Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
For all I know, I could be wearing my clothes inside out and backward, and I don’t care.
We check out of the hotel with our bags and head to where Florian’s parked his car with the garment bags and our suitcases.
We haven’t said much in our dash to get ready to leave.
Our suitcases rumble in unison on the pavement. The day’s warm by noon.
Florian glances over as we pause to cross the street. “Alright?”
“Yeah. I think. I don’t know.” Which is probably borderline incoherent and a fair representation right now of my mind.
He gives me a wry smile. “I hope you’re not regretting it. It was beyond the base terms of our agreement.”
Still sounds like Florian. Thank God. It’s reassuring, even if I swear blood’s still pounding in my ears, my face hot, coasting on adrenaline.
“Authenticity. Top marks.” I give him a wry smile back.
My fingers are tight on my suitcase handle, and I feel totally vulnerable.
Like the reality of what’s just happened is hitting me.
Like, Florian. I had sex with Florian. And it was hot.
Incredibly hot. And he’s probably thinking about Billy right now and I bet they’ve had plenty of hot sex and if I think about that I’ll never get an erection again or leave the bedroom I don’t technically have in London.
I hope Arran doesn’t mind when he comes back to his Mayfair flat and I’ve taken up permanent residence.
Because I’ll be squatting in his flat, and he’ll go on living his best life, and I’ll live in a cupboard and—
“Matty?” Florian murmurs, pausing on the pavement. He pushes his sunglasses up on his head. He gives me an appraising look.
“I… that was a lot.”
“I hope not bad. I hope you don’t regret—”
“No! It was incredible.”
“Then?”
“I’m… just overwhelmed right now.” And that, too, is honest.
Florian nods, though he does look concerned.
“This is my car here.” He has a Mercedes, because of course Florian has a Mercedes, and I’m surprised it’s not some high-end sports car but a more sensible sedan.
He opens the back, and we place everything inside.
He shuts the boot. With a click, the doors lock again.
We get inside. The interior is sleek in black leather. Florian’s wearing his sunglasses again, and he checks his messages, then tucks his phone away. He glances over at me, the question still in his eyes.
“I’m okay, really. Just tired. From the night and everything.” I manage a smile for him, but it’s the truth. I’m shattered and overwhelmed, and I need a couple more hours of sleep before we get back to London and I have to go to work tonight. “You alright?”
“Yes.” Florian smiles, and he’s gorgeous, his gaze lingering. “Very much.”
He reaches over to squeeze my hand. His fingers are warm, his grip reassuring.
But I can’t help but think about all the high-end lovers he’s had, like Billy, and then I tell myself not to worry about it because it was a one-night stand, and he’s my fake boyfriend, after all. At last, my shoulders ease.
And we head back to London and our regularly scheduled lives.
On Monday, Noah’s in London to return his vintage suit rental to whichever posh place he found it. We agree to meet up for lunch at a Caffè Nero around the corner from Arran’s flat, basic but in my budget. We’re settled at a small round table out front because it’s a warm July day in the city.
I lean back in my chair with my latte and sandwich in front of me.
Noah’s already looking terribly amused. “Tell me everything. Quit being so cryptic.”
I cough slightly, and my face warms as I think about being together with Florian and how incredible it was. “We have a fake arrangement, I told you before.”
“You two were looking very cozy together,” Noah says. His eyes dance with amusement. “I mean, if you keep doing events together, how is having a fake boyfriend any different from having a real boyfriend?”
“It’s different,” I tell him before he gets any ideas. “We’re far too different. I’m broke and fresh out of art school. He’s… a successful businessman.”
“I don’t know. I saw the way he looked at you, Matty.” Noah grins. “You can’t tell me he’s not into you.”
I focus on my latte instead of Noah, turning the paper cup between my hands. “I… don’t think so. Not really.”
“Not really?” he prompts, intrigued.
“He’s actually quite nice? That’s all. Like… he brought me a suit. And my suit. Which he’d borrowed that night I dumped all the drinks on him.”
Noah leans in slightly. “Tell me everything.”
“What else is there to say?” I dare glance up at him, having an internal debate about how much to tell Noah. He’s my closest friend, and if I can’t talk to him, who can I talk to?
“Matty… I can see it on your face there’s more to tell.”
I squirm, picking at a piece of lettuce poking out from my sandwich.
“He… there was a mix-up. My suit was lost for a while. Then it was found. And… long story short, he personally delivered the suit to me. In Brighton, last minute. From… New York. Then he was meant to stick around at the wedding for a couple of hours because Johan couldn’t make it. ”
“Wait. What?” Noah shakes his head, lost. He leans closer. “Break that down. Not about Jonah—I know that he wasn’t there. Everything else.”
I lift my head properly to look at him. Take a deep breath.
Keep my shoulders down. As if this is a totally normal conversation about perfectly ordinary things.
“Florian took a red-eye flight from New York—via London—to deliver my suit directly to me in Brighton on the morning of the wedding. It had been lost at a London dry cleaner, and when it was found, he wanted to make sure it got to where it needed to go. That’s all. ”
“That’s all?” His voice climbs. He stares at me, incredulous. “Holy fuck, Matty.”
I sip my latte, trying to act calm. “Yeah.”
“Uhh, he’s really into you? That’s… off the charts.” Noah marvels at me. “Remember when I told you that you pulled? I wasn’t kidding.”
My face is on fire, and it shows no sign of ending, and the July heat isn’t helping.
“And it gets worse. I kissed him. When he showed up with the suit. Then,” I add hurriedly, “we went for breakfast and worked out more details of our arrangement. We agreed to two more events, not including the wedding. Because at that point, he wasn’t going to stay much longer in Brighton.”
“And you, being irresistible, he had no choice but to stay. And apparently shut the night down at the wedding, I hear. Of course he wants more.” Noah looks fascinated. “Then what happened?”
I don’t know how he knows that, but Noah probably has spies everywhere, gathering intel. “We were up all night. Walking around. Talking.”
“Matty… hate to break it to you, but this is sounding way less fake and a lot more like a man who can’t get enough of you.”
I wave him off. And look away again because there’s no way I can get into the details of what happened. But I don’t need to fear because Noah continues with his assessment, which is hitting too close.
“And then, judging by how red your face is, he went back with you to your hotel?”
I wish I could die on the spot. At last, I nod. “Yes.”
“And?”
“And… Florian’s very hot. Speaking in a fake boyfriend kind of way.”
He raps the table, and my gaze flickers back to him. “Earth to Matty. You don’t have sex with people you’re only fake into.”
“Who,” I try desperately, “said anything about sex? That’s all you.”
Noah snorts, folding his arms across his chest as he leans back in his chair. “You’ve given me a lot to digest here. Of course you had sex. It’s a wedding, after all. And, like you said, Florian’s hot. I saw him and agree.”
“I…” I falter, pressing my hands against my cheeks in an effort to cool them. “Yes.”
“Yes to sex or yes to wedding or yes to Florian being hot?” Noah teases.
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Well, how was he?” he encourages without any hesitation. “I mean, I bet that was fucking hot. If Raheem flew in from New York to bring me something, you bet I’m dragging him to the bedroom. God.”
I mirror his pose, folding my arms across my chest. Quite possibly, I could die of embarrassment. But also? It was amazing and intense, and I’m not sorry it happened, but I have no idea how to function since.
“Hot. And overwhelming,” I admit. I’ve had about twenty-four hours since Florian dropped me off to start to process what happened between us at Paul and Caden’s wedding. Hookups are no problem. “It’s all fake anyway.”
Noah purses his lips, leaning back in his chair for a long moment. Then he works on his coffee and at last speaks. “Overwhelming in a good way or a bad way?”
I frown slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Was it consensual?”
“Oh! Of course,” I say immediately. “Yes. Very much. It was just intense, that’s all.”
He grins. “Did you feel as overwhelmed when we had sex back in the day?”
“It was different.” I give him a knowing look. “He’s just very… something.”
“Well, talk about it with him for next time. Slow things down a little.”
“I mean, part of it was because we didn’t have much time before checking out. And no need, because it’s never happening again.”
“It’s not?” Noah looks terribly disappointed. “Didn’t you like it?”
“I did. A lot,” I confess. “But it’s all fake. We’re both back to our senses now and our regular lives, and that exact set of circumstances will never happen again. The end. I’ll get over it.”
“Well, have you talked since?”
I shake my head. “I slept yesterday afternoon for a while before I had to go to work. He probably crashed out too. And he’s working daytime like most people do. And I’m working this evening. Besides, there isn’t anything to talk about.”
He rolls his eyes. “Any messages, then?”
“He texted me he had fun and thanks for the invite.”
“Anything else?”
“Um. To let him know about the art lesson.”
Noah lifts his eyebrows. “Art lesson? What art lesson?”
“The art lesson I’m going to give him.” I give him a wry smile.
“He knows nothing about art history or practice, so I thought to give him a lesson to help him with future events and to give me a reference for tutoring so I can get more work. Next, we’re supposed to go to a gala.
” I start chewing my lip and opt into worrying double-time.
What I don’t tell Noah is that there’s no way I can compete with Billy. Not in this lifetime.
Noah’s still back on art lessons. He considers me over his sandwich. “What are you going to teach him?”
“Whatever he wants. I’ll bring an art history book and some supplies and see what happens.”
“I know what’ll happen,” Noah drawls.
“Art will happen,” I say firmly. “That’s it.” Then I go back to feeling nervous about everything and twist my cup in my hands. If I were Noah, I would have heaps of chill.
He smiles. “You know what I think?”
“I think I have an idea,” I say wryly.
Noah waves me off. “I think you like him too. And the fact is you’ve got some cognitive dissonance going on.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’re blurring between what’s real and fake, and you’re scared. Which is normal, by the way. He’s probably nervous too.” He polishes off the rest of his sandwich. I haven’t touched mine since my stomach is doing a kind of tap dance the rest of me is very much not into.
“Florian doesn’t get nervous, believe me. He’s Florian.”
Noah laughs. “I’m sure he’s human like the rest of us.” Then his expression softens as he considers me. “Talk to him,” he advises, like it’s easy, “and slow things down.”
“I just need to focus on getting things normal. Arran will be back soon, and I need to find a room in London now that I’m getting paid. Then maybe I’ll feel a little better about making sense of all of this.”
“Just relax and enjoy.”
“Not in my nature, I’m afraid. I’ll take worrying for the win.”
He just laughs. “Do those things—skip the worrying and start planning your art date. You’ll have a great time, you’ll see.”