” I mutter. I push open the door to my tiny, horrible room. I’ve hated it since I moved in. It’s furnished, but that’s a generous word for the things my landlady had left behind. The bed is a squeaky metal mess. The small desk that functions as a dining table sits crooked. Although fully functioning, the kitchenette is minuscule, and it also has a mildew issue that makes it less than enticing to use.
Nate stands in the doorway, taking it all in.
“Don’t look at it like that,” I tell him. “Don’t make me defend this place because I really don’t want to. But like I said, it’s temporary.”
“Temporary,” he repeats. “You’ve been living here since you moved to London?”
“Yes.”
His expression darkens further. “Why haven’t you unpacked?”
I look at my suitcase, zipped up and lying on top of a small bench in the corner. Away from walls and cushioned furniture.
“Because,” I say, and this one hurts to get out, “I’m worried there might be bed bugs here.” I glance at him and spot a horrified expression on his face. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m only concerned that it’s a possibility. And I’m looking for another place to live.”
“Harper,” he says.
“Look, not everyone can drive sports cars and live in… in… whatever trillion-dollar apartment you have. This works! It’s not great, but it’s just until I land on my feet. Housing in London isn’t cheap.” My cheeks are flaming with color.
Just as in New York, the housing here is scarce and expensive. Except in New York, I was a master’s student and lived in a dorm. Later, I moved in with Dean, and at his place, my rent was nominal.
Things are different now. I want them to be different now, but that has come with some adjustments.
“I live in a townhouse, not an apartment.” His tone comes across as distracted as his gaze travels around the tiny studio. Outside the window, police sirens start to wail. The sound makes me wince.
“Very pretty park,” I remind him, “and it’s right down the street.”
“Harper, I don’t?—”
“Okay, it’s not that pretty. But it has a pond and plenty of ducks,” I say quickly. “Please, just stop looking at this place like you’re judging me.”
“I will. If you pack your things.”
“What?”
“Get packed. I’m taking you to my place.”
“You can’t be serious.” I stare at him, and he stares right back at me, eyes steady. There’s not a trace of humor on his normally smiling face. “I’m not spending the night at your townhouse.”
“No,” he agrees, “because it won’t be just one night. This place is dingy, unsanitary, and unsafe in about fourteen different ways. You’re not staying here.”
“This is my home,” I say. The statement falls flat in this shithole of a room. I definitely don’t think of this place as home. But I’ll be damned if he’s the one who gets to decide where I live. I’m the one who does.
“Harper, I have a townhouse in Kensington. It’s a short walk from your gallery,” he says in a firm voice. “There’s a guest room. You’ll have your own space, your own bathroom. Shower with no mildew. Certainly no bed bugs.”
“I can’t live with you.”
“Why not?” he asks. His gaze falls to the window, and a frown appears on his face again. “This place isn’t safe. And I have the room.”
“You’re being crazy. That would never work. How would…? Come on, Nate. You don’t really mean this.”
“I’m dead serious,” he says. Then, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve known me for four, almost five years. I have a huge house. You’ll have a key and your own floor. It’s free, it’s comfortable, and closer to your work.”
“I need to live on my own,” I say. My voice wavers, but only slightly. “That’s what I’ve been doing most evenings; trying to find other options.”
“You can keep looking for an alternative place to live while crashing at mine,” he says.
“Nate, I can’t.”
“Because I’m Dean’s friend?” His eyes soften, but creases still line his forehead, letting me know he’s feeling frustrated. “That’s in the box. It will stay in the box. I told you, I’ll never be the one to open it.”
I shake my head, but I can’t find the words. The idea is outrageous. “You’re being so overbearing right now.”
“I know I am. But I also doubt I’ll be able to stop.”
“Nate,” I say with a sigh.
“Look, if you need more time to think about it, I’ll get you a hotel for tonight. For the rest of the week, somewhere in Chelsea, close to your job. But here… I can’t have you stay here.”
The corners of his lips tip up, and it’s the first time in an hour I see the Nate I recognize. Ever charming, ever self-deprecating. “For my own peace of mind, Harp. There’s no way I can live with myself, knowing you were being eaten alive by bugs in a room with no lock.”
“My studio has a lock. It’s just the building’s front door.” But I sink onto the single chair and prop my head on my hand. Looking around at the place, the decision almost makes itself. This place sucks. I know it. He knows it.
But I want autonomy, and moving in with Nate isn’t the way to get it.
At the same time… cohabiting with potential bed bugs and obvious mildew isn’t exactly living it up, either.
He probably has great water pressure.
A bed with a mattress that isn’t trying to kill me.
Neighbors that don’t argue or have loud sex.
“Okay,” I say. “But only for a week, until I find something else.”
“However long you need,” he says.
“Which will only be a week.”
His lip curves. “Okay. A week. You’ll have the place to yourself most of the time. I work almost every day, often late.”
“Of course you do.” I run a hand along the back of my neck and look at my suitcase. Already packed and ready to go. “Doing whatever it is you do for a living. Four years, and I’ve never been able to figure it out.”
“It’s not as interesting as your job.”
“Now you’re just being modest.” I sigh and head over to grab the few things I have next to the bed. There isn’t so much a nightstand as a small stool placed beside the metal frame. I throw everything into my backpack. It doesn’t take long.
“Modest,” he repeats softly. He takes down my stuffed suitcase and rolls it to the door. “Not something I’ve ever been accused of.”
“How surprising,” I say.
He chuckles. “I like you sarcastic. Do you have everything?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing in the mini fridge?”
“No,” I say. When he raises an eyebrow, I’m forced to admit the truth. “It doesn’t work. Hasn’t for a week.”
Nate shakes his head. “You’ll tell me the name of the landlord or agency later,” he says, “so I can shut this whole place down.”
“Sounds like a great way to get my security deposit back,” I say dryly.
He mutters something I can’t catch and picks up my bag. “Let’s go, Harp, we’re headed home.”