Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
The arrangement still goes strong after three days in my room.
I stare at it, working on my sketch. It’s the first real sketch I’ve done since arriving in London, aside from drawing the still life with Florian.
All I can think of is Florian when I see the peonies.
The internet tells me white is the color of forgiveness, and it doesn’t make me feel any better.
If anything, it makes me feel worse knowing he feels bad too.
I add touches of watercolor to my sketch for shading between the petals in blues and pinks.
There’s no way a photo captures, for me, the way the peonies make me feel.
We haven’t talked since Thursday night. I haven’t wanted to intrude on things, figuring Florian must have his hands full between his brother and work. I really hope his brother’s okay. But with Florian’s take-charge energy, I’m sure he must be doing everything he can for Gabriel.
I’m picking up all the shifts I can this week.
I want to be too busy to think. But Monday and Tuesday are quiet nights, and there aren’t any extra shifts on offer from Alexander.
The thought of staying home alone in my room with only my thoughts for company guts me.
I haven’t texted Florian back. I don’t know what to tell him.
Once more, I set down my paintbrush and pick up my phone. I scroll through my messages. From my mum, checking in on me. Nothing from Florian.
And a text back I didn’t expect to see. Earlier, I texted my friend Michael from the village, something triggered in my memory since the night we picked up Gabriel from near the Royal Opera House. Michael dances for the Royal Ballet. I should have thought of him sooner.
Hey, heard you were in London now from my parents. Want to catch up over drinks?
How could I have forgotten about Michael being in London? Something surges in me, a feeling like hope. Maybe he can give me tips on how to adjust to life here after the village.
Sounds great. Free tonight or tomorrow?
Tomorrow’s great. How’s 5pm for drinks?
Perfect
We make plans to meet. Michael texts me details. Feeling a little more cheered, I flop back on my bed. And I feel marginally less lost.
I meet Michael at a pub in Covent Garden as he’s wrapped up his work for the day. I can’t help but imagine Gabriel distraught nearby where we picked him up.
Spotting him in the pub, I refocus. Michael’s got wavy, dark hair, which falls over his brow, and dark blue eyes and cheekbones that would be the envy of anyone.
His mum had been a model before she launched the family bookshop years ago in the village.
But more than anything else, Michael has a genuine grin.
He rises immediately to give me a big hug on sight as soon as I put my drink down.
“Matty! I can’t believe you’re here now,” Michael enthuses, at last letting me go.
He booked a reservation, so we have a table in the corner of the pub with its dark panels and air-con, which is very welcome in this heat wave.
Outside, patrons spill onto the pavement, holding their drinks and seated at tables out front.
“So good to see you too. I’m very relieved to see a familiar face, I can’t even begin to tell you,” I say honestly and slide into the leather banquette beneath the dark wood paneling, while Michael takes the bentwood chair where he had already been seated with his drink.
He flashes a grin. “I never expected you’d end up in London. I thought maybe you’d stay in Brighton.”
“A lot of my friends stayed on there for now. I thought maybe I had a better chance in London for my work since there’re so many people and opportunities here. But the so-many-people part’s really getting me. Not knowing anyone.”
“Well, you know me,” Michael says cheerfully. “And I’m thrilled to see someone else from Glynde. We’ll start a revolution.”
I laugh. “Of introverts hiding? A very quiet revolution. We’d hate to cause a fuss.”
“Too right.” He’s smiling. Michael has amazing poise. Life as a dancer will do that for someone.
“How did you get used to all of this?” I ask, leaning in slightly. “Because I’m very much feeling like I’m the boy from the village. Even though I have a job as a bartender now at Ivan’s. I feel totally out of my depth.”
“Ivan’s—amazing, congrats. Obviously, you know what you’re doing.”
“I don’t think it’s that obvious, to be honest. More like a mirage. Just because the Blue Lion has a great reputation doesn’t mean I do, specifically.”
Michael laughs. “Have faith, Matty. It gets better. And I’ve seen you working at the pub, and your cocktails were delicious.
At any rate, I was lucky that when I went to the ballet school, everyone was new to the school, and I had a built-in cohort to get to know in London.
But it was hard at first. Starting from scratch like you are is going to be hard if you don’t know anyone at all. ”
“I sort of know someone.” My cheeks grow warm.
“Now, this is the sort of news I’m into.” Michael leans in, mirroring my pose, tracing condensation on his pint of lager. “Spill.”
A sigh escapes me. “I somehow met a business investor who knows nothing about art through work at Ivan’s, and now he wants to redevelop my friends’ art collective space for flats.”
He blinks and chews his lip. “That escalated quickly.”
“I’ll say.”
“Well… how did you meet someone like that in the first place?” Michael looks curiously at me, as if any kind of explanation might be a reasonable one.
“I dumped a tray of drinks on him at work. By accident. He was a patron. Then we got stuck in a lift together when I offered to loan him a suit. You know, the usual way you meet someone.”
He looks impressed. “Wow.”
“Yeah. We were trapped for hours, I guess long enough to use any oxygen up in the lift because we came up with this mad scheme to make a plan to be fake boyfriends. And we’ve had a couple of dates.” I cough. My face is on fire.
“And?”
“Things, um, escalated?”
“Sounds hot.” Michael chuckles, leaning back in his chair. He works on his pint. “What’s his deal?”
“I’ve got no idea, other than knocking down buildings and redeveloping sites. Hostile takeovers. I don’t fully know.” I frown. “Anyway, I told him he shouldn’t mess with the Rose & Crown, and he didn’t back down.”
“That is a complication,” Michael concedes.
“Which has pretty much put an end to things. We were supposed to have one last date. I don’t know. It’s a gala for his ex-boyfriend’s charity. Which will be incredibly awkward on its own. Never mind his business plans for the studios and gallery.”
“So what are you going to do?”
I shake my head slowly. “If only I knew. It would be easier if things stuck to being a hundred percent fake between us. But they didn’t, and now I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t.
He was all harsh, at first. Now that I’m getting to know him, he’s actually a kind person?
Except it’s even worse because now he wants to redevelop a hub of the art community.
It’s a gut punch.” Which is putting it mildly.
It’s more like Florian’s eviscerated me. I don’t know what to do.
“That’s a lot,” Michael concedes. “Well, you could forget him. London’s full of hot guys. You’ll find another.”
“It has you, for starters,” I tell him fondly, feeling bittersweet, thinking about Florian. I work on my drink. “How are things going?”
“Good. I’m dancing a lot, had a class and a rehearsal today, plus a costume fitting. The Royal Ballet’s been a dream for me.”
I nod. “It’s amazing. I can’t believe I forgot you’re here in London ’til now.”
“Well, I’ve been gone for a while, and you were in Brighton. And you’ve only been here a few weeks, right?”
I nod. “Dating anyone?”
Michael shrugs. “Not properly. Casual dates. Nothing serious. I had a boyfriend, but he left me for Birmingham.”
I laugh, then look immediately apologetic. “Sorry. I shouldn’t laugh.”
He grins back. “It is funny. Some people complain about their lover finding another. I’m complaining about the rival ballet scooping my man. But it was a promotion he couldn’t say no to. I understood.”
“There is transport to Birmingham, you know. It could happen if you want to make it happen.”
“It’s a bit complicated. Now he has a new local lover, and I need to move on.”
“Why are men like this?”
“As a man, I can safely say I have no idea.” Michael laughs, and so do I. “Let me get the next round.”
He does, and we settle in over pints, catching up on news back home. The latest in village scandals or rumors of a new build or who bought the Johnson residence after it sat on the market for a year. Or a favorite tree falling last winter that we used to climb on as kids.
“What are you going to do about this developer boyfriend of yours?” Michael asks finally. He twists his glass in his hands.
“Well, he’s only a fake boyfriend, officially,” I clarify. “An important detail. I really should tell him this weekend whether we’re still on for next Saturday night. Because otherwise, he will need to find another date, or I will need to find a tux. Which is another nightmare.”
“What do you want to do?” Michael tries. “Do you want to see him again?”
“Yes. Of course. But it’s impossible. It’s only going to make things worse—”
Michael puts up a hand to stop me in my tracks. I gulp down some lager to stop talking. “So you like him.”
“I like him. I really don’t like his business plans, though. It’s hard to separate the two.”
“Then you should go.”
“Liking him,” I point out, “wasn’t part of our fake arrangement. That was… superfluous.”
Michael laughs with delight. “Sounds amazing. Love superfluous feelings getting mixed up in your schemes.”
I shake my head. “It’s a whole mess.”
“Well, maybe go and talk to him. Convince him to buy something else. Like, there’s got to be loads of other things he can buy, right? It doesn’t need to be the art studios.”
“I don’t know. He’s rather stubborn when he puts his mind to something, I’ve got that much.
” But despite my reservations, I really want to see Florian again.
Even if it’s one last time. Which is probably selfish and silly and only going to make things harder.
But I want to see him in black tie. And honestly, I want to know more about Florian, which isn’t helping and is, in fact, guaranteed to complicate my feelings even more.
“You’re stubborn too.” Michael chuckles. “I remember.”
“Not that stubborn… but yeah, you’re probably right. Maybe I should consider going. Just to clear the air if nothing else.”
“Does this fake boyfriend have a name?”
“Mm. Florian.”
“Ooh, I like that.” He brightens. “Do you have a photo? I need all the details.”
“You’re so nosy,” I tease Michael.
“Need to suss out the competition, that’s all.”
Shaking my head, I pull out my phone and do a search on Florian’s full name. And there are imposing photographs of him. On the cover of a business magazine, a corporate profile on De Ligt Holdings.
“Let me see,” Michael entreats, holding out his hand for my phone, and I pass it over. He lifts his eyebrows. “Definitely hot.”
“Yeah. It’s terrible,” I complain. “Too hot. Also, he’s very posh, or at least he is now, and has a fancy house and a fancy car, and I live in a house share with a bunch of other people.”
He waves me off. “He’s obviously interested in you, right? If you have some kind of arrangement.”
“Well, maybe,” I concede. “It’s mutual.”
“Tell me what you’re going to do, then.” Michael sips his drink, looking satisfied.
“I’m going to freak out quietly for at least another day, and then I’ll text him my decision. But I don’t want to betray my friends either. You can see where this is complicated.”
“It’s complicated,” Michael agrees, “but I have faith in you that you can find a way to uncomplicate it.”
“I wish I had your confidence.” I sigh and shake my head with some amount of resignation. “I think I like to torture myself. Like some kind of character flaw I wish I could cancel.”
Michael tilts his head. “Are you going to go?”
I’m quiet for a long moment. Then I nod. “Yeah. I think I will.”
“Then tell him. No need to keep it a secret. You can even text him right now.”
I look scandalized. “Now?”
“Why not?”
“Well…” I glance at my phone for the time. It’s nearly 6:00 p.m. Florian’s probably still working or having a business dinner meeting or who knows. Maybe it’s a good time.
“I dare you.” Michael’s eyes glimmer with mischief. “See what happens with your investor. I mean, didn’t artists in medieval times—or now—dream of having a patron? Maybe he can be your patron to make up for his sins.”
“You,” I accuse, “are doing this on purpose.”
“Yes. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“You’re the worst.”
“The best,” Michael says lightly.
Shaking my head, I unlock my phone and call up Florian’s contact.
With whatever shreds of courage I keep somewhere, I start to type out a message to Florian.
With Michael watching me, it’s hard to think straight.
I draw in a breath and pretend he’s not sitting across the table so I can type a message.
Finally, after a couple of false tries, I go with:
I’ll go with you to the gala
And I hit Send.