Chapter 26
TJ
Icame to Bond Street to find a gift for Cornelia’s birthday, but I had no luck.
Buying gifts for her has always been a challenge, but now that we’re not dating, it’s ten times harder.
Any gift I give her will mean something.
If I get her something generic, she might think I don’t care about her anymore.
If I get her something over the top, she could assume I’m still not over her—which I’m not, but my pride won’t let me admit it.
And the worst case? If I get her something she doesn’t like, it would mean I don’t know her as well as I used to.
I could always buy her something from the pieces she’s put on hold, but I’ve never done that, and I’m not starting now.
I like to surprise her, getting her something she doesn’t even know exists but will absolutely love.
The best part is seeing her open the box, watching her face light up with pure surprise and delight at what I’ve picked.
This time, I won’t get to see her reaction, but knowing she’ll have that look on her face will be enough.
I knew she was on Bond Street because Laurie and I had just gone to Cartier to check out the pieces she’d put on hold, and my sales associate mentioned we missed her by about twenty minutes.
I wasn’t planning to buy her anything there, but I wanted to get an idea of which jewellery pieces she was eyeing.
Cornelia goes through phases where she’s especially into a particular type of jewellery.
When I saw she is currently into necklaces with big pendants, I knew I was done here.
I wasn’t going to find her gift on Bond Street—she knows all the stores and their entire inventory like the back of her hand.
But the temptation to see her was too strong, so I suggested to Laurie that we visit a few other shops, hoping we’d cross paths with her.
He accepted, as he still hadn’t decided what to get her.
When I saw her a few minutes after leaving Cartier, it was perfect.
What was even more amazing was whatever was happening between Laurie and Annabelle that made Cornelia want to leave them alone.
I had noticed some tension between them, but I don’t know what is going on.
Cornelia used to be my go-to informant. I could have asked Laurie about it, but I’m not exactly allowed to.
For a while now, Laurie has placed a permanent ban on Cornelia and me interfering in his love life.
Not that it stops Cornelia from meddling in it, anyway.
But he could never stay mad at Cornelia for long.
Me, on the other hand—that’s a different story.
Anyway, whatever is going on, I’m pleased about it because it’s allowing me to spend some time alone with Cornelia.
I follow her to Ralph’s Coffee, quickening my pace to walk alongside her. “So, Vivienne Rose Tipton is in town?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
She smiles. “The one and only.”
God, she is beautiful. What I wouldn’t do to see that smile every day again.
Vivienne being in town always puts Cornelia in a good mood.
She loves her maternal grandmother. Vivienne is kind of a maniac, but unlike her eldest daughter, it’s in a good way.
She was the one who gave us our first sip of alcohol—and the next fifty—but the very next day, she was the one taking care of a bunch of teenagers with hangovers.
“But you already know—Laurie told you, didn’t he?” she asks.
I nod. “Since Laurie can’t keep his mouth shut, what was all that about back there?”
We arrive at Ralph’s Coffee. I hold the door open for her; she walks in, and I slip inside after her, tossing the empty cup I’d been carrying into the trash can by the entrance.
We get in line, but unfortunately, there’s only one person ahead of us—I was hoping for a longer wait so I could spend a little more time with her.
“It wasn’t exactly a secret. She comes every year for my birthday,” she teases. “But if you want to know—and if it’s not already obvious—they’re in love.”
“Are they?” I ask in disbelief. I would be so happy if it were true, but Cornelia has always pushed for the idea of them together.
I know Annabelle had a crush on him during part of high school.
While I could believe it from Annabelle, it’s hard to see it with Laurie.
After Camille’s death, he hasn’t looked at any other girl.
But if he’s finally starting to open up, I can’t think of anyone better for him.
Annabelle has in abundance what his last one lacked: loyalty.
“Of course they are,” she says, her conviction so strong it makes you believe her. “They just don’t know it yet.”
Maybe she’s right—she’s always had a broader perspective on these topics than I have. I just hope Laurie doesn’t let the insecurities from his previous relationships mess this one up.
We reach the front of the line, and I order a macchiato. Turning to Cornelia, I ask, “Chai or matcha this time?”
Cornelia always switches between the two.
Her usual choice depends on her mood—always the largest size, on the rocks, with regular milk.
It’s just one of the many things about her I’ve memorised by heart.
When she’s really tired, she’ll opt for a coffee, but it never seems to help her stay awake.
In fact, it almost has the opposite effect.
She insists it doesn’t, but trust me—once, she fell asleep in my lap twenty minutes after finishing a large coffee.
She thinks for a second. “Matcha.”
I turn to the barista and order her matcha with ice and regular milk, but as I mention the last part, I give Cornelia a pointed look. She prefers regular milk, but her stomach? Not so much.
She pouts. “I know, but it tastes better.”
I chuckle as I pay.
“Thank you,” Cornelia says as we move to the pickup counter. When we get there, she turns to me. “I heard you guys had a celebrity keeping you company yesterday.” She practically air-quotes the word celebrity.
It takes me a minute to realise she’s talking about Weberly Johnson.
Once that clicks, it doesn’t take long to figure out that the tension between Annabelle and Laurie is partly because of her.
Weberly spent the entire night trying to get Laurie’s attention, and he spent the entire night politely turning her down.
Laurie has way more patience than I do, and he’s much nicer, too.
If it had been me, the gloves would have come off the second she didn’t take the first hint.
“So, the reason Annabelle seems mad at Laurie is Weberly?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
Our order is handed to us, and I almost curse the barista for being so fast. I’m really enjoying my time with Cornelia. Why is it that when you’re in a rush, they take forever, but when you have all the time in the world, they suddenly move like the Flash?
Cornelia looks out the window, biting her bottom lip. The urge to cup her face and kiss her is strong, but I hold back.
“Maybe,” she says, trying not to give Annabelle up.
“Either way, neither you nor Annabelle should worry about it—he’s not interested in her,” I tell as we start walking towards the door.
“Good,” she replies as I open the door for her, and she goes through it. “Because I’m not going to let her ruin my plans.”
We walk towards Prada. “You’ve already planned their wedding, haven’t you?” I say jokingly, but I wouldn’t put it past her.
“Parts of it.” She chuckles a little. Her green-blue eyes, without a doubt the most beautiful eyes in the world, meet mine. “But I believe the couple should have some say in their wedding.”
Fuck, I miss being playful with her like this. Spending time with her makes me feel so light and forget all my problems. It feeds my soul.
“Very considerate of you.”
“I know, I’m Miss Consideration.”
We pass by two teenagers, one with blonde hair and the other with tan skin and black hair, both around fifteen years old. The moment we walk by, their eyes light up, and I know exactly what that means. Fuck.
“It’s you! It’s really you! My friend didn’t believe me, but you’re Cornelia Monroe! Can we get a picture?” the girl with the blonde hair exclaims as she and her friend approach us. They both have their hands full of shopping bags.
Cornelia nods, looking slightly uneasy. Although this happens to her frequently, she doesn’t particularly enjoy it—but she would never refuse. For a girl who never aims to be the centre of attention, she certainly attracts plenty of it. But how could she not? She’s stunning.
The blonde girl squeals with excitement, pulling her phone out of her bag and handing it to me without saying a word.
I find it disrespectful; while I don’t mind taking the picture, it would be nice if she asked rather than demanded it.
She gives her bag and her five shopping bags to her friend and goes to stand beside Cornelia, flashing a huge smile for the camera.
Her friend could take the photos if they left the bags on the floor, but she doesn’t seem inclined to, which, in truth, is very Cornelia of her.
With my free hand, I snap a few pictures, sensing that if the blonde teenager doesn’t get one she likes, she’ll make us repeat them. I focus on finding the best angle for them; it’s not hard. Cornelia doesn’t have a bad angle.
I lower the phone, making it clear I’ve finished taking pictures. If the blonde girl isn’t planning on talking to me, then neither am I. She rushes over and practically snatches her phone from my hand. After that, she goes to her friend, takes her bags back, and grabs her friend’s bags too.
Her friend approaches me, looking much nicer but more timid. “Could you?” she asks, holding out her phone.
“Yes,” I reply, happy to help this time since I was actually asked.
The girl with the black hair stands beside Cornelia, and I take a few pictures with her phone.
“All done,” I tell her.
“Thank you so much!” the girl gushes to Cornelia as she walks over to me to retrieve her phone. “And thank you too,” she tells me with a timid smile.
The blonde girl groans and glares at me before turning to look at Cornelia. “Are you really back with him?” she asks, her voice dripping with a mix of anger and disgust. “How could you, after what he did to you—and with your mum?”
My stomach drops. If I disliked her before, I can now say for sure that I hate her. I was feeling a little bad for beefing with a teenager, but not anymore. She’s acting like she’s entitled to Cornelia’s private life, sticking her nose into things she knows nothing about.
Her friend gives her a nudge with her elbow. “Audrey, isn’t it obvious? It’s because he’s so hot,” she mutters, as if that explains everything.
It makes me smile a bit.
“No,” Cornelia says decisively, her voice sharp. “No, we are definitely not back together.” The way she says it stings—it’s absolute, like the thought of us being back together isn’t just impossible but ridiculous.
Her answer seems to calm the blonde girl, who is being pulled away by her friend. But before she’s gone, she shoots me a warning look and calls out to Cornelia, “You’d be better off with Nate. He didn’t sleep with your mother, and he’s cuter.”
As I watch them leave, I really want to curse the blonde girl. She managed to flip the atmosphere between us—turning it from playful into something heavy, filled with tension, weighed down by our history and the mistakes we’ve made.
Cornelia walks a few steps ahead, her posture now rigid. I pick up my pace to match hers, wishing I could rewind time just a few minutes, to before those two girls derailed everything. But I can’t; it already happened, and I’m actually mad at her answer.
“Did you really have to make it sound like us being back together would be the worst thing in the world?” I ask her.
Cornelia stops walking and turns to me, her eyes burning. “Isn’t it?” she snaps. “You had sex with my mother.”
“And you had sex with my cousin,” I retort angrily.
“That’s not the same thing!” she exclaims.
“Pretty much sounds the same to me.” I slept with one of her relatives; she slept with one of mine—seems like that puts us on equal ground. Actually, what she did was worse. I didn’t mean to. I… I think I didn’t.
She glares at me. “For us to be equal, I should have slept with your father.” My face flattens at the thought—that’s not an image I want in my head—but luckily, Cornelia seems to also want to gag at the idea.
“I slept with your cousin, and you slept with my mother when we were together. If you can’t see the difference, there’s no point in talking to you,” she snaps and crosses the street, which confuses me since Prada is on this side. But I follow her anyway.
As she notices me following her, she quickens her pace, speeding ahead until we reach YSL.
Cornelia turns to me with a disgusted, blank expression—the same look she gave me when I went to find her in Paris, the one I’ve been terrified would become the only way she looks at me if she learns the full story.
“Tell Annabelle I’ll be waiting for her here,” she says and enters YSL before I can say anything else.