Chapter 7
Theo
I’ve never seen someone high-five with their entire body before.
As soon as Finn and I step from the cobbled back lane into the converted mews – once a carriage house, now all exposed beams, stone walls, and bespoke lighting – he bounces around like a pinball, from one rugby player to another.
Chest bumps, complicated handshakes, bear hugs that lift grown men off their feet.
I hover just behind him in the hallway, coat still in hand, posture snapped to attention.
The floor’s littered with heaps of trainers, boots, and heels.
No one bothered to tidy up after themselves.
I take off my Mary Janes and position them next to the umbrella holder.
On second glance I realise that it’s a real elephant foot.
Disgusting.
Before I can figure out where to go or what to do with my arms, a woman with perfect blonde balayage appears, Prosecco bottle in hand.
‘Hi, I’m Polly! Nevin’s sister?’ she says when she sees my puzzled expression. ‘The birthday girl. Come in properly!’
‘Oh, hi. I’m Theo. And happy birthday.’ I force a smile. ‘Sorry for showing up uninvited and without a gift. That’s a bit rude. But it was also a bit spontaneous.’
She waves it away. ‘Any girlfriend of Finn’s is family. Though we’re all shocked he’s settling down.’ She wiggles her eyebrows.
‘Well, I—’
‘Lennox, ya wee chancer!’ A voice booms from what looks like the kitchen. ‘Get yer daft arse in here!’
‘One sec!’ Finn calls back. He lights up every time someone shouts his name. I, in contrast, generally shrink a little every time someone says mine.
He turns to me and leans in. ‘I’ll say hi and be right back. Everyone’s sound, promise. You’ll be fine.’
‘I know how to handle myself at parties, Lennox. The question is: do you?’
He laughs and weaves through the crowd.
Sure, I’m fine.
Just like I was fine at that client party in Shoreditch, when I stood next to the bar for an hour while Gil regurgitated my strategy and ideas to the room as if he’d written all of it in his sleep.
No one even looked at me, because they naturally assumed it could only have emerged from his extraordinary brain.
And that’s when it clicked. The only person who’d ever called me brilliant – my boyfriend – had been using my work to elevate his standing all this time.
When I tried to call him out, he told me not to make a scene. Said I was imagining things.
And just like I was fine two weeks later, when the company let me go and the girl from Nectar’s HR whispered, ‘you’ll land on your feet’ and handed me a card signed by people who’d never once asked me to lunch.
They didn’t let Gil go.
They let me go.
So, yeah, that was the last party I went to until now.
Since moving back to Edinburgh last spring, I haven’t been out. There’s no point. I don’t drink, and small talk with strangers drains me.
I have friends. Of course I do. A book club that turned into a WhatsApp group that turned into three of us sending each other cat memes. Occasional brunches and Pilates when I remember to go.
So yeah. Mostly I work. It’s my happy place and my safe space. And that’s the thing about control. You hold on to it with both hands. Because once you let it slip…
Finn comes out of the kitchen, heading back to me.
‘Hey.’ He curves his hand around my waist. Low, easy, boyfriend-casual.
His touch hits a switch that halts the rest of me. It’s the familiarity that gets me, the way his fingers rest like they know where they belong.
They categorically don’t.
‘Want a drink, babe?’ he asks with a wink.
His hand stays on my waist, and I don’t move. ‘Sure.’
A massive man with red hair in a Celtic shirt lumbers toward us, a sentient brick wall. ‘Mate! Thought you’d ghosted us.’
‘Was thinking about it.’ Finn clasps his hand. ‘Scottie, meet Theo. Theo, this is my flatmate and teammate and general pain in everyone’s arse.’
Scottie’s eyebrows climb. ‘The girlfriend? So you’re real.’
‘Last I checked,’ I say, too brightly.
‘Right!’ Finn grins. ‘Drink for Theo, coming right up.’
And he disappears again, leaving me with my coat and Scottie plus a sudden urge to disappear.
‘So,’ Scottie sizes me up. ‘What’s your angle?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘With Finn. See, he doesn’t do relationships.’
‘People can change.’
‘Sure, in general. But not so sure about him.’ Scottie takes a swig of beer. ‘He’s my best mate, but he’s a knobhead and a notorious flight risk. Always has been, as far as I can tell.’
‘Maybe he needed the right reason to stay.’ The words taste false on my tongue.
This is all pretend. But the edge in Scottie’s scepticism makes me want to prove him wrong, even if I’m lying through my teeth.
Finn returns with a glass of Fanta, grinning as if he’s performed a magic trick.
Scottie mutters something about pool, and slinks off like a sulking bear.
‘See? I remembered,’ Finn says proudly and hands me the glass.
Our fingers graze and there’s a tiny, involuntary tug low in my stomach.
‘Impressive. Most men can’t recall what I said five minutes ago.’
‘I’m not most men.’ He closes the gap, his body aligned with mine, as he steers us forward deeper into the party.
Built behind the Georgian townhouses, these mews are tucked all through Edinburgh’s New Town.
Today, they’re worth millions. This one is quite big and packed with rugby players, their partners, friends, and other guests.
About forty, fifty people? Most of them are watching us with varying degrees of subtlety.
Finn’s palm stays where it is. Not possessive, but present.
My ribcage tightens, stupidly aware of the contact. ‘Everyone’s staring at you, Finn.’
‘They’re staring at you,’ he counters. ‘Can’t blame them. You’re a sight to behold.’
‘Okay, so they’re staring at us then. Happy?’
‘More than I’ve been in a while.’
A blonde in a glittery top glances over, her gaze lingering on Finn before sliding to me with naked curiosity.
‘Three o’clock. Sequins. She’s wondering what kind of spell I used on you to make you behave and follow me,’ I say.
‘And what’s your professional assessment?’ He presses the heel of his hand lightly into my back. The contact writes itself across my spine. I try not to read it.
‘That she should wonder what kind of spell I’ll use on her if she doesn’t stop gawking.’
He laughs. ‘There’s the clawed kitty. I was starting to worry you’d gone soft.’
‘Never.’ I sip my drink. ‘Though your teammates seem convinced I’m either a saint or a scam.’
‘Which would you prefer?’
‘Neither. I’m just doing my job. Overtime, by the way.’
His smile dims slightly. ‘Right.’
Someone calls his name, and he introduces me to a blur of faces. Nevin, the birthday girl’s brother. His shy girlfriend Ava. Two other players whose names I immediately forget. Polly’s doctor friends. They’re all watching us like we’re a new Netflix series they’re not sure about yet.
Finn drapes his heavy, muscular arm around my shoulders while spinning a training story. His arm stays there, thumb brushing slow arcs over the curve of my upper arm, so casually I almost don’t notice.
Almost.
In truth, my body records each touch, time-stamping the moment. His hand on my back at 9:17. His fingers brushing mine at 9:24. His arm around me at 9:38.
‘Selfie time!’ Polly appears with her phone. ‘Everyone squeeze in!’
Finn pulls me closer. Just before the flash, he presses his lips to my cheek. Warm. Soft. Lingering.
He doesn’t let go after the photo. His mouth stays close to my ear. ‘You okay?’
I nod, not trusting my voice.
Across the room, two women whisper, glancing our way. I catch fragments: ‘…porn pictures…’ and ‘…shag sandwich…’
Of course they’re talking about it. Everyone is.
‘Ignore them,’ Finn says quietly. ‘If I can do it, you can do it.’
But that glint behind his eyes sharpens, too fast for anyone else to catch. I see it. The micro-shift in his posture, tension notched at the corners of his mouth. He’s playing the charming rogue they expect, but something underneath is crumbling.
‘I’m fine.’ There, I said it again.
‘You’re not.’ His eyes hold mine. ‘But thanks for pretending.’
‘Says the expert. But isn’t that why we’re here?’
His brows pull in, just barely. ‘Some parts more than others.’
Before I have the chance to ask what he means, Scottie reappears. ‘Lennox, we’re playing pool. You in?’
‘Naw, staying with my girl.’
‘I can entertain myself,’ I say. ‘Go play, babe.’
‘You sure?’
‘Positive. I’ll watch you lose from here.’
His grin returns full force. ‘Cheeky.’
As he walks away into the billiard room – because that’s the kind of house we’re in – I catch myself watching him.
The easy confidence in his shoulders. The way people orbit around him naturally.
On paper, he shouldn’t fit here. Edinburgh’s full of polished vowels and private school grins, people who know which fork to use and which intern’s uncle runs a hedge fund.
But Finn Lennox doesn’t shrink to fit, he carves his space.
Not with pedigree, with presence and charm that doesn’t beg to be liked, only dares you not to.
And somehow, they all respond. Men lean in, women laugh too loudly, no one asks where he went to school.
‘Enjoying the view?’ Polly edges in beside me, glass in hand, smile playing at the corner of her mouth. ‘He’s different with you.’
‘We haven’t been together long. It’s only just getting serious.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’ She studies me over her glass. ‘He’s usually putting on a show. Big gestures, big laughs, silly jokes all the time. Class clown vibes. With you, he’s…watching. Checking in. It’s sweet.’
I give her the kind of smile that works better in mirrors. ‘Oh, he’s full of surprises.’
‘I bet. Though I’m surprised you’re cool with…you know. The video and all that.’
‘We’re working through it.’ The lie is as smooth as sea-glass.