Chapter 3
3
The night air is crisp, maybe a bit too crisp for my liking as I lean against the wall in one of the tunnels under the bridge by the train station. It’s late, but the road is still busy with cars, and the pavement is still busy with people walking past us.
I’m leaning to steady myself because, after a night of saying yes to every drink I was offered, I’m feeling a little unsteady on my feet.
I’m the nice kind of drunk though, where everything’s just a little bit funnier and the world just looks and feels softer. Life’s all right sometimes, isn’t it?
The lights overhead cast a warm glow on the wet pavement, and while I know that I’m cold, I don’t seem to be feeling it in the same way I would if I were sober.
Ethan’s standing next to me, leaning against the wall like a cool guy, smiling contentedly.
Tonight has genuinely been nothing short of amazing – I can’t stop smiling either. The only thing that is missing is a soundtrack, for me to pretend I’m in a quirky, romantic indie movie.
‘Well, thanks for an awesome Valentine’s Day, Lana,’ he says, his voice loaded with that warm, easy charm that seems to come naturally to him. ‘You saved me from a night of solo activities… so to speak.’
I giggle, a sound I would usually hate coming from my own mouth, but tonight it feels just right.
‘Thank you for making mine so… different,’ I say.
‘Different isn’t always good,’ he replies, his tone teasing but with a hint of something deeper.
I tilt my head, meeting his gaze, and wait for a second for the world to stop spinning.
‘That’s true, but this time, it is.’
All at once, it feels like the entire world fades away. The noise of the city disappears, the lights blur into the background, and it’s just us, locked in this perfect moment. I don’t want it to end.
Then, suddenly, it’s like everything clicks into place. Ethan leans in, closing the distance between us, and my heart feels like it’s going to beat its way through my chest. When our lips meet, it’s electric – literally, it’s almost like he gives me a static shock that shoots through every nerve in my body. I’ve never felt anything like it before. I’m kissing him back before I even realise it, my arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer, deeper, needing more.
I lock my arms around his neck as he cups my arse in his hands, steadying me as the world spins just a little faster. We’re completely lost in each other, like nothing else matters.
Well, apart from breathing, I guess. As Ethan pulls back to take a breath, I have to physically stop myself from chasing his lips. My tongue tingles, still craving his touch, as I catch my breath.
‘Before I ask you this,’ Ethan says, his voice soft and serious, ‘I just want to make it clear that you no longer have to say yes to everything.’
He pauses, biting his lip in a way that makes me want to throw all caution to the wind.
‘I’m staying at a hotel, just along The Calls. Do you want to come back with me?’
The question hangs in the air between us, and for a moment, my mind races. I do. Here it is, the moment where I have to decide if I’m going to be the girl who says yes to everything, or if I’m going to do something different for once. Because, yes, I really, really want to go back to his hotel with him – of course I do, he’s the hottest man I’ve ever met. But at the same time, I can’t shake this feeling that Ethan isn’t just another hot guy, maybe he could be something more, and maybe rushing things would be a mistake. This doesn’t feel like just another one-night stand, and that scares me as much as it excites me. Maybe this time, I should do the thing I never do – take it slow.
My lips part, ready to say something, anything, but the words get stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth. Thankfully, Ethan seems to get the message.
‘Can I walk you home instead?’ he offers, his voice gentle and understanding.
‘I live in Headingley,’ I tell him, feeling a pang of regret already. ‘I’ll have to get a taxi.’
I know I should say something to let him know I’m not turning him down because I’m not interested (because I am, I really am), but before I can figure out how to phrase that, my phone buzzes in my bag. I pull it out and see my dad’s name on the screen.
‘Oh, God, it’s my dad,’ I say, half laughing, half worried. ‘I’d better answer. It’s late; it could be an emergency.’
I hit the answer button, and my dad’s voice comes through, clear as day.
‘Dad? Is everything okay?’ I ask.
‘Lana? Everything’s fine,’ he replies.
‘I worried, when I realised how late you were calling,’ I point out.
‘Oh, we’re in Australia,’ he says, as if that explains everything. ‘It’s morning here. I didn’t think about the time difference.’
‘You’re in Australia?’ I repeat, stunned.
Ethan, ever the gentleman, leans in and whispers: ‘I’ll go to the taxi rank over the road and book your lift home.’
I nod, appreciating him keeping his voice quiet enough that my dad doesn’t hear it.
‘Yeah, we’re in Australia,’ Dad continues, his voice echoing a bit.
‘Hurry up, Walter,’ I hear my stepmum in the background.
My parents split up when I was really young and even though Dad stayed in our nice family home, I wanted to live with my mum. We lived in a tiny house, on the outskirts of Leeds – but to be honest, I was much happier living in a small house without warring parents than I was living in a big house trying to avoid their arguments. Mum met someone, a few years back, and moved to Connecticut to live with him and his family – and she really does seem so happy. Dad met someone else too – Beatrix – very soon after the split, and had another daughter with her, so I have a half-sister called Persephone who is my polar opposite in almost every way. Dad was a banker (although I’ve heard Mum pronounce it differently) but it was only after he and Mum split that he hit the big time at work (and rolling in it will always be the easiest way to get a new wife, especially a snooty one like Beatrix). Dad has been retired for a while now – he’s one of those already old-money men who got even more rich off the back of, I don’t know, stocks, and financial crashes. Basically, if you can’t afford a house right now, it’s probably because of something my dad did years ago.
I guess you could say, in this divorce, I’m the only one who didn’t land on her feet. In case you were wondering, no, the family wealth does not trickle down – not to me, at least. It’s more like it’s funnelled to his new family. Aside from offering to pay for our schooling (boarding school though, which I obviously declined as a kid), Dad and Beatrix very much believe that kids should not be bankrolled by their wealthy parents into adulthood. I would be surprised if they were funding Persephone’s Paris Hilton circa-2004 lifestyle but it doesn’t really matter because Persephone has a boyfriend who is happy to keep her in the lifestyle she’s accustomed to. How would I describe Chester’s level of wealth? Stinking rich, old money. The man plays polo with royals – that rich.
‘We have news,’ Dad continues. ‘You’re on speaker. I’ll let your sister tell you… Seph, lean in so Lana can hear you.’
Oh, wow, they’re all there.
‘Lana? Can you hear me?’ my sister says, her voice getting louder as she gets closer to the phone.
‘Yep, Seph, I can hear you,’ I reply. ‘So, you’re all in Australia, eh?’
‘Yep, the gang’s all here,’ she says – confirmation I’m not in ‘the gang’.
‘Are you out?’ Chester’s voice cuts in, and I can practically see the smug grin on his face. ‘Are you out partying, Lana?’
I grit my teeth.
‘No,’ I lie, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
I can see a group of lads in fancy dress approaching me, on their way to their next drinking spot, so I try to step out of their way.
‘I’m so wasted,’ a bloke dressed as a prisoner screams. He stops in his tracks as I catch his eye. ‘Hey, baby, you ever had a convict go down on you?’
He couldn’t have timed that any worse if he tried.
‘I’m watching TV,’ I tell my family, who you can bet heard that, as I wave the drunk man away.
‘You sound like you’re on to a promise there, girl,’ Chester chuckles.
I detest the way Chester talks to women, almost like we’re horses.
‘Anyway,’ Seph continues, clearly done with small talk, ‘we have news. We’re engaged!’
And just like that, the world stops turning again, but not in the fun, romantic way it did with Ethan. No, this is more like the kind of world-stopping where you’re not sure if you want to scream or cry or laugh hysterically.
It’s not that I begrudge my sister getting married, or that I’m jealous, and please don’t think I’m making this all about myself, but I’m terrified of what this means for me. My baby sister is getting married – she’s lapping me – and at this point it goes beyond how I feel about it, it’s more about how other people are going to make me feel about it, like it’s a competition and I’m losing… despite not actually competing. Then again, I might be wrong.
‘She’s speechless,’ Chester points out.
‘She’s jealous,’ Beatrix adds, with that perfect blend of condescension and faux concern that only she – my literal wicked stepmother – can pull off.
‘Yeah, sorry I’m beating you to it, sis,’ Seph says, not sounding the least bit sorry.
‘What? Don’t be daft,’ I say quickly, forcing a laugh that sounds more convincing in my head. ‘Sorry, the line isn’t great, but I think I heard you right. Wow, congratulations, guys!’
‘This is us letting you know we’ve set a date too,’ Seph continues. ‘And it’s going to be a destination wedding, so just keep February free, okay?’
‘This February?’ I ask, feeling like I’ve missed a step.
Beatrix scoffs.
‘You’re such a silly goose,’ Seph tells me, laughing, and it’s a sound that grates on my nerves. I hate it when she calls me a ‘silly goose’ – what is it with some people who think they can insult you so long as they call you ‘silly goose’ instead of a ‘dumb bitch’? Obviously I know what she means. ‘You clearly have no idea how long dream weddings take to plan,’ Seph points out.
I would have thought that would be obvious.
‘Right, okay, next year,’ I say, trying to keep up.
‘Lana, honestly,’ Seph replies, like I’m being an even sillier goose now. ‘February 2025. These things take time to plan – especially if we’re doing it out here.’
‘You’re getting married in Australia?’ I repeat.
‘Yep, Sydney. Keep up,’ Seph says.
‘My rentals live out here now, they’ve got a beaut place,’ Chester adds.
Rentals is posh for parents, in his world, apparently. I don’t think Chester has ever rented a thing in his life.
‘So, February, after my birthday?’ I check.
‘She’s making it about her,’ Beatrix whispers, like she doesn’t know how speakerphone works. Then again, this is Beatrix, so she probably does.
‘To be honest, we hadn’t thought about that,’ Seph says, and I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. ‘There might be some crossover with dates, but it’s not exactly an awful place to celebrate, is it?’
I can feel my blood beginning to boil. Not only is no one acknowledging that her wedding is probably going to overshadow my thirtieth birthday, but they’re all acting like this isn’t a big deal that one might get in the way of the other. Well, if something (or someone) has to give, you know it will be me.
‘I can’t… you’re… I… can yo—’ I say, then fake some static in my voice to make it seem like the line is bad.
‘She can’t hear us,’ my dad says.
‘Hopefully we stopped whatever poor decision she was about to make,’ Beatrix adds.
‘Oh, we know Lana, she’ll find someone to carry on through the night with,’ Seph adds.
Right, that’s enough of that. I hang up before I hear what else they have to say, because the urge to say something back is overwhelming.
I finally let out the breath I didn’t realise I was holding as Ethan joins me again.
He gives me a look, like he’s concerned, and somehow it only makes him hotter.
‘Seemed like a long call, so I held off on your taxi,’ he says. ‘How are things down under?’
He says this in a spot-on Aussie accent that makes me laugh despite everything.
‘Wow, you’re great at the accent,’ I tell him. ‘Are you actually Australian?’
That might be the only thing that could make him even sexier still.
‘My dad’s from New Zealand,’ he says. ‘And I know, that doesn’t explain it, but my mum was from here and they talked about living somewhere between the two places. Anyway my dad won and we lived in Australia – or over the ditch as he called it – for a few years when I was a kid. It made me cool, over there when I went, and over here when I came back.’
I smile as his easy conversation melts away some of the tension that has built up in my shoulders. Being around him is like being on something. Whatever he’s putting out, I’m breathing it in, and it’s giving me a high.
‘Oh, I bet,’ I reply. ‘You would be too powerful if you had that going for you now. An Aussie accent and I might’ve said yes to going back to your hotel…’
‘Oh, really?’ he replies.
I don’t want to say that interacting with my family has egged me on – like, if they think I’m out having fun then I may as well be – but it did give me a moment to pause and rethink my decision. When something worth grabbing is on offer do I want to be the kind of person who plays it safe, or do I want to be the kind of person who says yes?
‘Yes.’
‘Fair dinkum,’ he says with a grin, as he slips back into the accent. ‘Let’s stop carrying on like a couple of pork chops and head off.’
I should probably find this ridiculous, but I don’t. I’m way into it. In fact, his silly, jokey accent is the reason I practically throw myself at him, our lips meeting again with a force that leaves me breathless.
‘The Calls, you say?’ I check between kisses, my heart racing.
‘Yeah,’ he replies, taking my hand.
‘That’s not far,’ I say, dragging him in the right direction. ‘This way.’
It’s only supposed to be a short walk, but it feels like a marathon when we keep stopping to kiss every few steps – under the train arches, in the courtyard outside the Marriott. At one point, a group of friendly drag queens even cheers us on as Ethan presses me against the wall of Viaduct Showbar, the heat between us building with every touch.
With the hotel almost in our sights, we manage to tear ourselves apart for long enough to make it there, and I’m even more relieved when he leads me to his ground-floor room, because the thought of being inside a small lift (even for less than a minute) with him feels like it might be too much to take.
Ethan unlocks his room and leads me inside. Bizarrely, now that we’re in here together with the door locked and no audience, there’s a bit of distance between us. I’m almost enjoying it, the anticipation, the wondering about what’s going to happen next…
Ethan approaches me slowly and drops to his knees in front of me. Wondering what he’s going to do makes my knees feel weak – like, literally weak, like I need to sit down, and with his face being just inches from my body there are no prizes for guessing what I have in mind.
He doesn’t touch me though, he reaches behind me, into the minibar. Eventually he returns to eye level with a bottle of champagne in his hand.
‘Drink?’ he suggests.
‘Sounds great,’ I reply.
I watch him as he fusses with the bottle for a second. Yes, I want a drink, but I want him even more.
I throw myself at him again, the two of us snapping together magnetically, knocking the (thankfully unopened) bottle from his hand. We kiss, only for a few seconds, before parting again.
Ethan picks up the bottle and goes to remove the cork. I want to tell him to stop but my drunken reflexes aren’t up to it. The words don’t come out in time and as he pulls the cork away the champagne erupts from the bottle, spraying us both.
‘Bathroom,’ I tell him quickly, noticing the open door behind him.
Ethan runs into the bathroom and steps into the large shower. The champagne is showing no signs of stopping so Ethan just holds it helplessly, laughing wildly at the ridiculousness of it all.
I’m soaking wet so I step into the shower with him. I lean over the bottle and drink from it, like it’s a garden hose on a hot day.
This just makes Ethan laugh even harder.
‘No point wasting it,’ I point out.
‘Fair enough,’ he replies, but as he goes to drink from the fountain it quickly dies down to nothing.
‘Ah, tough luck,’ I say with a pout. ‘It really does taste better, from anything but a glass.’
Ethan licks his lips. I would imagine they’re like mine – and the rest of my body – which is seriously sticky.
‘Oh, well, I can think of a way to test that,’ he says.
He leans forward and starts kissing my neck, slowly working his way down until he’s practically licking the champagne from my chest.
‘Mmm, you might be right,’ he tells me.
‘We should probably get this off, before we go back through there,’ I point out. ‘We don’t want to make a mess.’
‘Fair enough,’ he replies.
In one swift movement, Ethan reaches out and turns on the large shower head that hovers above us. As the initially freezing cold water crashes down over us I squeal.
Of course, the second Ethan peels off his shirt and drops his trousers, revealing his muscular, underwear-model-type body, I forget how cold I am. He reaches forward to help me remove my dress so I turn around, so he can undo my zip.
He lets my dress fall away before pressing his body up against my back, pinning me to the cool tiles.
I know, I know, I’m rushing into things, but I just keep thinking about Jennifer’s motivational Post-it that Ethan wrote his number on.
Your intuition knows her shit.
Tonight I’m going with my intuition, not my common sense, and maybe it’s a recipe for disaster but tonight… maybe I don’t care?