Chapter 6 Rhys
Rhys
Penny was… not okay.
Rhys wasn’t expecting to see her this early in the morning.
He certainly wasn’t expecting to walk into the kitchen and see her slumped over the counter, her eyes bloodstained and raw with tears, with an opened bottle of mezcal next to her.
“Morning,” he began, feeling as though he was walking on eggshells.
She was still for long moments before vaguely gesturing at the bottle. “I couldn’t sleep.” The shirt she wore—one of his old ones—almost drowned her, the neck sagging over her shoulder. It was one he’d meant to throw out years ago.
Had she been out here all night? He inspected the bottle, a brand he’d picked up whilst visiting his brother, Aldous, in California.
“I’m sorry for opening it,” Penny murmured, her voice thick. “I’ll pay you back for what it cost. I just needed—”
“I don’t care about the money,” he interrupted, realising most of the alcohol was gone. He was thankful he’d bought one of the smaller bottles. Did she even realise how strong this stuff was? “How often do you drink?”
Penny refused to meet his gaze. “I don’t.”
He let a long sigh spill from his chest. He couldn’t leave her here like this. He didn’t want to come home to find her dead from alcohol poisoning.
For fuck’s sake.
“Get up—no, leave the bottle.” Rhys placed a hand around her shoulders to steady her, but the longer she was on her feet, the more stable she became. When he was confident she wasn’t going to careen into a wall, he directed her towards the living room. “Go and wait in there. I won’t be a minute.”
True to his word, he wasn’t long, gathering a bucket and a pillow—in that order of importance.
“Carry the bucket,” he said upon joining her in the living room, thrusting it towards her. “And walk with me.”
Rhys pushed the button to open the lift doors, gesturing for her to enter before grabbing the suitcase he’d packed in advance.
He caught sight of her bare feet as she did.
He could lend her some of his shoes, of course.
He had an entire wardrobe full, but they’d be far too big for her.
And in her current state, they’d just be a hazard.
“Come, come, come,” he drawled, holding her elbow as the lift doors opened out into his garage.
They weren’t taking his poor Temerario today, especially after last night’s impromptu rally stage behind Penny’s house.
The Lamborghini had only been delivered last month as well, and already it’d been injured in the line of duty.
The only solace was the fact that he hadn’t been driving his beloved Revuelto. Injuring that Lambo would have broken his heart. He liked the Temerario—a mid-engined hybrid, but nothing could beat the roar of the Revuelto’s V12.
Today, though, he needed something different. He needed a grand tourer. And what better than his Bentley Continental? There was enough space for a suitcase in the boot and a drunken woman in the back.
Rhys opened the door, slid back the front seat, and chucked the pillow in.
“Your carriage awaits.” He wished he could say Penny’s entrance was dignified, but he’d be lying.
It was almost sloth-like, a slow climb before she eventually slumped onto the quilted leather, curling into the foetal position.
“Don’t forget your sick bucket,” he told her, balancing it on her hip before snapping the front seat into place.
His entrance, he was pleased to say, was accomplished with dignity.
The engine—a respectable V8—hummed to life as he pushed the start button.
Rhys exhaled as he began his long journey, passing by his much-adored car collection, although there were a few outliers here and there.
Most notably, the motorbikes. Those belonged to his younger brother, Aldous, and his husband, Roman.
Rhys loved cars, but he’d never seen the appeal of motorbikes.
Yes, motorbikes would accelerate faster, but they were a summer vehicle.
No one sensible was riding a superbike in the pissing rain or freezing cold.
Not to mention how dangerous they were. He knew Aldous and Roman’s wife, Bri, worried about them.
Rhys worried too. From the safety of his heated Bentley, usually whilst using the seat’s massage function.
A quiet mumble came from the back seat just as they exited the garage, the engine purring beneath the bonnet. “Where are we going?”
He hesitated before answering; it wasn’t like he hid his health issues, but nor did he share them openly. “A spa.” It was half true: Villa Scilly was half state-of-the-art private hospital and half luxury spa.
London’s streets were empty this time in the morning, and he was pleased to be making good time.
His heart—and stomach—had already got their hopes up of arriving in time for dinner, specifically the Bresse chicken.
He’d tried the same dish in every London restaurant he could find, but none were half as good as at Villa Scilly.
They reached the motorway in record time, and Rhys should have known it was too good to be true.
The throng of westbound cars grew rapidly as they left London behind, until they came to a standstill just outside Reading.
This, he could admit to himself, was one of the areas in which motorbikes were better than cars.
Cars were forced to stay in their lanes, but bikes could easily weave through the bumper-to-bumper traffic, leaving them all in the dust.
Rhys exhaled as he leant back against the headrest, switching on his chair’s massage function.
The little hum was the only noise inside the car.
Instead of listening to whatever rubbish the radio played, he tended to avoid sound as much as possible this late in his infusion schedule.
In a few days, he’d be fine, but right now the only thing he needed was silence.
He eyed the clock on the dash, rubbing his forehead as the minutes trickled by with little movement in the traffic jam.
It was fine, he reasoned with himself. The traffic would eventually clear, and he’d soon be sitting down in Villa Scilly’s restaurant with a plate of Bresse chicken in front of him.
Eventually.
Or the traffic would take so long to clear that he’d miss the late ferry out to the islands, and he’d end up having to wait yet another day for the infusion he desperately needed.
At that moment, a different noise filled the car, a rough, dry rhythm that went directly to his brain.
Rhys turned round to find the source.
Penny lay slumped on the back seat, her face against the pillow and her mouth open. With each exhale came a small, dry snore.
He almost—almost—smiled. Not because of any affection or softness, but simply because, had Penny been in her right mind, she would have never let anyone see her like this, let alone him.
Not the dignified, almost regal woman who’d marched up to him eight years ago and thrown his business card back in his face.
That day had been the first time she’d given him that glare. The sight of it always amused him to no end, because he knew that behind it lay a woman who wanted to throttle him.
Before she shifted, Rhys snatched up his phone, zoomed in, and snapped the perfect photo.
And, stifling a devious grin, he knew exactly where he was going to put it.
Rhys glanced around at the women’s clothing on offer, trying to decide what selection Penny would hate most.
He wasn’t a man who routinely bought women clothing. Jewellery and lingerie were about as close as he came, and none of those purchases came from fast fashion shops like this. Those came from ultra-high-end brands and cost eye-watering amounts of money.
The advantage of a shop like this, Rhys was learning, was that they had some truly revolting items. Frills for days, fluorescents so bright they burned his retinas, and more polyester than he’d ever seen in his life, the apparent global supply of leopard print clothing.
He loved it, for the simple reason that Penny would hate it.
Rhys idly walked through the chaos until, at last, he found the pièce de resistance: a clothing line dedicated to Greggs, undoubtedly the most famous bakery in the country.
It had everything he didn’t know he needed.
Shirts, hoodies, socks, even Crocs. If they had it in Penny’s size, he shoved it into his basket.
The only thing they didn’t have, sadly, was bakery-themed women’s underwear.
He decided to be merciful with those, getting her plain cotton ones instead of razor-sharp thongs.
His steps bounced as he walked back to his Bentley. When was the last time he’d felt this excited about something? He genuinely couldn’t remember. Diamond jewellery? He should have been getting Crocs with sausage rolls on them for his lovers all along.
Rhys opened the car door and fell back into the driver’s seat with a groan. “I got you a selection,” he said, taking out one of several packs of impulse-bought snacks before passing the heavy paper bag into the back seat. “Chocolates are for me. Hurry up and get changed, I want lunch.”
He barely heard the crinkle of the paper bag before rushing out of the car and slamming the door behind him.
He sat on the bonnet, tucking into the chocolates as he waited.
He’d half expected Penny to follow him out, demanding that he go back into the shop for more clothes, but the longer she took, the more his expectations built.
Finally, the door opened, and Penny emerged from behind the Bentley’s blacked-out windows. She faced him, her hair skew-whiff from her six-hour nap on the back seat. She’d gone for a dark blue tracksuit emblazoned with the Greggs logo, topped off with those show-stopping sausage roll Crocs.
Rhys nodded approvingly, mid-way through chewing a chocolate praline. “You’ve never looked better.”
If looks could kill, Penny would have burned him to a crisp. “I hate you so much.”
He sent her a wink, hopping off the bonnet. “Come on then, sausage, let’s get lunch.” The scent of the fast-food restaurant had been wafting over the retail park since they arrived, and he was starving.
The restaurant wasn’t packed with customers, like Rhys had been hoping, but even so, he noticed more than a few eyes lingering on Penny’s outfit. He’d been surprised, if he was being honest with himself, that she’d worn it at all. He was half expecting her to refuse to leave the car.
She might be too strait-laced for her own good, but he knew a spine of steel lurked beneath her black pencil skirts.
“Where are we?” Penny asked, mid-way through her second burger. She’d finished the first in record time; apparently, drinking to excess made her ravenous.
Rhys swallowed a mouthful of his Coke. “Near Salisbury.”
“Is that it?!”
“There was an accident.” His foot nudged her Croc beneath the table. “At least you got to sleep through the endless hours of standing still in traffic.”
“Is that why I’m wearing this? As punishment?”
“No.” Rhys shook his head. “I just thought it’d be funny.
Other than today, I’ve never seen you in anything but your neat little pencil skirts and white blouses and tailored trousers.
” He poked his burger in her direction, imagining a wardrobe full of identical outfits.
“It suits you. You should wear it to the office next time.”
“I suppose I should thank you for getting me normal underwear.”
“Tch,” Rhys said, effecting a serious air, “I would never supply anything less than cotton for underwear. I’m not a monster.”
Something about the way she cocked her eyebrow at him suggested that there was still a considerable amount of alcohol in her system.
On their walk back to the car, Rhys had a plan up his sleeve. He was enjoying snarky Penny far more than the devastated, emotionally-wrought Penny he’d walked in on this morning.
Taking her mind off yesterday was a kindness, really. A kindness that came in the form of a playlist of the most annoying songs he could find—albeit at a reasonable volume, given his infusion schedule.
As Rhys pulled out of the car park, he hummed along to the first song, wondering how long it would take for Penny—now in the passenger seat for the first time—to say something.
“You’re listening to 'Barbie Girl?'” Penny asked, halfway through the first chorus.
It was a job to keep any amusement off his face, but he did it. “It’s one of my favourite songs.”
Placing her elbow on the door, Penny leant her head on her fist. “You’re the most irritating human being I’ve ever met.”
“Thank you, that means a lot to me.”
When Barbie Girl finally finished, Penny let out a sigh of relief—only to quickly laugh as the next track played. “'Gangnam Style?' Seriously?”
“This is a fucking banger!” he exclaimed, gesturing at the radio.
“I hate you so much,” she laughed. Her head fell back against the headrest, a reluctant grin on her lips as she glanced over at him.
Fuck.
The sight of her smiling hit him like a tonne of bricks, wiping out the air in his lungs. The Penny he knew was always so tightly wound she was in danger of snapping, but in that moment? Her hair was a mess, her clothes were a joke, she might still be a bit drunk, but that fucking smile.
It was electric.
Rhys managed to gather his wits enough to send a cheeky wink back at her, knowing that the way she looked in that moment was going to be burned into his mind forevermore.