Chapter 26 In Love
In Love
Brandon
The first thing I hear is laughter from the kitchen, deep and masculine, the intruder far too comfortable in my home.
My happy fog evaporates.
I shut the door quietly, but it’s too late. Ellenor’s already in the hallway, devoid of her usual bite as she hurries towards me, eyes wide with alarm.
“Brandon,” she breathes, lips moving as though she means to explain. But no more words come.
And none are needed.
Something in her face has already confirmed it. That and the smooth, theatrical cadence carrying from the kitchen.
I brush past her, each step detached as my body drifts, my thoughts lagging a beat behind. The hallway stretches unnaturally long, my vision tunnelling.
The kitchen comes into view, and there she is.
Lily-Anne, her head thrown back in laughter, radiant and unaware.
She’s wearing the red dress again—the same one from our first night out in Whitstable—except now she’s wearing it for someone else.
The lace hem sways when she moves, the satin wrap she’s wearing over the top slipping down her shoulders. She looks effortless. Happy.
But her smile isn’t for me. Her attention is fixed on Jack Willoughby, who stands close to her, grinning as he pours milk into a cup of coffee with practised ease, multiple hearts blooming in the latte’s foam to create one graceful tulip.
The bastard is in my home, using my espresso machine, and she’s watching him with awe like he’s performing magic.
Worse, the hearts aren’t just white foam on a backdrop of coffee brown. The swirls are a colourful rainbow, just like the one Lily-Anne sent to my phone before she boarded her flight from Sydney. I’d forgotten all about it until now.
Tiny bottles of food dye sit unapologetically on the counter, droplets scattered.
Something twists in me, sharp and small, as I watch Jack present Lily-Anne with the cup.
I’ve lost track of how many coffees I’ve made her, some plain, others with the standard fern any barista worth their salt could do on autopilot.
I was always too distracted by her presence to consider something more impressive.
So many lost chances to make something special.
“Hold still—you’ve got a bit of foam on your face,” Jack says to Lily-Anne with a crooked smile.
“Really? Where?” she asks, patting her face.
“Hold still.” He leans in, thumb poised as if to wipe it away—then dabs a streak of foam onto her nose instead.
She lets out a startled laugh, swatting at him. “Willoughby, stop it!” she hisses.
He grins wider, clearly pleased with himself.
The sight slices clean through me.
I should retreat. Or make my presence known.
But I wait a little longer, choosing silence over spectacle as I hold my ground, watching the scene from the doorway. Something heavy sinks through me, as slow and cold as the tide.
There’s a light touch on my shoulder. Ellenor. Her expression flickers between pity and discomfort, as though she’s not sure what to say.
The espresso machine whirs loudly beneath Jack’s touch, masking my voice as I ask, “Are they dating?”
“I thought they were just friends,” Ellenor whispers. “But they went to the movies last night.” Her eyes dart towards the kitchen, where Jack’s hand still lingers a little too close to Lily-Anne’s.
“Alright, this time, I’ll make you a swan with a heart,” Jack says. “Are you ready?”
No.
I step forward, positioning myself so the roses are somewhat concealed by the island bench, and set my keys down loud enough to get their attention.
Lily-Anne spins around, her smile faltering when she sees me. She takes a step away from Jack. “Brandon! Hi. You’re back.”
Jack leans back against the counter, unbothered as he wipes his hands on a tea towel. “Alright there, Brandon?”
“What are you doing here, Jack?” There’s an edge to my voice—I don’t bother hiding it.
Lily-Anne glances between us, sensing it. “We were just making coffee—”
“We were killing time while we waited for you,” Jack interrupts, flashing me a confident grin. “We’re ready to head off when you are.”
His implication lands on me like a weight. He cannot be serious.
I straighten, forcing calm into my voice. “You’re not coming with us.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “I know I shouldn’t have rocked up like this.
But when Lily-Anne mentioned the castle to me last night, and my own plans fell through, I thought I’d tag along.
She mentioned some flower basket-making thing—wouldn’t mind giving that a crack.
That’s alright with you, isn’t it, Brandon? ”
Amidst the monologue, I don’t miss the dig: he was with Lily-Anne last night.
My teeth clench as he shifts closer to her, his hand sliding behind her on the counter, all but holding her waist. Her cheeks go pink, and my mind spins out trying to guess what exactly transpired between them. A shared kiss? A shared bed? How deep do the feelings run?
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Lily-Anne says quietly to Jack.
He gives a small pout that only he can make look endearing. “Really? You said I could come…”
“Well, no, not exactly—”
“The creative workshop has to be booked,” Ellenor interjects, glancing at me. “Doesn’t it, Brandon?”
It’s a weak excuse, but I nod. If Jack has any shred of decency, he’ll take the hint and leave.
He doesn’t.
“Don’t worry about me,” he says with a shrug. “The gardens are open to the public. As for the workshop, I’m sure they can fit me in. And if not, Lily-Anne and I can share a basket—you don’t mind, do you, Lil?”
Lily-Anne’s gaze flicks to mine as if seeking permission. She’s visibly uncomfortable, though I can’t discern if I’m the cause.
Jack catches her hesitation. His expression dims, shoulders instantly drooping as another perfect pout forms on his lips. “You’re not against me coming, are you?”
“No, not at all,” she says hesitantly, gnawing her lip. “And we can share baskets.”
“Easy—problem solved!” Jack turns his lazy smile back to me, except this time, there’s something challenging in his gaze. “So, what do you reckon, Brandon? Got room in the car for one more?”
I wish I were a good liar so I could send him away. He shouldn’t be here. This is my home. My space. Yet I’m the one who’s intruding.
My hope of talking to Lily-Anne has completely dissolved, and if disappointment could wilt flowers, the ones in my hands would be dead. At least they haven’t spotted the bouquet, though how I'll slip away without being noticed remains to be seen.
“There’s room,” I allow, my words clipped.
“Brilliant!” Jack says, adding conversationally, “He doesn’t like it when plans change at the last minute—do you, Brandon?”
Christ, don’t push your luck.
“I like knowing what I’m agreeing to,” I say coolly, beginning to back out of the kitchen.
I need a stiff drink. Or at least a coffee to wake me from this nightmare.
Mostly, I just need a minute.
I’m too late. She’s chosen.
And it’s him.
Foolish of me to assume she’d wait for me when I gave her no reason to. Not a single indication of my affection.
I could still say what I came here to say—force the moment if I have to. I’ve no qualms about doing so in front of Jack.
But Lily-Anne doesn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire—not when she seems happy with him.
So, I stand aside.
I’m at the doorway when Jack calls out.
“Who’re the flowers for, Brandon?”
I tense, then I slowly turn back. His dig sinks deep enough to make me snap.
“The flowers are for her. Obviously.”
My words ring through the room, firm and untempered. I immediately wish I hadn’t spoken at all. Giving Lily-Anne the flowers would only serve to make this ordeal more humiliating than it already is.
And painfully awkward for her.
Time slows to a crawl, all eyes on me, the scene unbearable in its silence. Before I can think better of it, I thrust the bouquet towards Ellenor instead. “Take these. Please.”
And put me out of my misery.
She blinks as I brush past her. “Err, thanks, Brando…”
I’m already in the hallway when I realise the gravity of my error, how it must have looked to Lily-Anne when I gave the flowers to her sister.
I didn’t mean anything romantic by it. I simply wanted to be free of them—and the garbage bin seemed too poor a fate for fresh flowers.
What have I done?
I sink onto the edge of the bed, the scent of roses and cigarette smoke thick in the air as Nova appears lounging on my bed.
“Poor Brandon. You’ve come home only to find the fox in the henhouse. There, there.”
She flicks a cigarette butt onto my pillow.
I don’t answer. Each breath tastes like regret.
I did not expect her to wait. I gave her no reason to.
“Oh dear. What a mess,” Nova croons, examining her fingernails. “Will you fight him to the death?”
I scoff.
No. I will not compel Lily-Anne to reconsider who she has chosen for herself.
“Pity,” Nova breathes in my ear. “You used to be exciting.”
“Who’s to say she won’t be happier with him?” I ask bitterly.
“Who, indeed.”