12. Ruin the Friendship
Ruin the Friendship
The next morning, I wake early, my body aching in the best way possible from Broderick’s hydro-therapy. I lay there, limbs loose, relishing every throb and stretch. Every muscle tender with satisfaction.
Then—like an uninvited guest—the thought crashes through my post-coital bliss: Riley caught us.
Broderick. Balls deep. Me. Moaning like an unhinged banshee.
Fuck.
We need to talk. I groan, dragging myself out of bed. I throw on my robe, still damp at the hem, and make my way barefoot down the hall toward her room. She’d still be asleep.
Hopefully.
Or plotting the inevitable interrogation. I’ll save her the trouble—I ease the door open quietly, not bothering to knock.
Her room’s decorated much like mine—except it’s a complete disaster. Riley’s version of “unpacked”. Clothes everywhere, suitcase half-open, and there she is: ginger hair poking through a mountain of pillows and blankets she’s nested in.
I crawl in beside her and gently boop her nose.
“My beloved,” I coo.
She groans.
“Riley bear,” I sing-song.
Another groan—deeper this time. The universal sound for please shut the fuck up.
Then, muffled into the pillow: “Who’s that…sounds like a dirty, dirty little whorebag?”
“Takes one to know one.”
She chuckles into the pillow. “Touché, my friend. Touché.”
I sigh.
“So,” she mumbles, voice still gravelly, “how was it?”
“Phenomenal.”
“Well done, Brody.” She rolls over, giving me a slow, silent golf clap of approval as she stretches the sleep away.
“And the appendage?”
“No comment.”
“Tease, was that the first time?” she asks.
“No.”
“When, then?” A small flicker of hurt passes her face and I can’t help but feel guilty, I rarely kept anything from her and I kept this. I knew of all the people in my life she would understand and wouldn’t judge me for it.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, it was just so soon after Alex.”
“How soon?” she asks raising her brow, her eyes searching mine, the hurt now replaced with wicked curiosity.
“After the show in New York,” I sigh, remembering what led me running into Broderick’s arms and pants in the first place.
She stretches again, arms overhead, but doesn’t say anything.
I hesitate. “After Alex called me...said he missed me.”
Riley turns her head slowly, like she’s about to explode into expletives—but holds back.
“I remembered what you said, so I went to Broderick’s apartment and blew his brains out.”
Riley shoots upright, eyes wide.
“Girl, you did what now?”
I laugh, flopping back onto the pillows beside her.
“I went to his apartment, propositioned him mid-workout about this friends-with-benefits thing, sucked him off, and then ran out of there.”
She stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Mid-workout?”
I nod, grinning. “He was shirtless. Sweaty. I was angry and horny.”
“And you just left?”
“I panicked!” I shriek, heat rushing to my face.
She clutches her chest like I’ve just dropped a telenovela plot twist.
“You gave him a drive-by blowie?” She’s practically squealing.
My hand flies up over her mouth. “I had shit to process!”
She pries my hand off.
“I bet you did. You’re insane.” She shakes her head, grinning. “I’m obsessed.”
“Just...don’t tell Philippa,” I say, pulling the blanket over my face. “We don’t really want anyone to know. He’s like...their collective best friend, and I don’t want things to get complicated.”
“To the grave, babe…you know I got you,” Riley says, her voice way too innocent.
Without missing a beat, she adds, “But if you didn’t want complicated—you should’ve picked a different pole to roll.”
I groan, dragging a pillow over my face. “I know—but after the shit with Cooper, the thought of NDA’s make my skin crawl. Brody’s hot and I trust him.”
Riley snorts and flops onto her back, arms splayed across the duvet enjoying the early morning gossip session.
“I knew it would happen eventually he’s obsessed with you.”
I know Broderick likes me but obsessed? It’s a bit of a stretch.
“What do you mean?”
She rolls her head toward me. “You should’ve seen him at the Gala. He was in awe. Kept telling me how incredible you were. Asking if things with you and Voldemort was serious.”
“Voldemort?”
“Yeah. We no longer speak that asshole’s name.” She pulls the blanket up to her chin.
“So...he was asking about us?”
She nods. “He wanted to know if he had a chance.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told him I don’t speak for you.” She yawns. “Said if he wanted answers, he should ask you.”
This catches me by surprise. The Gala happened before the Hamptons, before that evening in my apartment.
How long has he had feelings for me?
I sink deeper into the mattress. “He did. At the beach. I told him I chose Alex.”
“Oof.” She rolls onto her side, propping her head up on one hand. “And he still agreed to this?”
“I was...pretty persuasive.”
“I bet you were.” Riley grabs the spare pillow and hugs it to her chest. “Damn, girl. How did you go from Sister Mary Sound of Music to this?”
“Being friends with you, obviously.” I snort.
She lets out a delighted gasp.
“I cannot believe you’re getting dicked-down by a six-foot-something rugged hunk of man meat. How are you not walking sideways?”
I collapse into laughter. “The sex, Riley. Fuuuuck. It’s amazing. I have never been hornier in my life.”
“Okay, horny, we better get ready. I have morning breath, and you have dick breath.”
I cackle, flinging the pillow at her again as I stare up at the ceiling, cheeks sore from smiling. While we had broken a rule, I had to admit it felt good now that Riley knows. If there was anyone I could trust with this, it’s her.
Riley and I head downstairs, arms linked.
She’s scooped her hair into a ponytail that barely contains the wild strands framing her face.
She’s wearing a boho dress with bangles stacked along her arms. I settle on an outfit Rio picked for me—a two-piece mint set with a crop top and high-waisted skirt.
Simple, yet stylish. My hair falls in loose waves down my back, and the extra-high wedges give me height and confidence.
Down the hall, past the entrance, I see him. Salt-and-pepper hair. A flannel shirt that looks out of place among the sea of designer outfits.
“Dad!” I call, and Jack turns, a roller bag beside him, Yasmin—the wedding coordinator—positioned at his side as the rest of the weekend’s guests spill into the halls of Ravenswood.
I skip over, and he scoops me into a hug. One of the staff grabs his suitcase, taking it down the hall.
“Kiddo—streuth, look at you,” he says in his thick Australian accent, before letting me go.
“Riley,” he adds, pulling her into a hug.
“Nice to see you, Jack,” Riley says warmly.
“How was the flight?” I ask, though one look at his face tells me it was rough. I know that feeling all too well.
“Bloody nightmare. Got delayed twice. But I made it—for Philippa.”
And I know just how much that means. Jack has never left Australia—ever.
But he cares enough about Philippa to make the journey, to step out of his comfort zone—for her.
I can’t help but draw the comparison. My father couldn’t even bring himself to take a flight to see me when my mother died, he would have chartered himself a jet or even been in first class. But I wasn’t worth the effort.
“Good morning, Elena.”
My stomach sinks at the sound of his voice. Think of the devil and he shall appear.
Jack and Mortimer. In the same room. For the first time. I’d never thought I’d see the day.
I turn. Carole, in a powder-blue tweed number, is linked arm-in-arm with my father, dressed in a charcoal casual suit. Mortimer eyes Jack up and down, the look on his face says he’s less than impressed.
Judgmental asshole.
“Father. Carole.” I force a polite smile. “This is my dad—Jack.”
Mortimer cringes at the word dad. That’s right, he’s more of a father to me that you’ll ever be.
“Mortimer,” Jack says, extending his hand.
Mortimer regards it a moment, looking down from his high horse, before finally extending his own. “Jack,” he says softly, though there’s an edge beneath it.
“You must be starving, Jack. Let’s get you something to eat,” Riley cuts in, she must feel the tension too. “I could murder a stack of waffles.”
“Oh, that sounds delicious,” Carole says sweetly. She turns to me. “That’s a beautiful outfit, Elena, the color really suits you.”
“Thank you. I could say the same for you.”
She beams, her eyes sparkling with…joy?
As we make our way toward the banquet hall, Jack nudges me. “Good on ya, kiddo.”
And I know exactly what he means.
I’m trying to keep the peace for Philippa and to keep the promise I made to Mom.
The banquet hall had been transformed into a sea of white florals. Every table gleamed with sunlight pouring in through tall windows, and the air smells like fresh pastries and overpriced roses.
Breakfast foods were laid out for the taking—fruit, mini quiches, smoked salmon, enough carbs to soak up last night’s indulgence.
We pile our plates high before Riley and Jack veer off toward the table where Carole and my father are seated—conveniently right next to ours.
“Jack!” Philippa calls out.
“There she is!” he says, pulling her into a quick hug.
“Thank you for coming,” she gushes, a wide smile spread across her face.
“Of course.” I can see the glassiness in his eyes, of the two of us, Philippa resembled our mother the most, though lighter in hair, eye and skin color, everything else was a spitting image.
I watch as she introduces Andrew to him and they shake hands and share pleasantries.
Philippa returns to her seat next to Sienna.
While Andrew heads to the buffet tables.
I take the seat beside Broderick.
“I hope you don’t assault the waffles this time,” Broderick says low, his voice brushing against my ear.
“No, the waffles are safe today,” I murmur, smiling as I cut a piece of bacon and pop it into my mouth.
I let out a quiet mmm, just loud enough for him to hear.