TEN
Gigi
Harry and I choose to ignore whatever weird emotions were spiralling last night. After waking up, I head to the kitchen with clear intentions of staying far away from the man with emerald eyes and tousled black hair. Yet he leans back against the kitchen counter so nonchalantly, having the audacity to look like that .
My steps falter at the sight of him. Apparently, a businessman is my new type, because I'm struck for breath when I see the six-foot-four God of a man in a black suit and a crisp white shirt.
His eyes meet mine over the rim of the coffee cup, and he steps aside to let me further into the kitchen. I thank him quietly, hoping my voice won’t betray me as I say, “I never knew photography could be so professional.”
“There’s a new studio opening in Kensington. It’s a black-tie event, which usually means you wear something fancy. Would’ve thought you knew all about it.”
My eyes narrow to slits.
A phone starts ringing, and according to the chill that creeps up my spine, I already know who the caller is. Yet when I spot Greg’s name lighting up the screen a pang of hurt hits me deep in the stomach. Ignoring the call completely, I turn back to the coffee and catch the stiffness of Harry’s jaw .
“I haven’t spoken to him since,” I say as if I need to explain myself.
He nods but says nothing.
By the time I get a good look at him, his cocky demeanour has disappeared.
Our eyes lock, and he opens his mouth several times to speak, but his lips keep closing. Then he visibly swallows and says, “I won’t be back until this evening. Can I trust you won’t sneak off again?”
“I—”
My head whips towards the front door as it swings open. Mia prances in, practically skipping, the satchel hanging from her shoulder bouncing with each step. Her skirt and T-shirt co-ord are a bright green and a harsh contrast against the dull colour scheme of the house.
Harry rubs at his temples. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Lovely to see you too, Harold.” She throws her bag onto the counter, fixing her butt onto the bar-stool.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“Keeping my girl company.” Her eyes run over the length of his body. “You don’t mind, do you? It looks like you were just heading out anyway.”
I don’t hear what he says, but I do hear the not-so-subtle curse that comes afterwards. He heads towards the door, fumbling with his phone as he brings it to his ear. “Keep them company,” he huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Make sure they don’t get up to anything stupid. It was not on my agenda to babysit girls this week, Andy—” He slams the door shut without so much as a goodbye.
Mia turns back to me with a confident smile, triumphant. “That went well.”
“What are you really doing here?”
She stops midway through retrieving a large sample of papers from her satchel, looking at me as if I’ve slapped her. “I thought we were looking into Jack’s death – or has someone tall, dark, and handsome screwed more than just your morals?” She tilts her head, insinuating a lot more than the obvious .
Heat rises to my cheeks almost instantly. I bow my head, realisation hitting me. “It’s Monday, isn’t it?”
She nods. “Mystery Monday.”
We’ve never missed a day. Not once.
“I’m so sorry. My head is just all over the place at the minute.”
I need to pull myself together. And have a cool shower.
She reaches over, holding onto my wrist and running her thumb over my skin. Her smile is sympathetic, and her teasing has quickly evaporated. “Don’t apologise to me.”
“I love you,” I tell her. “I’m going to get in the shower and freshen up.”
Once I’ve exited the bathroom, freshly washed and in a clean set of clothes, I’m a little surprised to turn the corner and see Andy standing close to Mia’s side. She’s bashful around him, and it’s strange to see since no one ever gives her this kind of reaction.
Andy raises his head as I step into the kitchen. “Looks like you and H haven’t torn each other’s hair out yet.”
“There’s still time,” I say, sitting down on a stool beside Mia. “Did he tell you what happened last night?”
He takes an apple from the fruit bowl, tossing it between his hands. He meets my gaze, hiding his fully blossomed smirk in the bite of the fruit.
The answer is as clear as day.
He swallows his bite and says, “That you snuck out and he had to save you from being murdered?”
“That’s hardly what happened. ”
Mia mumbles under her breath, reciting information she’s reading. I press into her side and lean over her shoulder to lock eyes on the police report she’s already analysed for the hundredth time.
“What are you both doing anyway?” Andy asks, circling the island and leaning his forearms on the surface directly across from us.
During my time in the shower, Mia spread out the documents against the countertop, and the kitchen has now been transformed into something fit for detectives. Newspaper clippings, police reports – pretty much everything we’ve ever set eyes on sits in front of us on full display.
“My brother died a while back. We look into his death every week. It’s kind of a thing that we do,” I tell Andy, waving him off dismissively.
He frowns. “Why would you do that?”
Mia continues mumbling under her breath. I turn to her and then back to the man in front of me. “The circumstances of his death were really peculiar. We think someone is lying to us about what happened, and since my family aren’t willing to help, we thought we’d take matters into our own hands.”
“What’s his name?” he asks, taking another bite.
“Jack Thomas,” I say, looking back at the content Mia is so focused on.
“I knew him,” Andy says, chewing on the chunk of apple. “Bit of a badass.”
Mine and Mia’s heads rise slowly.
What did he just say?
We exchange glances with each other and then turn back to Andy as if he’s completely alien.
“You knew him?” she asks.
He nods.
I clarify, “You knew Jack?”
He nods again.
Yet when he spots our pressing gazes, his expression morphs into something else entirely, seemingly perplexed. “Was it something I said? ”
“Explain yourself!” Mia demands, pointing a ballpoint pen at his chest.
He raises his hands like he’s calling for mercy, looking like a deer in headlights. “I didn’t know him personally.”
“Then why’d you say it?” I ask.
“I knew of him . There’s a difference.”
“How can you hear of him ? That’s weird, right?” Mia questions.
He drops his hands and leans against the counter, his expression morphing into a devilish smirk. “You’re gorgeous when you’re mad.”
Mia leans up on her chair, shoving at his chest with a huff. He grins, pleased with himself, as he takes another bite of his fruit and winks at her. Her shock outweighs her bashfulness, but the blush on her cheeks is a dead giveaway for her real feelings.
He talks mid-chew. “From what I know, a lot of people knew of him. Always out in London causing mischief … I can’t really tell you more than that, I’m afraid.”
The mischief part is no surprise to me.
“Small word, eh?” he adds before throwing the discarded apple core in the bin and dismissing the conversation.
While Mia continues to act coy, I scan the documents in front of us with a new sense of direction. Yet all the while, something doesn’t match up. If Andy knew of Jack, and seemingly other people did, how would Harry not have heard of him too? Surely, he would have mentioned something when I brought the conversation up.
“Andy,” I call over my shoulder. “Did Harry?”
I hear the rattle of a beer bottle and then the fridge door close. “Hmm?”
“Did Harry know Jack?”
He pauses, appearing in thought. “Nah, I don’t think so.”
Mystery Monday lasts less than an hour before the papers are discarded against the countertop and we’re chatting like old friends. It’s the longest time I’ve ever spent with Andy, and I conclude he’s a really nice guy. Mia told me a while back he was widowed a couple of years ago. He was married by twenty-seven, and he became a widower just a few weeks later. She’s never detailed the circumstances of how it happened, but I imagine that’s most probably because she doesn’t know.
I admire him, really. You would never know he’s suffering on the inside, and I guess I kind of crave that. I’ve been so hung up on my brother’s death for the past five years that I’m struggling to grieve. A part of me still clings to him, refusing to leave it in the past.
It’s practically nightfall by the time the front door opens and Harry enters, looking every part the hot business broker. He walks in, places his jacket over the back of one of the occupied chairs, and heads straight to the fridge to grab a bottle of beer.
This whole situation is rather peculiar. Kind of like we’re playing house. Coming back after a day of work looking dishevelled – should he call me “honey” and declare he’s home? Should I have put tea on for him—?
“Uhh … Gigi.”
I turn to Mia, lost in thought. “Hmm?”
Her eyes are wild with an emotion I can’t quite place as she references the TV humming quietly in the background. It’s impossible to make out anything they’re saying, but the tagline is as clear as day.
“Turn that up!” I tell her, my interest suddenly piqued.
She grabs the remote in a frenzy, turning the television up several notches as the news broadcaster’s voice filters in. “… has been found dead. The body was pulled from the River Thames by the Metropolitan Police …”
“Gigi,” Mia starts, “isn’t that the guy who—?”
“Shh!”
“… this afternoon. They are not claiming his death to be suspicious. We’re joining you with the latest, here on BBC News. ”
“Oh my God.” I let out a shaky breath. The sofa sinks beside me as Harry relaxes back against the cushions, looking the picture of composure. I tilt my head towards him and ask, “Have you seen this?”
I turn back to the screen as the woman continues.
“Several women have come forward claiming the London bartender spiked them with what’s better referred to as ‘the date rape drug’.”
“You don’t say …” Andy says, looking between us from the sofa he occupies with Mia. “What a coincidence that they caught the exact same guy.”
“Is that the guy, Gigi?” she presses softly.
“I …” My mouth turns dry as the man’s face flashes on the screen.
Harry brings the beer up to his lips, taking a sip as he confidently assures us, “That’s the guy.”
And suddenly, I’m staring at the man beside me, who I thought I knew – well, not really – like a total stranger.
A string of doubt slithers into the corner of my mind, and for a brief moment I entertain the idea that Harry is some cold-hearted killer. My eyes drop to his knuckles, noticing the cuts from Saturday night’s confrontation still tainting his otherwise perfect skin, and then back to his face.
Feeling the burn of my gaze, he turns to me slowly. He cocks a single brow, daring me to accuse him of the thoughts plaguing my brain. I tilt my head sideways, mimicking his expression, as our eyes say all the things our mouths can’t.
What secrets are you keeping from me, Harry?
Harry can’t be a murderer. The idea is just preposterous. I’m looking into things that aren’t there. Thinking about locked doors in a house. Thinking about a person drenched in blood the first time I saw them. Thinking about a man who was murdered in London after trying to assault me. And coming to conclusions that are too far-fetched to even voice.
Throughout the railroad of this evening’s events, I don’t forget Harry promised me an explanation about the situation between him and Greg. Sure, it’s probably the last thing he wants to do after a hard day’s work, but I also know that if I fail to bring it up now, I’ll lose all hope of getting answers.
Regardless of how exhausted he must be after Andy and Mia leave, he’s waiting on the living-room sofa by the time I round the corner from the hallway. He gestures for me to sit down like some kind of puppet master, dressed in nothing but dark sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt that clings to his torso.
“How was work?” I ask, sitting down on the opposite end of the sofa. “Get your hands dirty?”
“If you have something to ask me, then by all means, please say it.”
This feels like a trap. While the insinuation is relatively broad, my line of questioning is miniscule.
“What happened the first night I met you?” I ask, deciding to test the waters.
“Accident at work.”
“At 3 a.m.?”
“Next question.”
“We’ve only just started—”
“Next question, princess. Don’t make me ask again.”
I huff in defeat. We’ve only just started and we’re already hitting a wall.
Deciding to cut to the chase, I ask, “What happened between you and Greg?”
He presses his head back against the sofa cushions, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m not sure what lies he’s fed you, but I can assure you, it’s far from the truth.”
“Enlighten me then.”
He purses his lips and then lets out a breath. “Our mother died during childbirth. She didn’t have time to update the will, and we had a deadbeat dad who didn’t care for that kind of stuff. Once I was eighteen, he left all legal assets to me and fucked off. I was left with a mortgage to pay and a kid to take care of as if he was my own.”
I blink once. Twice. Struggling to believe he’s opening up to me so quickly. The rawness of his confessions tugs me close, captivating me further with each passing second.
He continues. “No life insurance or benefactors to help with that sort of thing. The best thing I could do for him was to let him stay, pay the bills with a job that involved me working away, and give Greg a home even if a family didn’t come with it. He might hate me for what I did, but he had a roof over his head.”
By the time he’s finished his story, I’ve sunk comfortably into the cushions, my head propped up on my forearm on the back of the sofa. His and Greg’s stories both resemble the truth but are told from two completely different points of view.
“You provided him with a home and acted like the dad he never had,” I say. “How could he hate you?”
“If you knew …” Harry rolls his head, bringing our faces close. “Then you wouldn’t be sitting close enough that I could smell the roses on your skin.”
The danger of his statement makes my head swim, yet it focuses him into perfect clarity. It’s a warning for me to take a step back before I get sucked into the vortex. But isn’t that exactly what I’m looking for?
For a fleeting moment my eyes drop to his lips and entertain the idea.
Harry notices the slight adjustment, and whatever trance we were in breaks instantly. He runs his hands through his hair and gets to his feet, retreating to the kitchen.
My cheeks flare with embarrassment, and I keep my head down as he calls from the other room, “Goodnight, Gigi.”
I’m such an idiot. That’s my ex-boyfriend’s brother . God knows he’s given me enough reasons to stay away, yet I just considered kissing him! I’m not about to become a victim of some kind of rescuer syndrome just because Harry saved me from some man outside a nightclub.
Tearing myself apart on whether I should apologise or not, I stand and trudge to his room in defeat without another word. As I walk into the hallway and pass that damn door that’s always locked, I stop in my tracks and turn my attention towards it, watching it from over my shoulder.
“He’s involved with some fucked-up people.”
“He’s not a good person, Gigi. I choose not to think about him willingly.”
“I reckon that man has some dark secrets no matter what the record says.”
My eyes linger on the wood until, finally, I backtrack a few steps. A quick scope of my surroundings tells me Harry’s still in the kitchen and out of sight, allowing me the confidence to reach out and turn the door handle.
A breath falls from my chest as it moves with ease.
It’s unlocked.
I grip the handle hard out of fear it might change its mind. Ready to yank it open and unveil everything I’ve wanted to know, consequences be damned, I recite a quick prayer.
“What are you doing?”
My head whips to the side. Harry’s gaze is dark and ominous, looking far from the person who exposed all his truths just seconds ago. Rage rises to the surface as he watches me with venom in his eyes.
“I’m sorry … I …”
My hand stays gripping the door handle, struggling to let the freedom slip from my fingers. But he grabs my wrist, enforcing a pressure that causes my fingers to give out and set the handle free. Kicking the door free with his foot, he tugs me closer to his chest.
“I think it’s best if you go home tomorrow.”
“Harry, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t—”
“I expect you to have left by the time I’m home.”