17. Miles
Miles
Something in the air must be making everyone crazy right now.
After a second morning of enduring photographers at the Foxleigh gates, and seeing Ruby retreat into a shadow of the loud, opinionated woman I’ve come to know, I decided to call in the cavalry. Except it sounds like the cavalry is needed here too.
Voices ricochet off the old stone floor, echoing down the corridor with enough force to make me pause halfway through the entryway.
Usually, Burlington carries noise softly—the distant clatter of paws from dogs racing down it, Max tearing through hallways like a miniature hurricane, music drifting from one room or another—but this is different.
I peer down at Dolly, the yellow Labrador, and her new sidekick, Honey. “Sounds interesting.”
Following the yelling into the kitchen, I stop in the doorway, taking in the scene before me. Clementine’s rigid by the island counter, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. Hendricks leans against the opposite side, equally furious, though his anger looks far more controlled.
I mean, granted, I don't live at Burlington like Hendricks and Clementine, but I'm surprised to hear them screaming at each other like we did when we were teenagers.
“Fuck you, Hendricks. Mind your own fucking business.”
Whoa. Dolly looks up at me with a similar expression.
“How long’s it been going on like this?” I ask her, wondering when either will notice me. But they’re too busy glaring at each other.
“I told you,” Hendricks warns in a tone I rarely hear him use. “If you don’t tell him, I will.”
My ears perk. I’m always interested in a bit of gossip, and this sounds juicy.
“Tell who what?” I ask with unadulterated glee.
The pair freezes. Hendricks's glare stays on our sister, while she turns to me. And honestly, I’ve seen less murderous expressions in horror films.
“Nothing,” she snaps, spinning back to Hendricks. “Mind your own fucking business. I’ve told you, stay out of my life.”
With that, she storms out through the patio doors and down into the garden.
My brows shoot up and, deeming it now safe to enter the war zone, I walk over to the kitchen island.
“Bloody hell. Bit early for fireworks, isn’t it? What was that about?”
My twin shakes his head. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
It’s an odd response, since we usually share everything.
Not to mention, we never lie to each other.
But he’s doing that now, because whatever I just witnessed was obviously something.
I don’t push, though. He’ll tell me in his own time.
I’m just surprised, because if anyone’s going to argue with Clementine, it’s me.
For reasons only known to herself, she chooses to push my buttons way more than anyone else in this family.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replies. Not quite as snappy as my sister, but not particularly jovial either.
“I certainly picked a good morning to come over.”
It seems to snap Hendricks out of his mood, and he chuckles darkly. “Yeah, well, maybe it’s Max rubbing off. He didn’t want to go to school this morning and had a bit of a meltdown, so we’re all feeling a little frazzled.”
“Oh right,” I reply, not entirely buying it, but whatever. “Rather you than me. Would you like a coffee?”
“I would. Thanks.”
I walk over to the counter where breakfast is usually laid out and flick the coffee machine on. There are a couple of pieces of cold toast that I slather with butter, then follow up with jam, and crunch into.
“What’s going on then? Is Mum around?” I ask, placing a cup of coffee in front of Hendricks.
“No, she’s gone up to London until Friday. It’s the Chelsea Flower Show.”
“Ah, yes. The annual pilgrimage for her roses.”
That earns me another small laugh, and the tension slowly eases from his shoulders.
He’s been through a lot the past few months with Max, his birth mother reappearing, and Story coming back into his life.
Maybe it’s just residual stress, or Lando’s done something to piss them off. That’s the most likely scenario.
“How are things with Story? When’s the official move-in date for you to become my neighbor?”
He sips his coffee. “Not until Story’s finished the school term. It’s going to take us longer than a weekend to get everything in, and I want to redo some of the cottage.”
“I thought it had only just been done before Holiday moved in.”
Hendricks grins. “It’s not six-year-old proof. And he needs a room painted. If I put him in one with floral wallpaper and not rockets, I’m going to have a riot on my hands.”
I laugh. “It’ll certainly be quiet around here without him.”
“I guarantee you’ll be able to hear him once we’re next door. But I don’t want Story to move in here. It’s chaotic enough as it is. Plus, Lando and Holiday seem to take up so much room for two people who aren’t even here that much.”
I nod and peer around the vast kitchen, only a small part of the enormous house, but I can totally imagine their personalities taking over the place.
And I understand Hendricks’s need for his own space.
In fact, before Max came along, Hendricks and I lived together in the cottage.
It was only then that he moved back home.
Lando too. But so much has changed in the past few years.
“When do you think our big brother will pop the question?”
“Soon, I can’t see him wanting to wait much longer. But they’re in the city most of the time while Holiday is rehearsing.” He shrugs. “Maybe after that’s over.”
I don’t say anything, but I suspect Hendricks won’t be far behind. I glance at the thin gold band on my left hand, and it feels heavier today than it has before. There’s a tightness in my chest I can’t seem to shift. My wife is unhappy, ergo . . .
“Does that mean we’re all going to get dragged to watch her?”
Hendricks snorts into his coffee. We both share the same opinion of theater: best saved for occasions when sleep is needed. On second thought, maybe I should go. Sleep has been elusive of late. Being down the hallway from Ruby makes it hard.
Harder still after yesterday morning.
That fucking spider.
I want to say my body reacted to her because of adrenaline or some shit. But truth be told, I’ve woken up with a boner every day since she moved in. I could put it down to the longest stretch without sex I’ve had in a while, but it’s not that.
It’s Ruby. All Ruby.
I can’t think about anything else. And fuck me.
Seeing her storm into my room wearing virtually nothing but underwear, nipples protruding through her thin cotton top, the curve of her firm, round arse as she bent to pick up that eight-legged beast .
. . let’s just say cold showers have become my friend in the last twenty-four hours.
The sexual tension between us has notched up several degrees, and the cottage isn’t big enough to sustain that level of heat.
Kissing her only made it worse, even with the onslaught of photographers the last two mornings being more effective than an ice bucket over the head, all I want to do is kiss her again. Hear that soft little moan she makes.
“I’d say that was a given . . . anyway, you’ve got the Chatham Cup win under your belt, that’s something to celebrate, hey?”
I nod, reluctantly. Hendricks watches me curiously over the rim of his coffee cup.
He knows that while winning the match was incredible, I’m struggling with the fallout because of my behavior.
And I want to regret kissing Ruby, I just .
. . don’t. What I do regret is creating a problem I should have anticipated, but didn’t.
I forgot this is all new to her, and it’s hard. I’m not used to feeling guilty, but I saw her cry yesterday and somehow that image has lodged itself beneath my ribs in a way I can’t shake.
“She’s more upset than she’s letting on,” I say, staring down into my coffee. “She’s worried about the visa situation and someone finding out.”
“How’s anyone going to find out?”
“They’re not.” I tell him exactly what I’ve been telling Ruby. “And they’re still having to prove it’s false.”
“Surely, that kiss the other day would put anyone off the scent.” He laughs, and I join in.
“I think that was what brought us to everyone’s attention.”
He looks at me, like no shit. “It’s been, what, three or four weeks now?”
One month, three days, and eleven hours, to be precise. But who’s counting? “Yeah, about that.”
“And?”
“And what?” I know what he wants to hear, and if there’s anyone I can’t lie to, it’s Hendricks. But I also don’t really know what to say.
I don’t have the words to explain the situation I’m currently in because, in typical fashion, I didn’t think very far ahead.
When I suggested Ruby marry me, I meant for her to come over and play on the team. That was it. It never occurred to me that I’d be living with her in my home, spending twenty-four hours a day together.
I guess it’s only natural we’ve become closer. Nothing wrong with that.
“Milo, this is the first time you’ve ever been with someone for more than one night.”
“We’re not having sex, Hen.”
“I think that’s the point,” he replies, making me frown. Because what the fuck does that mean? I’m too tired for any cryptic bullshit this morning. “But,” he continues, “it’s nice. I’ve enjoyed this side of you.”
I don’t really know what to say, so I just sit there at the counter, eating toast and drinking coffee while thinking about how Ruby made the coffee this morning, waiting for me in the kitchen with her Foxleigh Park baseball cap pulled low on her face.
It wasn’t enough to hide how puffy her eyes were, however.
Those puffy eyes are exactly why I’m here.
“Anyway,” Hendricks continues. “What are you doing here? You didn’t come just to talk about your feelings. Why aren’t you at the stables?”
“I was, I dropped Ruby, and I’m heading back over shortly.” I pause. “I wanted to see Clementine, actually, but I’m not sure I want to approach her considering her mood.”
Again, Hendricks says nothing.
“What do you think? Should I go talk to her?”
I expect him to say no, but he nods. “Yes, you should. But what do you want with her?”
“I wanted to ask her to take Ruby out. She doesn’t know anyone here.”
My brother’s head tilts as he ruminates. “Story could join?”
“Good idea. Like a girls’ night? As far as I’m aware of girls’ night rules, and I don’t know them for certain, the more, the merrier. Will you ask her?”
He nods. “Have you got any matches this week?”
I nod. “Yes, gotta notch up those points.” I grin, though I’m deadly serious.
“What about Torres?”
My head thuds once at the mention of his name. “Los Tigres Luchadores has played six games. They lost one, drew one, and won four.”
He doesn’t need to ask anymore. He knows I’m watching them like a hawk. Having Angus give me daily updates on their game, along with any news from the daily polo journals, is keeping my anxiety at bay.
“You’re coming to the low-goal festival next week, right?”
“Max is playing.”
My eyes widen. “Shit, how did I forget that?”
The Foxleigh Low-Goal Festival is a fun weekend of low and medium-goal polo designed to bring more people into the game at an amateur level. And considering this is the first year Max is old enough to play in it—therefore hasn’t stopped talking about it—I really am amazed I forgot.
I have an auburn-haired distraction to blame.
“I couldn’t possibly think how,” he replies, eyebrow raised.
I shake my head, push off the stool, and top up my coffee. “On that note, I’m going to brave the dragon.”
Swiping the last remaining croissant from the breakfast counter, I head out through the big patio doors in the direction Clementine disappeared.
Cultivated over the years by my mother’s green fingers, the garden is coming into full bloom, and it’s one of my favorite times of year. The soft scent of lilac mingles with the heavy roses and drifts along the path toward the pool.
It’s still a bit chilly for my sister to be there, but that’s my first stop anyway. When I don’t find her, I try the second most likely place to find her—taking the route through the rose garden toward the chicken coop.
That’s where I find her, scattering feed and throwing lettuce leaves to the chickens.
She turns when she hears the crunch of my shoes on the gravel. “Not in the mood, Miles.”
I hold my hands up, along with a croissant. “I come in peace.” It’s clear she’s been crying. Her face is puffy, eyes red. “What’s up, Clem? Do you need me to beat anyone up for you?”
I don’t know why that sets her off into wrenching sobs, but I let myself into the coop and pull her into my arms. “It can’t be that bad.”
I expect her to recoil, but instead, she sobs on my shoulder, big, breathless sobs.
It’s been a long time since I saw her so upset, so I let her use my shirt as a tissue until I suddenly have to shove her away because I realize I’ve left the coop door open and one of the chickens is attempting a daring escape.
“Whoops.” I wince, picking the chicken up and placing it farther away from the entrance. At least it gets her laughing. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
She drops her head and stares at the ground before shaking it. “Nope.”
“All right. Well, you know where I am if you want to talk.”
She swipes a hand under her nose and sniffs. “Thanks, Milo.”
“Anyway, I came over to find you. I was wondering if you’d take Ruby out sometime. Maybe get the girls together. She’s had a hard few days, so I’d appreciate it.”
Her puffy eyes narrow on me, and she rolls her lips before eventually replying, “Sure.”
“Thanks, Clem. I appreciate it,” I say, hugging her again. “Anyway, I need to get to the yard.”
“I like her, Miles,” she calls out once I’m through the gate.
My stride pauses. I debate on replying before deciding not to, because that’s the problem.
I like her too. I just need to figure out how much.