Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Three years, two months, two weeks, and six days earlier
Edinburgh, Scotland
“So maybe…maybe we sorted this out? And we can carry on as before?” Rose’s expression is so wide-eyed and hopeful, I have to make the executive decision not to laugh in her face.
I woke up this morning to a Conor-less room, a phone number scribbled on a notepad on my desk, and a full house. Rose and her new girlfriend, Surika, sit at the kitchen table with Georgia and Alfie, eating eggs and sausage. They’ve all been debriefed on my wild night of passion (I can only hope that’s how they referred to it). Clearly, they plan to use it as proof that Georgia and Alfie did nothing wrong, ever.
“The people in this room are my best friends,” Rose says, one hand dramatically poised on her chest. “It’s very important that you guys all get on with each other.”
“I’m totally okay with everyone,” Georgia says, and I have to bite my tongue before asking, What could you possibly have to object to? “Maya, I just want you to know that I don’t mind living with you,” she adds. Her eyes are the exact same shade of green as Rose’s. I might have to burn every item of clothing I own in that color. “It would be so shitty of me to ask you to move out. It never even occurred to me.”
I’ve been trying not to abuse my therapyspeak, but I’m starting to feel a little gaslighted. “It had never occurred to me, either,” I mumble. Two months. Two months of school left. Then I’ll be free to move my single, friendless self elsewhere. “I’m so sorry.” I stand from the stool where I was sat more or less against my will. “I have to go, or I’ll be late for breakfast with Conor.”
“About Conor…” Rose starts.
“Be serious, Maya,” Alfie interrupts. “You can’t trust him. You just met this bloke on vacation last year, and now you’re…”
Banging him against your door lingers around the table, deliciously unsaid.
Surika, the only person in this room who’s not currently in my little Make Suffer book, snorts between bites. “I think we can safely assume that the Harkness scion is not some kind of catfishy murderboi.”
Alfie scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I highly doubt that Finneas Harkness’s eldest son is walking about kidnapping American-born students. He probably just wants to get laid. No offense.”
“None taken,” I say.
But the atmosphere is still full of skepticism, and Surika sets down her fork. “Do you guys seriously not know who Finneas Harkness is?” She rolls her eyes. Mutters something about financial illiteracy. “Tell them, Maya.”
I clear my throat. “Actually…”
“Oh, my—okay. Whatever. His father is CEO of the largest hospitality company in the UK. He owns dozens of luxury resorts. The lining of his cells is made of gold. His son’s in finance, though he does biotech. Has his own firm. He also shits cash.” She browses her phone, hands it to Alfie. From across the table, I spot the Forbes logo, and a picture of Conor with Minami, Eli, and Sul. They’re all smiling.
I hold my breath. Thankfully, no one in the room recognized my brother.
“Is that supposed to make us worry less?” Alfie is unimpressed. “Has anyone watched American Psycho ?”
A surprisingly good point. “You can keep an eye on me. I’m still sharing my location with Rose,” I say before waving goodbye and hurrying down the stairs. In a weird way, their worry warms my heart. It tells me that they still care about me, and…No. I need to snap out of it.
Yes, they are my friends and I love them.
Yes, they are incredibly toxic company for me right now.
Yes, I’d rather spend the morning with my brother’s colleague whom I’ve known for over a decade and yet I’ve thought about fewer times than I’ve seen Pride & Prejudice 2005.
Not something I ever believed I’d say, but here I am. Watching Conor Harkness leaf through a financial newspaper like he’s living in a 1950s time capsule. Plopping down in the seat in front of him, because he snagged a window table at the Fountainbridge Loudons on a Saturday morning.
“Hey,” I say when he looks up. A sudden, jittery rush pinkens my cheeks, the morning air fresh against my skin.
This feels contextually wrong. Someone I know from Austin, Texas, is here in Edinburgh. An improbable collision of parallel worlds.
“Good morning.” He sets the paper aside, and I’m beginning to think that I really lucked out when the Harkness receptionist put me through to him. My brother has a handful of friends, but if any other of them had come to the rescue, the whole Hey, I’m rebounding with a dude in his thirties tale would have been much less believable.
But Conor looks nice. He did last night, despite the pretentious rich-guy aesthetic, and he does this morning. Cropped wavy hair somewhat disheveled, jeans, a thin sweater, sunglasses—
“What?” he asks when I stare. I love it, the scrape in his voice.
“Nothing. Just…” I lean back against my chair, grinning. I put on some makeup and my favorite sweater. Showered. Washed my hair and left the curls to flow over my shoulders. See, I’m trying to say. I can get my shit together . I was at my worst last night, but I can do better. No need to think of me as a loser. “Thank you for arranging this.”
“No problem.”
Silence. We regard each other for longer than is normal, or polite, and…
“Oh, no,” I say.
“Oh, no?”
“This may have been a mistake.”
“You said you loved Loudons.”
“It’s not that. It’s just, you and I”—I gesture between us—“do we even have anything to talk about? I mean, you’re kinda advanced in age.”
His forehead furrows, a deeply etched scowl. “I was promised food, not beration.”
“Oh, I can deliver both.” I grin. Tilt my head. “It’s okay. We’ll find something. You can tell me how life was before electricity.”
He gives me a stern, prolonged stare.
“Just kidding. Age is nothing but a number, and all that.”
He winces. “Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s what some piece of shit who hangs out in online forums with minors would say.” I laugh, but he doesn’t. Holds my eyes as he says, “Age is years of accumulated experience. Age is lessons learned.”
“That’s not always true. Lots of factors intersect with that.”
A tired sigh. “Have you gotten in touch with your brother? He landed early this morning.”
“Not yet.”
A single eyebrow peeks from behind a dark lens. “I thought you needed to speak with him very urgently. So urgently, I showed up at your doorstep.”
“Correct. And since I wouldn’t want you to think that I don’t appreciate it, I’ve decided to let Eli focus on his Australian deal, and to make do with you. Congratulations—you have been promoted.”
“So I’m your brother now?”
“Sure,” I joke, even though it feels wrong. To Conor, too, judging from the set of his brow. It’s a relief, being interrupted by the server for our order.
“When’s your flight back?” I ask once she’s gone.
“Afternoon.”
“Are you going back to Ireland?”
“Austin, unless my father trolls us with another disappointingly un-deadly health scare.”
“Conor, this is…terrible.”
“I know. He made me come all the way over here and won’t even kick the bucket.”
“No, I meant…” Our coffees are brought to the table. “The way you speak of him. Do you really not care that he might die?”
“I do care. I am actively upset every second he remains alive.”
“Is this an inheritance thing?” I lean my elbows on the table. “Do you want his money?”
He chuckles against the rim of his mug. “I will not be in that will.”
“Why?”
“Because nothing would give me more pleasure than to donate his earthly hoard to the charities he most hated, and he’s aware of it.”
Riveting, all of this. Some real Succession shit. “Would you mind if I asked you approximately two hundred highly unseemly and increasingly intrusive questions about your dysfunctional family? Don’t say yes, please. You already know all about me, after all.”
“Do I?”
I shrug. “You know the heartrending parts that make people look at me like I’m the most banged-up apple at the supermarket. It’s only fair that you share yours.”
His full lips twitch, a small smile that softens his angular face. “I’m here at your service, Trouble.”
“Does your father know how you feel?”
“That’s the wrong question.”
“How so?”
“My father doesn’t give a fuck about anyone’s interior life. He’s a bully who doesn’t see other humans as living beings with feelings. In his world view, every relationship can be conceptualized in terms of power. Every interaction is a wrestling match, and the only acceptable endgame is him coming out on top.” He takes a leisurely sip of his coffee, like he didn’t just describe Narcissism 101, The Musical .
“Why is he like that?”
“Fucked-up genetics and formative years? My grandfather raised him to think that kindness was a weakness. My father raised us to think that cruelty is strength. Shaped us in his image and likeness, with varying degrees of success.”
“He failed with you, though.”
He shakes his head. “Out of all of us, I’m the most similar to him.”
“No, you’re not.” I laugh, genuinely amused. “You’re here, with me.”
“Only because I was in the area. And I need Eli to focus on the—”
“On the Mayers deal, yeah. Except, you were in another country , Conor. And as you mentioned, you are Harkness’s assistant to the regional manager, or whatever, and could have easily finished up that deal yourself.” Our breakfast plates arrive. When I pick up a slice of toast and defiantly chew it in his face, he turns his head to hide a smile. “If you’re so heartless, why did you even come to Europe? Wouldn’t you want your father to die alone?”
“I told you, I came for my stepmother.” He shoves an entire tomato in his mouth in a single bite, somehow gracefully, and then takes his time chewing it. “My siblings tend to gang up on her.”
“Why?”
“They see her as a gold digger who married my father for his money.”
“How come?”
“Probably because she is a gold digger who married my father for his money.” He seems unbothered. “But she’s been putting up with his shit for nearly ten years. Whatever riches she’ll walk away with, they’re earned.”
“Oh. Will she…have long enough to enjoy the fruits of her labors, once he dies?”
“I hope so, since she’s younger than me.”
I almost swallow my tongue. “ What? ”
“Only by a few months.”
“This feels…” I tilt my head, wondering what Conor’s lines are, what his reactions might be to have them crossed. “Fucked up?”
“Funny you should say that, because ‘Fucked up’ is written in Latin on the Harkness family insignia. Problematicus .”
I laugh. “Was it weird? When they got married?”
“Nah. I was already in the US for school, and our house had been a revolving door of beautiful young women since the day my mom died.”
“Ah. Was that your dad’s way of dealing with grief and heartbreak?”
He snorts. “The women were there when my mother was alive, too. He simply had the grace not to bring them home.”
“I see. And, do you like your stepmother?”
“A lot.”
I gasp. “Are you secretly in love with her? Please, say yes. I need this juiciness in my life.”
“Your friend group already has plenty of incestuous juiciness, you don’t need to borrow mine. And no, I’m not. She is, however, my one family member who wouldn’t throw another human being into a wood chipper for a wad of cash, which makes me partial to her.”
I watch him neatly cut into his meat. Take a tidy, gentlemanly bite. “Did you…”
He spears a piece of tomato, patiently waiting for me to continue.
“You used to date Minami, right?”
“This is refreshing.” I cock my head, confused by his response, and he explains, “Someone bringing up Minami in my presence.”
“Oh. Do people not?”
“Not our relationship. Lots of pussyfooting.”
“Is it because you are still in love with her?”
“I still love her very much, yes.”
“Wow,” I scoff.
“Wow?”
“If you think I don’t see what you did there…”
He smiles again. Says nothing. I might be ready to offer him money to take off those damn sunglasses.
“What about Sul? Are you jealous? Do you sometimes wish you could peel the skin off his scalp, just a little bit?”
“Is that what you want to do to the blonde?”
“Yeah,” I say, dejected. “Please, don’t leave me alone with this horrible thing I just said.”
His shoulders shake with laughter. “I wish I could, but…have you met Sul? He’s a great guy. There’s nothing to hate, there.”
He’s not wrong. Sul is such a quiet presence, I used to joke with Eli that he acted more like Minami’s bodyguard than a partner, a gentle giant Velcroed to her side. “I was obsessed with Minami, growing up. Still am, really. And I have to admit, I’ve always wondered what she saw in him.”
Other guys would jump at the chance to shit-talk their ex’s husband. Conor just says, “It’s not for us to know. He’s different, with her.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s how relationships work. If it’s a good one, you let loose. You show all sides of yourself.”
“Yeah? Then maybe my relationship with Alfie wasn’t all that good.”
“It wasn’t.”
“How do you even know?”
“The Post-its on your desk, with city names. You had seven. Four on the right—Austin, London, Cambridge, Massachusetts, and Durham—and three on the left. And Edinburgh was nowhere to be seen.”
“Oookay, Sherlock. And you can divine that my relationship with Alfie sucked, because…”
“The Post-its on the right are graduate programs that you are still considering.”
My heart speeds up. “How do you know that the ones on the left—”
“You discarded them a while ago. They were stacked together, for one. And you didn’t doodle the city skylines on the bottom—nice Big Ben, by the way. But there was no Edinburgh Post-it in either pile, because you eliminated that option a while ago. Long before you broke up. Even though last night Alfie told me he’s got a full-time museum gig lined up for next year, here in the city. And it didn’t sound like fresh news.”
I lick my lips. “Long-distance relationships are a thing.”
“You didn’t even apply for Edinburgh, did you?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. No. I didn’t. I want to tell him that it wasn’t that deep, but maybe—
“I’m surprised Austin’s still in the running.”
I am, too. Have been surprised about it for ages. I applied almost in a trance, and when the acceptance letter came, I felt a rush of relief. I don’t think I want to go home, but…
“Is April fifteen the deadline to commit?” he asks, clearly savvy about the process.
I nod. “Maybe you’re about to see a lot more of me.” The thought feels oddly…organic. “We could stay in touch. Hang out. You can tell me everything about the maladjusted world of billionaire families, and I can let you know with whom my weekly boyfriend is cheating on me. That stuff.”
He grins. The widest one I’ve gotten from him yet. “Sounds like a plan.”
“What do you think Eli would say?”
“About you moving back to Austin?”
“Yeah.”
He observes me closely. “I think you should stop overthinking your brother’s feelings and have an honest conversation with him. You’d be surprised at how much good that might do you.”
I don’t bother hiding my eye roll. And, maybe to punish him a little, I ask, “How long ago did you and Minami break up?”
“In grad school. Well over ten years.” He rests his fork on the side of his plate. Sits back, like he’s waiting for me to continue my third degree.
“Why?”
“I asked her to marry me.”
“Oh.” I take a sip of water, just because. Play with the eggs on my plate. “That’s not a catalyst for a breakup, usually.”
“It is if one party says no.”
Ouch. “Did she break your heart?” I study him. His body language. He doesn’t seem nervous with this line of questioning. The opposite, in fact. He really is charming, surprisingly sophisticated for someone who’s also rough around the edges. “Is your heart broken, Conor?”
“Yeah.”
There is a faint nausea in my stomach. At the idea of him still being hung up on this formidable woman I’ve idolized my whole life. At the certainty that no one will ever love me that way.
My worry must show, because Conor takes his sunglasses off to say, “But it wasn’t Minami’s doing.”
“What do you mean?”
His brown eyes are filled with humor. “My heart didn’t break because we split. We split because it was malfunctioning to begin with.”
I twist the phrase around in my head, trying to understand. I almost have it, when my phone buzzes against the table.
It’s a text from Sami, an American engineering student I originally met through Rose. He and I have taken many classes together and ended up becoming good friends.
Sami: R. told me ur new bf is in town—he’s totally welcome to come tonite.
Sami: Btw, good on u. Alfie is a POS.
Welcome to go where? I start typing, but stop before sending the text with a soft, “Shit.”
Thank you , I reply. And happy birthday, see you later!
“What?” Conor is asking. The sunglasses are back on.
“Nothing,” I say. But I run a hand through my hair and show him my phone.
“How do you have four hundred and thirty-seven unread emails?”
“I know, right? I’ve been pretty good at keeping the number low, lately.”
He seems bemused.
“What? Do you clear your inbox every day?”
“I have an executive assistant in charge of that. Sometimes more, depending on the quarter and on the urgency of certain matters.”
Of course he does. “Here, look at this text. I’d forgotten that it’s my friend Sami’s birthday. We’re meeting at a pub to celebrate tonight—Alfie and Georgia included.” I give Conor my most sardonic smile. “I know, I know, you’re probably thinking—Maya, I cannot believe you get to have all the fun. But don’t worry, Sami has already heard about you and you are invited, so—”
“I’ll go,” he says, before stuffing his face with a mouthful of toast.
I slow-blink at him. “No, I didn’t mean…This is after you leave. And I’ll be fine. Last night I wasn’t doing so hot, but I’m feeling better. I can handle Alfie and Georgia—”
“I don’t trust your friends.”
God. I no longer do, either. “But what about your plane ticket? Can you change it that close to departure?”
He stares at me, chewing, waiting for me to reach one of two realizations: either he doesn’t care about the money, or he chartered a plane. Fuck the plankton, I guess?
“You…” Don’t have to , I start to say. But I bet Conor Harkness lives by the knowledge that he’s not forced to do shit. And if he stayed a little longer, if I got to hang out with him a few more hours…
Wouldn’t that be fun?