Chapter 13 #2
She keeps talking. ‘When Xav said he’d found me a companion, I was honestly worried that you’d be a Charlotte Bartlett type—you know, the old spinster from A Room with a View?
But you look so young and fun! And oh my gosh, has anyone ever told you you look exactly like Beth from Yellowstone?
I’d absolutely kill for your mouth. I want to get a lip job but Xav won’t let me. ’
She pauses for breath and Xavier pipes up with an uncomfortable laugh.
‘And now you’ve met my sister. Clearly, she’s bursting for some company that’s not me.’
I allow myself a little giggle. ‘Thank you. And yeah, I get the Beth thing a lot. I wouldn’t touch your mouth. It’s perfect. But I’d say it’s interesting that he thinks he can stop you when you’re legally an adult.’
She gasps theatrically and spins to face Xavier, who’s now scowling at me. I scowl back.
‘I’m sorry, did you want me to blow smoke up your arse?’
The scowl becomes a full-on glare. ‘I’m already regretting this decision. You’re supposed to be looking out for my little sister, not enabling her.’
I place my embarrassingly crappy Longchamp dupe on the sparkling marble island so I can put my hands on my hips.
‘You asked me to prepare her for life in London. From where I’m standing, that starts with treating her like an adult and helping her to be more independent. Did I misunderstand the assignment?’
Okay, so I’m not sure where the heck that spiel came from.
All I know is that this posh, pompous fuck is as bossy towards his own sister as he has been towards me, and I don’t like it.
It’s no wonder she’s unable to handle living on her own in a huge city if these douches have been babying her her whole life.
‘No,’ he backtracks, ‘but you shouldn’t be encouraging her to have cosmetic procedures.’
‘No one is encouraging anyone. But if I ever hear you trying to tell a woman what she can or cannot do with her own body, then you and I are going to have major beef. Is that clear?’ For good measure, I waggle my finger back and forth between us.
I should really do a better job of remembering that this job pays fourteen times more per hour than the caff, but I’m too wound up.
Self-important, patriarchal dickhead.
(I think I said that in my head.)
I’m starting to sweat. Confrontation will do that. I shrug off my cardigan and put it on top of my bag.
Raising the grenade of bodily autonomy seems to do the trick, because he rears back as if he’s just realised how out of fucking order he is.
‘You’re right, of course.’ He holds his hands up in surrender. ‘My apologies, Flora.’
Flora’s mouth is hanging open. It’s almost as if she doesn’t realise that she’s allowed to do what she likes with her own body, regardless of what her delusional, overprotective brothers might think.
Or maybe it’s just the shock of hearing Xavier say sorry. I can’t imagine it happens much.
She’s staring at me. ‘I really like her.’
‘That is most definitely not a good sign,’ he says grumpily.
‘You can go now,’ Flora says, pulling herself together. ‘Go and hit some balls with Ben. You know you’re dying to.’
He looks between us in a panic. ‘I think we should all sit down and have a cup of tea. We can have a chat about how this is going to work.’
Flora’s eyes meet mine, and she shakes her head. ‘No. I think Ivy and I are good, thanks. We can take it from here.’
‘Got it.’ He nods curtly. ‘I’ll be off, then. Ivy—a word?’
He jerks his head towards the hallway and walks away without waiting for an answer, jingling his keys in his pocket.
I assume guys like him treat questions as orders.
Flora makes a rather you than me face at me and I scurry after him, wondering if I’m about to get a bollocking from the lord and master for daring to exercise an opinion.
But his face, when he turns to me, is not a bollocking face.
He looks almost stricken. ‘Thank you for doing this,’ he says in a low voice.
‘I can’t tell you how much it means to me.
’ He reaches out and brushes my bare arm with his fingertips.
It’s the lightest, briefest touch, but a line of goosebumps erupts nonetheless.
He casts his eyes down my body. ‘It’s a lovely dress. You look—’
My dress couldn’t be less lovely. It’s from Tesco, FFS.
He’s probably never come face to face with a cheaper dress in his life.
And I don’t find out how he thinks I look, because he stops himself and clears his throat with his trademark awkwardness.
‘Nevertheless, thank you. You have my number. Call me if anything comes up.’
With that, he leans in and kisses me again. Both cheeks. There’s a fraction of a second, when he’s moving from one cheek to the next, and our faces are just an inch or two apart, and his dark-lashed eyes flicker down to my mouth, and every part of me freezes except my dratted lips, which part.
He sucked my upper lip into his mouth that night like there was nothing in the world he could do to stop himself.
But like I said, it lasts a fraction of a second.
He kisses my other cheek.
And then he’s gone.