CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO #2
“Oh, hush,” she waves him off. “You’d never tell anyone yourself because apparently modesty is one of your many emotional repression techniques.”
Lucy snorts into her wine. And beside me, I swear I feel Ray trying not to smile. Lucy studies Ray over the rim of her wine glass for a long moment.
“What?” he asks dryly.
Lucy hums thoughtfully. “I’m trying to decide whether you’re secretly decent or whether this is all a very elaborate performance.”
“Lucy,” I mutter.
“What? I’m evolving. This is me making an effort.”
Ray actually lets out a quiet laugh beside me, low enough that I almost miss it. “Well, that’s terrifying,” he says.
Catherine smiles into her wine while Lucy points at him. “See? That. You should do that more often.”
“Do what?”
“Act like a human being.”
I choke slightly on my water. Ray drags a hand over his jaw, but I catch the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“So,” she says, leaning back in her chair, “what do you actually do when you aren’t glaring at people or emotionally repressing yourself?”
“Lucy,” I warn again.
“What?” she asks innocently. “I’m getting to know him.”
Ray looks strangely unbothered now. “I work.”
“Obviously. That apartment doesn’t come cheap.” She pauses a moment then adds, “Does it come with the fancy casino?”
“I own the entire building.”
She arches a brow. “That takes some commitment. Do you have more?”
I glance between them both cautiously, still waiting for the conversation to combust somehow. Ray takes a sip of water before answering properly.
“Most of my time’s spent between the casino, the clubs and property developments.”
Lucy arches a brow. “And outside of work?”
He pauses, like the question genuinely stumps him. “I spend time with Sebastian,” he says eventually.
“That’s not a hobby,” Lucy replies.
“No, but it’s a full-time job on top of work. That’s why I have a nanny. For that I feel incredibly guilty, and so I try to spend as much time with him as possible, even if he does make me play Mario Kart.”
I blink in surprise. “You play Mario Kart?”
Ray glances at me like I’ve personally offended him. “I’m excellent at Mario Kart.”
Catherine snorts. “No, you absolutely are not.”
“I win regularly.”
“Against a child.”
“It still counts.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. The sound makes Ray look at me immediately. And for a second, the rest of the restaurant fades into the background. The warmth in his eyes catches me off guard.
Lucy clears her throat dramatically. “So, apart from crushing children at video games, what else?”
Ray finally relaxes slightly into his chair. “I box sometimes.”
“That I can believe,” Lucy mutters.
“And . . .” He hesitates again, almost reluctant. “I cook.”
I turn towards him fully. “You have a cook,” I correct. “It’s not the same thing.”
Catherine smiles knowingly. “He cooks very well, actually.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’ve been gatekeeping,” I say suspiciously. “You told me you couldn’t cook, you even hired your chef to show us.”
Ray shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Well, I knew you wouldn’t take instruction from me so . . .”
I grin, shaking my head. “Can you cook proper food or just billionaire breakfast?” asks Lucy.
“Lucy,” I hiss, mortified.
“What? It’s an important question.”
Ray’s mouth twitches again. “Proper food. I’m actually terrible at simple things like breakfast.”
“Interesting,” she murmurs.
The waiter arrives with our starters then, placing plates around the table while the scent of garlic and tomato instantly fills the air.
Lucy waits until he’s gone before speaking again.
“So, tell me something real.”
Ray glances up from unfolding his napkin. “Real?”
“Something people wouldn’t expect about you.”
Silence stretches for a second. Then surprisingly, he answers honestly. “I hate silence.”
The admission catches all of us off guard.
Ray stares down at the table briefly before continuing. “Most people think I like being alone because I’m quiet.” He gives a small shrug. “Truth is, silence always scared me.”
Something in my chest aches painfully at the casualness of the statement.
Lucy’s expression softens too. “And now?” she asks quietly.
Ray’s eyes flick towards me.
“Now, I don’t sleep well unless I know everyone’s home.”
The words wrap around me completely unexpectedly.
RAY
I somehow made it through dinner with a surprising amount of respect for Lucy. And judging by the fact she only insulted me three times by the end of the night, I think the feeling might be mutual.
By the time we get home, everyone disappears to bed almost immediately.
Everyone except me.
Because now that I know Wynter struggles to sleep, I can’t seem to settle either. So, instead, I sit alone in the darkened living room, one lamp left off in the corner while the city glows faintly beyond the windows. Waiting.
And sure enough, a few hours later, I hear soft footsteps padding down the hallway.
I glance towards the clock. Two a.m. A quiet curse almost leaves me.
Wynter appears moments later, moving carefully so she doesn’t wake anyone. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie. Leggings and her hair’s tied messily on top of her head.
She heads towards the door and slips her feet into her trainers.
I reach over and switch on the lamp.
Wynter spins around so fast she almost loses her balance, one hand flying to her chest. “Jesus Christ,” she breathes.
I push to my feet slowly. “It’s two in the morning in London.”
She groans immediately, rubbing her forehead. “I know, Ray. But honestly, I’ll be fine.”
I ignore that completely. Instead, I grab her coat from the back of the chair and walk towards her. Her brows furrow slightly as I hold it open for her. For a second, she just stares at me. Then quietly, she slips her arms into it.
“I knew your head would be too busy to sleep after today,” I tell her, adjusting the hood where it’s twisted at the back. “So, I waited to see if you’d try sneaking out.”
“I’m not sneaking out,” she argues weakly.
“At two in the morning?”
“Yes.” I arch a brow. She rolls her eyes. “Okay, maybe a little.”
I fight back a smile. “From now on,” I say, grabbing my own jacket from the counter, “if you suddenly decide walking around London alone in the middle of the night sounds like a good idea, you come and get me first.”
“Ray, that really isn’t necessary—”
“It is for me.” The words come out rougher than I intended and her expression shifts slightly. I step closer, lowering my voice. “Please. For my peace of mind.”
She studies me for a long second before sighing in defeat. “Fine,” she mutters, giving a small nod.
Relief loosens something tight in my chest. “Good girl.”
The second the words leave my mouth, Wynter’s eyes widen, and then her cheeks pink slightly.
I smirk, opening the door. “After you,” I say casually.
The casino is still alive behind us, music and laughter spilling out onto the pavement as we step into the cool night air.
“The best thing about London,” Wynter says, sidestepping a drunken couple arguing beside a taxi, “is that it never really sleeps.”
“You should see New York.”
“And yet,” she replies, glancing up at the glowing skyline around us, “London’s prettier at night, so who needs New York?”
I laugh softly. “One day I’ll take you and let you compare properly.”
A smile tugs at her lips, small but genuine, and something in my chest shifts again. I’m beginning to realise I’d do almost anything just to keep putting that expression on her face.
“I’m starving,” she groans dramatically a second later.
“You ate just hours ago.”
She arches a brow. “I’m growing a human.”
I huff out another laugh. “Fair point. We can order food when we get back. I’ll have the kitchen send something up.”
“Or . . .” Her eyes brighten mischievously as she hooks her arm through mine. “I can show you my secret late-night haunt.”
I narrow my eyes immediately. “Why do I already hate the sound of that?”
“Because it isn’t somewhere you’d usually go.”
“But you do?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes the best places are the ones people overlook.” She drags me down a side street before I can argue.
Five minutes later, we stop outside a run-down twenty-four-hour café with a flickering neon sign in the window. I stare at it sceptically. It screams trouble. The kind of place drunks, dealers and desperate people gather because nowhere else is open.
I know because I used to spend nights in places exactly like this waiting for drops when I was younger.
“Don’t judge before you try the bacon baps,” Wynter says smugly before pushing the door open.
Warm air and the smell of grease hit instantly. A group of teenagers glance up from the back booth. Two women by the window openly eye me as we walk past.
Wynter heads straight for the counter like she owns the place. “Two coffees,” she tells the exhausted-looking guy behind the till. “And two bacon baps.”
He shuffles towards a teetering stack of chipped mugs.
Wynter digs into her pocket, pulling out coins and a crumpled five-pound note before carefully counting them onto the counter.
Then she heads for a booth.
I follow more cautiously.
“You could’ve at least let me pay for the food poisoning we’re about to experience,” I mutter as I slide into the seat opposite her.
She laughs. And somehow, I find myself smiling too. “This place only takes cash,” she says proudly.
“Of course it does.”
As I glance around the café again, a teenager approaches the counter and mutters something quietly to the owner. A small package gets slid across the counter before disappearing into the kid’s jacket.
Wynter notices me watching.
“This place gets all sorts,” she says like she’s discussing wildlife. “Once, a married man brought his mistress in here and his wife turned up.” She grins. “There was screaming. Someone threw chips. The police came.”
I blink at her. “Wynter, what the hell are you doing coming here alone in the early hours of the morning?”
“And did you know dancers make an absolute fortune?” I stare at her.
“One night a bunch of them came in after work counting tips,” she continues excitedly.
“One of them made over a grand.” I wisely keep my mouth shut about owning a strip club three streets away.
“Imagine making that much for taking your clothes off,” she says.
I clear my throat. “I imagine there’s usually more involved than just taking clothes off.”
Her eyes widen. “I don’t even want to know how you know that.”
I rub a hand over my jaw. “Seriously though,” I say again, “you shouldn’t come here alone.”
Our coffees arrive. I stare down at the stained mug suspiciously.
Wynter takes a sip and closes her eyes happily like she’s drinking luxury coffee in Paris.
“I don’t think caffeine is helping the sleeping problem,” I point out.
“Don’t you ever want to just . . . live a little?” she asks suddenly.
I scoff softly. “I live every day.”
“In your perfectly controlled world,” she counters. “Where cups are spotless and food’s made by private chefs.”
The bacon baps arrive then. I glance at the crispy bacon hanging out the sides before my eyes drift towards the kitchen. The grill looks older than me. I slowly push my plate away.
“My days of eating questionable food or from the trash are over,” I mutter. “I worked hard for that.”
Her expression shifts slightly. “You really ate from bins?”
I shrug once. “When things got bad.” There’s no point pretending otherwise. I did what I had to survive.
“That makes me sad,” she says quietly. “No kid should live like that.”
“It was a long time ago.”
She studies me for a second before taking a huge bite of her bap. I wince instinctively. “It explains a lot though,” she says around the mouthful.
Then she slides my plate back towards me. “At least try it.”
I eye the bap like it personally offended me before sighing and picking it up. Wynter watches me closely as I take a bite.
And annoyingly . . .
It’s actually good.
When I smile reluctantly, her entire face lights up.
“See?” she says triumphantly. “That’s exactly my point. If you never try things, you never discover something good.”