Chapter Twenty
I didn’t think I’d have need of Mr. Johnson’s legal services again, but he was my first call the following morning. While I had no intention of pressing charges against the Blackstones, their harassment contradicted their agreement to honor Sawyer’s will, and I thought it prudent to make him aware. Being the kind man he was, he wasted no time drafting a cease and desist letter to be delivered by week’s end. I hoped it was warning enough. Only time would tell.
It wasn’t until a couple of days later, after my locks had been changed and I’d had the chance to sit with it for a while, that the full effect of the break-ins truly hit me. Greater than the fear, which had come and gone, or the looming uncertainty of not knowing who or why , I was left with the disheartening reality of the truth.
It was one thing for the Blackstones to be uninterested in me. I could wrap my head around how they’d decided knowing me wasn’t a desire they harbored, choosing to cast me in the role of stranger or even an inconvenient by-product of a summer fling from long ago. But to acknowledge the lengths they were willing to traverse in order to try to get rid of me—it was the harshest rejection I’d ever experienced. Yet, even worse than their rejection was my inability to understand what it was about me that repelled the people I’d hoped to hold dear.
My parents.
My siblings.
My family.
It didn’t seem fair or right to believe any of them simply didn’t want me. The whole situation was far too complicated to boil it down to that. Except, it couldn’t be disputed how none of them knew me. Not even my mother—not really. And it was that — that truth, the actuality of how I had been rejected or pushed aside or deprioritized before I’d even been given a chance to show them who I was which left me deflated. Like, in their eyes, I hadn’t been worth the time or effort.
I’d been taking what I could get my whole life. It was the only way I knew how to survive. It’s what got me to London. And while I refused to regret my life choices, I did feel a bit foolish for my optimism.
After a couple of days in my head, I couldn’t help but to feel a little sad—like the events of Monday night were the final death tolls of any hope that remained of the possibility of being a sister.
It wasn’t until after I watched Eloise leave with Juliet that I realized I was still holding onto it. While it should have been easy to let go, given everything, it wasn’t.
I’d stayed at Rory’s for a couple more nights, which did wonders for my mood. But on Thursday, when the Parlour was open for business, I found myself at home and alone. Truly alone. It was then when I noticed the family photo from my desk was gone. I wasn’t looking for it. It was just a random moment when I looked over and realized it was missing.
I was sure Eloise had taken it—and when the urge to cry snuck up on me, I didn’t deny the feeling but let the tears come.
The first time I’d seen the photograph I’d wept at the loss of the possibility of my father. Now, I’d lost the only image of him I’d ever had. Moreover, my dream of being one of them—however short lived it was—had been stolen, too.
When Rory called me later that night, my tears had subsided, but I was still in my feelings. I didn’t want him to know. We were still new, and I longed to bask in that. I didn’t wish to burden him with my emotional turmoil. The last thing I wanted was to turn him off or push him away, so I took a deep breath before I answered and plastered on a smile he couldn’t see, hoping it would come through in my voice.
“Hi. I wasn’t sure if you’d still be up,” he said in greeting.
“Yeah, I’m awake. I’m in bed, but not asleep yet,” I replied, pulling the phone away from my ear to check the time. It was a few minutes after ten.
“Do you want company?”
I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth as I hesitated.
I didn’t want to burden him, but I didn’t want to lie, either.
The truth was, I really did want his company—but it scared me to admit how much.
Instead, I replied, “I’m kind of tired.”
“Sweetheart?”
“Hmm?”
“I know you and me together is still a new concept—but you’re no stranger. If you think I can’t tell something is wrong, then you still have no idea how captivating you are and how well I’ve come to know what you sound like when you’re happy as opposed to when you’re upset or frightened or sad.”
I was certain my heart had skipped a beat while all the air in my lungs left me in a whoosh as I breathed, “Oh.”
“Do you want company?” he repeated. Then, before I could answer, he said, “I should warn you, if you say no, I’m likely to ignore you.”
This made me laugh, and the momentary spark of joy felt like a gift in and of itself.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Right. I’ll be over in a few.”
We disconnected, and I got out of bed. I was in a pair of barely-there cotton shorts, and my Stanford crewneck sweatshirt. I didn’t bother changing. I tucked my feet into my slippers and made the journey down to my building’s door, unlocking it for Rory before returning to my flat.
Ten minutes later, his soft knock against my front door alerted me to his arrival.
When I opened up for him, craning my neck a little to look into his blue eyes, it struck me how much it meant that he’d shown up. It shouldn’t have surprised me. It wasn’t the first or second of fifth time—but he kept saying yes.
“Darling? Are you going to let me in?”
I didn’t let him in but reached for him instead. As I pressed up onto my tiptoes and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, he responded in kind, fully engulfing me into his arms. He then lifted me from my feet, inviting himself in before shutting the door behind him with his foot.
“Couch or bed?” he asked me.
“Bed,” I whispered.
He turned, locked the door, then reached for one of my knees. I followed his lead, circling my legs around him as he carried me up the stairs to my bedroom. He laid me down, then signaled for me to let him go, so I did. He was gone only long enough to remove his shoes, and then he was stretched out next to me, his head propped up against his fist.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“She took the photo,” I murmured, frowning when I realized how silly it sounded when I said it out loud. “Maybe it wasn’t mine to begin with.”
“What photo?”
“There was a family photo. It was likely fifteen years old, but it was on Sawyer’s desk. It’s the only picture I had of him, and it’s gone.” Feeling self-conscious, I dropped my gaze down to his chest, absentmindedly tugging on one of the buttons of his shirt as I continued, “I probably shouldn’t care so much, but—after everything—I don’t know.”
He reached over and tucked a bit of hair behind my ear before resting his hand around the side of my neck as he replied, “Now that I think of it, there’s a chance I’ve got one or two in a box somewhere.”
“What?” I muttered, lifting my eyes in search of his.
“I’ve got a few boxes in storage. Some of Henry’s old things. They were mates for years. No doubt there’s photo proof. I’ll have a look for you.”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
My nose began to tingle as my eyes filled with fresh tears. “Thanks.”
Rory scowled at me, giving the back of my neck a gentle squeeze as he insisted, “Don’t cry about it.”
“Sorry,” I whimpered, attempting to blink away the excess moisture.
“Shite, don’t apologize, either.”
“Well, what am I allowed to do?” I huffed good-naturedly.
His scowl softened as he traced the pad of his thumb beneath one of my eyes, catching a rogue tear. “I hate to see you upset, is all. Especially when it’s because someone hurt you.”
“It’s my fault,” I muttered with a feeble shrug. “My expectations were far too high, I guess.”
“No. No, they weren’t. You were just dealing with people who weren’t big enough to rise to the occasion.” He swept away another tear as he demanded, “Promise me something?”
“What?”
“Don’t ever let me off the hook that easy. When I fall short, when I fuck up, don’t lower your expectations—challenge me to rise to them. You’re worthy of the effort, Sawyer. I hope you know that.”
In my fragile state, I didn’t stand a chance against that promise.
Grabbing hold of his shirt with both hands, I buried my face in his chest and mumbled, “Baby, you can’t say stuff like that to me when I’m already emotional and you want me to stop crying.”
I felt as much as I heard his clipped, low chuckle as he pressed a kiss into my hair, cradling me against him. “Understood.” He kissed me again, then muttered, “Is that a promise, then?”
He’d said the words as if they were easy—as if such a promise between two people was common. In my experience, it was far from it.
Yet, we’d already come this far. We’d already started something unstoppable. We were giving us a proper go—and I wanted to feel as though I was worth the effort.
“Sweetheart?” he called softly.
I sniffled, pulling my face away enough to be able to make out his. I felt the last of my tears clinging to my eyelashes, but I didn’t bother to wipe them away as I replied, “I’ll promise you if you promise me the same thing.”
He leaned toward me, lining his lips up with mine as he whispered, “Promise,” sealing his word with a kiss.
I woke to the feel of his lips, trailing kisses across my bare shoulder. Pulling in a deep breath, every muscle in my body relaxed as the scent of birch and bergamot filled my nose. Rory kissed me again, adding a little tongue, reminding me of how we’d spent the previous night—naked and in his bed.
I hummed my delight, not bothering to open my eyes as I murmured, “This is a wake-up call I could get used to.”
“There’s a wee bit of coffee, too.”
This got my eyes open.
I turned my head, and there it was—a mug of piping hot coffee waiting for me on his nightstand. My smile turned into a groggy grin as I rolled onto my back and sought out my ginger.
And he was— my ginger.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing only a pair of sweatpants as he smirked down at me.
“Morning.”
“Careful, babe. If you wake me with kisses and coffee once, I might expect it again.”
“Trust me, there’s more where that came from—but today’s not that kind of morning. We’ve got someplace to be.”
I knit my eyebrows together, tucking the top sheet under my arms as I sat up and inquired, “We do? But it’s Sunday. Manchester isn’t playing and you don’t have to be to work until later.”
He reached for my coffee, holding it in front of me until I took it.
“Drink up. I told him we’d be there at ten, and it’s nearly nine already.”
I didn’t drink up , but hugged the mug to my chest as I pressed, “You told who we’d be where? Why are you being so cryptic?”
“That’s the nature of a surprise, darling.” He pressed a quick kiss to my lips before he stood and said, “I’m going to hop in the shower. We’ll leave in forty-five minutes or so.”
I opened my mouth to ask more questions, but no words came out as I watched him disappear into the bathroom. When I heard him turn on the water for his shower, I finally took a sip of my coffee, prepared precisely how I liked it.
I couldn’t even begin to imagine what kind of surprise he had planned. If I was honest, he didn’t strike me as a man who got into that sort of thing—but he did know how to plan a decent date, and it would have been a lie to say I wasn’t looking forward to whatever our morning had in store. It was rather exciting to learn my man of mystery had a depth of intrigue that was quite multifaceted.
As soon as he was finished with the shower, I took my turn.
The overnight bag I’d put together didn’t leave me with much of an option as to what I was going to wear that day, but Rory assured me my long-sleeved tee-shirt and jeans would be fine. I believed him mostly because he was dressed similarly.
At a quarter to ten, we made our way outside—our destination still a secret, seeing as he’d ordered an Uber rather than hailing a cab. Our ride was a short one, less than ten minutes, and when we got out on the corner across the street from Big Ben, I was still at a loss as to where we were going.
Rory took my hand, and I laced my fingers between his as he escorted me across the street, toward the Palace of Westminster. I’d walked by it once or twice before, but I hadn’t had the opportunity to go inside. It was still on my list of tourist destinations—but I was sure that wasn’t where we were going. Not on a Sunday. They didn’t offer tours on Sunday. I’d checked.
“Rory, are you ever going to tell me where we’re going? The suspense is killing me.”
“Really? I thought by now it would be obvious.”
“Well, you’re not taking me to the House of Parliament. Not today.”
He glanced down at me with a crooked smile as he asked, “And why not?”
“Because—because it’s closed on Sunday.”
“To the general public, yes. I suppose you’re right.”
“Wait…” My voice trailed off as my feet stopped moving. Still holding onto me, it wasn’t long before Rory noticed and was forced to backtrack a step. “We’re—we’re going to the House of Parliament?”
He gave my fingers a squeeze as he replied, “You said it was on your list.”
“It is.”
“Right. Well, I know a guy who can get us in and take us on a private tour.”
My eyebrows shot up my forehead as my mouth fell open.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m not codding you,” he promised with a smirk. “I thought, after the week you’ve had, this might cheer you up.”
“Rory,” I breathed, completely at a loss for words. “I don’t know what to say.”
“If you could see the look on your face right now, you’d know you don’t have to say anything. Now, come on—we’ll be late otherwise.”
I squealed in excitement, tightening my grip around his hand as I followed his lead.
“For real, though, is there anyone you don’t know? Has the prince been to The King’s Steed?”
“No. Not yet. But I do know a Beefeater.”
Of course, he did.