Chapter 20
“This is your car?” I gaze across the bodywork of the classic Jaguar that Clark had a hard-on for as Jude opens the door for me.
“One of them, yes.” He helps me down to the seat, and the smell of old leather hits me. One of them? How many does he have? Jude falls into the driver’s seat and slips on some tortoise and gold-rimmed Ray-Bans, raking a hand through his hair. His hand on the wheel, one on the gearstick, he looks across at me. I cry on the inside. In his cream chinos and white Ralph Lauren shirt, he looks as classic as the car. Classically handsome. Classically gorgeous. “What?” he asks.
“You.”
“What about me?”
You’re derailing me. “Nothing.” I settle, Jude turns the radio on, and “Waterfall” by the Stone Roses starts.
“Nothing, my arse,” he murmurs, giving me an accusing, playful look. What’s happening? “What’s your parents’ address?”
“Call yourself a stalker?”
His hand is squeezing my knee instantly, and I jolt in my seat on a laugh. “Pack it in.” He passes me his phone. “Google Maps.”
“You mean this thing doesn’t have satnav?”
His eyebrows rise with his shades as he lifts them, and I pucker my lips, making him lose all warning from his face. He leans over and steals a kiss, and it’s all so very easy. Natural. He’s calm. Easygoing. It’s not only his persona telling me so, but his eyes, which are a beautiful muted greeny grey.
Jude lowers his glasses and pulls off slowly, while I tap in the address for my parents’. ETA: 12:08. I cringe. Still late. “Fuck.”
“What?”
“I’m going to be late.”
“By a couple of minutes,” he replies. “Stop stressing.”
“Easy for you to say, you’ve not got a melodramatic mother ready to file a missing person’s report.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve fucked up. Jude’s hands tighten around the steering wheel, his bottom lip disappearing between his teeth, his entire seated posture changing. Fuck. “Shit, Jude, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” I counter, kicking myself repeatedly. “It was stupid and insensitive. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Amelia, it’s fine.”
I scold myself and reach for his hand on the gearstick. “Tell me about ‘Hey Jude.’”
He smiles mildly, looking away briefly, taking in air. Or taking in strength to talk about it. “It was my parents’ favourite song.”
“So they named you after the Beatles song?” How romantic.
“Yeah.” He smiles across at me. “Are we going deep again?”
I laugh under my breath. I’m not sure if we can go much deeper. I’m about to set his phone in the holder attached to the blower by the steering wheel but falter when a WhatsApp notification drops down from the top of the screen.
Katherine? The woman in the restaurant? There’s only a small preview of the message, and I know I should slam my eyes closed, not read it, but it’s right there in front of me.
How can you . . .
The message slides back up. God damn it. How can he ... what? I quickly put the phone in the holder and rest back, my mind reeling. Why would she message Jude? According to him, she and her husband are members of the spa and golf club and eat occasionally at Arlington Hall.
“Okay?” Jude asks.
“Sure.” I turn a smile his way, but it’s an effort, suddenly endless doubts creeping in. His phone dings again, another message sliding down. Jude’s quick to clear the screen. Then another comes in. Then another. And another. “Someone has a lot to say.” I look at him and seriously don’t like the awkward vibes he’s giving off.
“It’s no one,” he says shortly, irritated.
No one.
Okay.
And suddenly things aren’t so natural and easy. Am I overthinking? Is he being off? What did she want? Why didn’t he just tell me who it is if it’s nothing?
Oh my God.
Am I obsessing?
I sink farther into the seat and scrape through my mind for something to say. Something to break the growing, unbearable silence. I have nothing, and judging by Jude’s lack of conversation, I’m guessing he’s feeling the sudden tension too.
It remains the entire way to my parents’ house, only the music breaking the screaming quiet in the car.
When Jude turns into the cul-de-sac, I see my brother’s car and cringe. “You can pull in here,” I say, knowing my dad’s radar ears will hear a car pulling up outside.
Jude doesn’t question me, slowing at the kerb a few houses down from my parents’. I take the handle to let myself out, keen to escape the horrible atmosphere. I’m pissed off, my contentment crushed. He could clear this up with a quick explanation, and yet he hasn’t. But does he owe me an explanation? No. And he obviously doesn’t think so either. So last night was ... what? Fuck, I don’t like this version of myself. I thought this thing would be easy and uncomplicated, but this horrible apprehensive feeling inside doesn’t feel very easy, and I’m suddenly revisiting all the signs that Jude is anything but uncomplicated.
“Amelia, wait,” he says when I have one foot on the road, my arse still in the seat. I still but don’t look at him. “This isn’t how I want our first date to end.”
First date? Jesus Christ. Yesterday wasn’t a first date. It felt like we bypassed all the usual stages of dating and hopped straight to full-blown. At least, it feels like that to me. And is that the problem? I feel like this is something and he doesn’t? I’m in more trouble now than I was an hour ago. My God, my head could pop.
I pull a smile from nowhere and turn to him. “We’re good,” I say, leaning over and kissing him. “Thank you for the ride back.”
The frown that passes over his face is deep but fleeting. “Welcome. I’ll call you?” It sounds like more of a question than a statement. Not very Jude at all.
“Okay.” Another chaste kiss before I get out. As I walk away, my heart sinks with every stride. I’m very quickly falling from my high. Falling. My heart clenches. No no no.
I push my way through the front door and meet Clark in the hallway. He looks me up and down as I make a pointless effort of smoothing the creases on the clothes I wore yesterday. “There you are,” he says. “Mum was about to report you missing.”
I roll my eyes and drop my bag. “I’m ten minutes late.”
“In the history of Amelia Lazenby, you have never, and I mean never , been even one minute late. Ten minutes is practically another day in your world.”
“You’re being ridiculous.” I drop a kiss on his cheek and pass him. “Are Grandpa and Grandma here?”
“In the lounge,” he calls after me. “Um, Amelia, dear sister?”
“What?” I turn and find my brother with his face pushed up against the window by the front door.
“Why’s that fancy car from Arlington Hall driving off down the road?”
I freeze, my mind emptying. “Um ...” Think. “What car?” Idiot.
Clark turns, his lips straight. “My dream car. The rare one. Only two of its kind in the country. And one happens to have been at Arlington Hall, and now is driving out of the close where our parents live.”
My whole face twists. I’ve got nothing.
“Oh my fucking God, you’re seeing that bloke from Arlington Hall.”
Seeing? Fucking? Falling for? “Not exactly.”
“I knew there was something going on after he had me by the throat! A parking space? I knew you were acting weird.”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“You’re seeing him, aren’t you?”
“What qualifies as ‘seeing’?” I ask weakly.
“Fucking.”
“Clark!”
“I thought you were focusing on your career? That’s why you ended things with Nick.”
“I ended things with Nick because he wanted more than I’m comfortable with right now.” I pace toward Clark, looking over my shoulder to make sure we’re still alone. “Don’t you remember telling me you thought Nick ruined me?”
“That wasn’t code for fuck the next man you find .”
“It’s nothing. I had a date and—”
“He dropped you off here the next morning? Just a date?”
Indignant, I huff. “My private life isn’t any of your business. And I’d appreciate it if you keep your big, fat trap shut.”
Clark recoils, injured. “And is that code for don’t tell Mum and Dad ?”
“Scout’s promise,” I grate, throwing our childhood tradition in his face.
“You weren’t in the Scouts,” he grumbles.
“If you include all the nights I camped in the garden with you because you were too chickenshit to do it on your own, I count as a Scout.”
“Low blow.”
“Deal with it.” I pivot and head for the lounge to see Grandpa and Grandma.
“Here she is!” Grandpa sets his broadsheet aside, and Grandma drops her knitting needles. “You’re late.”
“It’s fashionable, Grandpa,” I say, bending and dropping a kiss on his old, wrinkly face before going to Grandma.
She squeezes my cheeks, scrunching her nose and pushing it to mine. Then she stills. Sniffs. “You smell like a man, Grand Girl,” she whispers. “A very lovely-smelling man.”
Fucking hell. “You’re imagining things, Grandma.”
She hums, suspicious, releasing me, as Mum and Dad bowl in. “Ah, finally,” Dad says, looking at his watch. “Can we eat now?”
“Amelia, darling.” Mum rushes to me, her oven gloves on her hands, and checks me over. Checks there is no evidence of where I might have been. “Are you okay?”
Good heavens. “I’m fine, stop fussing.” I go to the couch and drop to the seat, dragging Dad’s copy of the Financial Times onto my lap. “What’s for lunch?”
“Your mum’s famous roast.” Grandpa smacks his lips and rubs his belly before sheepishly glancing at his wife of nearly sixty years. “Not as good as yours, dear.”
I smile and open the paper, burying my face in the first article. War. Trading ceased. Shares to drop. They’re all trigger words that would have me devouring the information with interest and worry, except my mind is elsewhere. And isn’t that evidence enough that I’m stepping out of the frying pan with Nick and into the fire with Jude Harrison? I huff and slam the paper shut.
There’s a knock at the front door.
“Who’s missing?” I ask, looking through to the kitchen. “Where’s Rachel?”
“Emptying the dishwasher.”
“Oh, sister,” Clark calls in an annoying singsong voice.
I look toward the door that leads into the hallway, getting up from the couch.
“Who is it?” Grandpa calls as I leave the room.
I find Clark at the open front door. “What’s up?”
He looks back at me with raised, accusing brows. “Someone for you.” Then he moves.
Revealing Jude.
My mouth goes lax, all bodily functions abandoning me. “Jude,” I breathe, stock-still on the spot. Fuck, what the hell is he playing at?
He holds something up. “You left your phone in my car when you were rushing to escape me.”
Clark looks between us, interested. “We’ve met,” he says to Jude, holding out a hand. “Although not formally.”
Jude smiles through straight lips, accepting and shaking. “Apologies again.”
“No sweat.” My brother narrows one eye my way. “It’s all beginning to make sense.”
I pass Clark, panicked, and step outside, pulling the door closed behind me. “Thank you,” I say, taking my phone and faffing with it in my hand, unlocking the screen, locking it again.
“Welcome,” Jude murmurs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Amelia, for the sake of clarity and for the avoidance of doubt, I don’t date more than one woman at a time.”
There’s that word again. Dating. I peek up at him.
“In fact,” he goes on, his rolling jaw indicating his mood, along with his darkening eyes. “I don’t usually date at all.”
So he just fucks women? Seduces them and gets them into bed? One at a time. I close my eyes and breathe out. I feel like I’m going mad. Yesterday wasn’t a date. Dates aren’t that amazing.
“I’m not looking for anything serious,” I say quietly. It’s the truth, and I need reminding of that. Especially after last night.
“Are you for real?” Jude nearly chokes over his words. “Because last night felt pretty fucking serious.”
And isn’t that my point? “Jude, this is all happening very fast.”
“Deal with it,” he snaps. “I am.”
I shrink, my head a mess of conflicting thoughts. I don’t know what’s happening with Jude, but I do know how I felt when I saw that message appear on his screen. Jealous. Injured. Vulnerable. I’m not ready for this.
I look over my shoulder to the closed door. “I have to go.”
“You don’t want them to know you’ve met someone?” he asks.
Met someone? It’s inadequate. Blindsided, derailed, smitten. “I don’t want them thinking that it’s more than it is.”
“What is it, Amelia?” he asks, his voice softening.
“I’m not sure.”
“Do you think you might figure it out soon and let me know?”
I brave facing him and wish I hadn’t. He does not look happy. “There’s no need to be like that.”
“Yes, there is,” he barks, and I flinch. “Remember last night? This morning?” He moves in closer, and I retreat, scared for him to touch me. Scared I’ll get a waft of his lovely cologne. Scared he’ll saturate every sense I have. I need to think. I need space. “Right,” he says. Then he laughs under his breath, the sound far from amused. Anger. I see it brewing in him, his dark eyes darkening further. “You win.” He turns and stalks off, and I wilt, folding on the inside. My brain is asking me what the hell I’m playing at, sabotaging something amazing. My heart? That’s cheering me on, backing me up. Protecting itself.
It’s an all-out war going on inside me.
I back into the hallway and take a moment to compose myself, giving Clark a warning look.
“So who was it?” Grandma calls.
“Just a salesman,” I say, heading to the kitchen at the back of the house, my heart sinking. My head a mess.
I win?
So why do I feel like I’ve just lost?