Chapter 11
Instead of driving to work, I opt to walk. I need to be outside in the cold, wet London winter, moving my body while I untangle the thoughts crashing together in my brain.
Milo just admitted to me an hour ago that he has had feelings for me ever since he met me—for the entirety of my relationship with Tristan. I had no clue, not even the slightest inkling.
But why would I have? As soon as I overheard him make that trophy wife comment, I wrote him off as a douchebag and was curt and snippy with him whenever we interacted. He was teasing and biting in return, and we settled into that dynamic easily over the years.
But now everything has changed. We’re a couple.
Milo is the opposite of what I thought he was. He’s sweet and kind and doting and caring. And he’s got an impressive moral code, considering he burned bridges with Tristan, his own cousin, to defend me.
I know how I should feel for Milo. I should be swooning. I should melt under his touch. I should have kissed him this morning instead of quickly getting ready and sneaking out while he was still getting dressed in the bathroom.
But I can’t. I still feel completely off, completely disoriented. And it’s because I’m missing that entire chunk of time that everyone else except me seems to have lived.
That tidal wave of nervous energy levels me once more as I think yet again about the prospect of living life in this backward timeline ... in a relationship with a man I loathe.
The thought feels off even as it formulates in my brain.
That’s not true. Not anymore.
The truth is I don’t hate Milo, not in this warped backward timeline. In this timeline I ...
My head spins as I struggle to search for the right words to describe how I feel about him. Unsettled ... but not in a bad way. Heartened at his kindness. Surprised by how attractive I find him.
That unsettled feeling takes hold, like a hook digging into my side. Will I hate him again tomorrow/yesterday? That doesn’t seem to be the case.
I reach the storefront of Luscious. Before I can even unlock the door, my phone rings. When I see it’s my little brother, Jordan, I’m shocked. He hardly ever calls me. Especially not when it’s the middle of the night in his time zone. He’s a teacher and wakes up early in the mornings.
“Hey, Riley. Just wanted to say hi.”
“Oh. Um, why?” I almost laugh. I love my little brother to death, but he’s not the kind of sibling to call out of the blue. We mostly communicate via text and by sending each other funny memes.
“Can’t a guy call his big sister just to chat?” His tone is light and playful, like it often is when we talk, but it almost sounds forced right now.
“Come on, Jordan. What’s really going on?”
He huffs out a breath. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, and I just ... look, I know I’ve never been the most emotionally sensitive sibling. I can be pretty oblivious. And awkward.”
I think back to how uncomfortable my brother gets whenever he sees our mom or one of our aunties cry. Instant “deer in the headlights” face. If he’s feeling brave, he’ll offer a stiff hug before making an excuse so he can run away from all the heavy feels.
“I know I’m bad at this stuff, Riley,” he says. “But you’re my sister. I want to be there for you. Especially after what Tristan did to you.”
I instantly soften. “That means a lot, Jordan. Thank you. I’m okay, though.”
“You sure?” There’s a firmness in his voice that I’m not accustomed to hearing. I’m used to my kid brother acting like a goofy teenager despite the fact that he’s in his late twenties.
But he’s not just silly and goofy. I see that now. He can be caring and observant when it counts—when it comes to me. And it means so much.
“I’m sure, Jordan. Thanks.”
“Milo’s taking good care of you then?”
I stammer at his question. It’s weird to hear my brother ask about Milo. But obviously he’d know about him at this point in this timeline.
“Yeah. He is.”
“Glad to hear that. He’s a good one, Riley. I know that probably doesn’t mean a whole lot coming from me, given my history with Tristan, but I really do mean it. I like Milo.”
I’m speechless. Jordan’s never liked any of the guys I’ve dated. He hated Tristan from the moment he met him.
I think back to the very first time the two of them met, at least in my original memory. Jordan was visiting London for a month during his summer off from teaching, and I insisted that he meet my new boyfriend. We met up at Last One Standing, because we did almost everything at Tristan’s restaurants.
I think back to the firm handshake they exchanged, the polite smile on Jordan’s face, how it didn’t reach his eyes, how he was cordial and pleasant. I could tell he couldn’t stand Tristan.
When Tristan left early to go to a business meeting, I remember the incredulous stare my brother leveled at me. The way his eyebrow quirked up, the tilt of his head.
“This guy, Riley? Seriously?”
The defensiveness I felt was instant. And funny in a sad way, looking back now, given that if it had been Tristan’s relative who insulted me, Tristan wouldn’t have addressed it at all.
“Yes! I’m serious. We’re serious,” I said to Jordan.
He shook his head, glancing off to the side. It was such a dismissive gesture. And for the first time in my life, I felt insignificant in my younger brother’s eyes. I wasn’t used to it. Not after a lifetime of looking after him, of helping him get dressed when he was a toddler, of babysitting him, of walking him to school, of telling him what to do even when I knew he wasn’t going to listen. But he still respected me. I was his older sister, and he looked up to me always.
Except the day he met Tristan. Something in the way he looked at me that afternoon read disappointed. I felt it deep. I’ve carried that feeling with me ever since. It has sprouted up every time they’ve been together, pretending to be polite, pretending to get along.
“You could do a lot better than Mr. Money Bags, Riley,” Jordan said that day.
“Of course you’d say that. You’ve never liked anyone I’ve dated.”
When he shrugged, that only spurred me on.
“Can you drop the protective-little-brother act? I’m an adult, Jordan. I don’t need you to vet my partners. I never have.”
“I never said you did, Riley. Just something about this guy rubs me the wrong way. I just ... he’s not good enough for you, okay?”
“I don’t care. I love him and I want to be with him.”
Something flashed in my brother’s eyes as he looked at me. Something more than disappointment. More than worry, more than sadness.
“Really, Riley?”
“Yes. I’m very serious about Tristan. I think he might be the one.”
He scoffed, then laughed.
“Fuck you, Jordan.” I shot up from my chair and turned to leave, but he reached up and grabbed my hand.
“Hey. I’m sorry, okay? Please don’t leave.”
“I’m not asking you to be best friends, okay? Just please don’t hate my boyfriend.”
His expression shifted from panicked to tender. Resolute. He nodded once. “Okay.”
And that was it. Jordan was polite to Tristan every time he was around him, despite the undercurrent of dislike that remained. I felt it always. Even on my wedding day, when I was all smiles and giddy with excitement and joy, even when Jordan hugged me and said how happy he was for me. It was there, like an invisible cloud wedged between us, always.
So to hear Jordan say that he likes Milo, that he thinks he’s a good guy, that he’s happy I’m with him, is as unbelievable as it is shocking. I need an extra moment to process it.
That uncertainty I felt when thinking about my relationship with Milo wanes, replaced by a surge of something warm. I start to feel dizzy, I’m so overwhelmed.
“I won’t keep you any longer,” Jordan says. “I know you’re about to start work. Just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you.”
“Thanks, Jordan. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
We hang up and I try to push aside the whirlwind of emotions so I can focus on work. When I unlock the front door and flip on the lights at Luscious, I’m comforted instantly. Being here feels like home. I do a scan of the racks of lingerie and the displays of makeup. Poppy and I must have rearranged the setup sometime in the past year. I take in the blouses and dresses near the front door. I smile, happy to see that we’re selling even more clothing now. We’ve expanded, which means business is doing well. That’s one change I’m ecstatic to see.
The display near the front of the store catches my eye. I spot the familiar kelly-green blouses with the lace-trim neckline—the blouse I wore the night of my first wedding anniversary with Tristan. There’s a small sign next to it.
T HE “ MAKE YOUR IN - LAWS BLUSH ” BLOUSE . B ESTSELLER!
I pause, unsure how I should feel. Did I seriously come up with that name? Or did Poppy?
I decide I don’t have the energy to figure that out right now.
The morning passes in a blur as customers filter in. I’m ringing up an order when the front door swings open and in walks Nesta holding her daughter, Molly, who looks to be just over a year old.
I’m too stunned to move. Just seeing Molly at this stage is beyond jarring, a reminder of how real this time jump is—she was a tiny baby the last time I saw her, just days ago.
I beam so wide, my cheeks ache. As soon as I finish helping the customer, I walk over to Nesta. I’m about to pull her into a hug when I notice the hesitant look in her gold-brown eyes. She fixes her gaze on the floor, like she’s scared to look at me for too long.
I stop short of her. “Hi.”
“Hey.” She opens her mouth like she’s going to say more, but clamps it shut and shakes her head. She tugs at her messy bun of copper curls. “I don’t know why I thought I could come here. I should have called you first. It’s been so long ...”
A nervous laugh falls from her mouth, and it rattles me. Nesta’s never acted this shaken up around me before.
“Why wouldn’t you come here? Nesta, you’re always welcome here.”
Her expression turns pained. “Really? After letting all this time pass without checking in on you? After what my cousin did to you?”
As I observe the hesitant look on her face, I can tell that whatever went down between us, it’s taken a toll on her. I can spot it in the worried look in her eyes, how she speaks like she’s scared I’m going to kick her out of my store.
I don’t care what happened. I’m just happy she’s here.
I pull Nesta into a hug, careful not to squeeze too hard around Molly.
“Nesta. I love you. I’m so glad you came.”
I hear her sniffle. When I let her go, I glance at Molly, who’s smiling and drooling. I grab a tissue from my trouser pocket and dab at her plump face.
“My lord.” I grab hold of her chunky thigh.
“She’s huge, isn’t she?” Nesta lets out a watery chuckle. “You want to hug her? She missed her auntie Riley.”
Without even saying yes, I scoop little Molly up into my arms. Her brown eyes go wide at first, like she’s unsure about me holding her. But then I shift slightly so she can see her mom, and she relaxes in my hold.
Nesta whips out her phone and snaps some photos.
“You wanna shop a bit while I hold Molly?”
She looks like she’s going to burst into tears of joy. She yanks me into a hug. “God, I missed you, Riley. I’m sorry I let months pass before coming to see you. I just ... I was so busy with this little fireball of energy, and then we went away for a while, and when we got back I wanted to come see you like I said I would, but then Molly got sick and I was so busy with her and work.” She hesitates for a second. “Everything was so chaotic, and I guess I just lost my nerve after not seeing you for so long.” Her eyes go misty, the look in them tender and regretful all at once. “I know we had that conversation after things went down between you and my nobhead cousin, I know I said I was on your side and that I’d be there for you no matter what, and now I just feel like the worst friend in the world to wait so long to reach out.”
When her voice starts to tremble, I give her a squeeze with my free arm. “Nesta. It’s really okay. It was a complicated situation. To say the least. He’s your family. I didn’t expect you to disown him or something like—”
She pulls away, shaking her head as she wipes her nose with the back of her wrist. “That tosser is my cousin in name only. I can’t stand to be around him. Especially after what happened at the ... well, you know. I don’t want to bring it up again.”
I bite my tongue to keep from saying that yes, actually, it would be quite helpful for her to rehash a memory that clearly has her distraught, because I’m missing that patch of time.
Instead, I flash what I assume is a sad-looking smile.
“But still, it’s no excuse for not reaching out to you. I’m sorry, Riley. That’s why I came today. I wanted to see you and tell you how sorry I am in person. And to check on you since tomorrow is ... erm.”
Valentine’s Day. Our anniversary.
I nod once. “Of course. You’re so kind to do that. Swear I’m all right, though.”
She smooths back a few fiery curls that have come loose from her bun. “I assume Milo is looking after you well? If not, I’ll have his balls.”
I chuckle and gesture for her to check out the clothing racks. I follow her as she browses, Molly cradled against my side.
“Yes, he is.”
She smiles at me. “Good.”
I ask about Roland, and she tells me he’s been promoted at the law firm. I ask how the rest of her family is doing. Again she hesitates before playing with one of the wooden hangers on the rack we’re standing next to.
“Everything is pretty much back to normal since the incident. People no longer bring it up at family gatherings, not at the ones I’ve been to, at least. I don’t go as much anymore with how busy this one keeps me. Plus I can’t stand seeing you-know-who and having to bite my tongue so I don’t walk up to him and tell him yet again what a massive piece of shit I think he is. Apparently saying all of that would be impolite, according to my mum.”
She reaches up to adjust Molly’s pacifier.
“The incident?” I ask, confused.
Nesta bites her lip. “Oh hell, I’m sorry, Riley. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Well, now I have to know what in the world she’s talking about.
I try to play it cool. “Nesta. It’s okay. I’m over it.”
She scoff-chuckles. “I bet. You know, some of the family think that somehow you started the kitchen fire even though you were out in the pub with us the whole time. Can you believe that?”
I’m jolted back to when I saw the Last One Standing burned to a crisp. Shit. Did I start the fire as a way to get back at him for cheating? I would never do something so psychotic ... at least I don’t think I would. But maybe in this weird and messed-up reverse timeline things are different. I ended up with Milo, after all.
I’m in the middle of trying to figure out a way to ask Nesta this without giving away that I’m utterly clueless when I notice her expression darkens slightly.
“Tristan’s mum was just in the hospital. Not sure if anyone told you.”
“Oh. Um, no. That’s horrible. Is she all right?”
“Yeah. It’s her own fault, really. She got so drunk one night after fighting with Tristan’s dad that she tried to drive away in her car.”
“Oh my god.”
Nesta nods while examining a flowy maxi dress.
“Thankfully she immediately crashed into a streetlight down the road from their house. It’s a miracle she didn’t hit anyone. But she ended up with a broken leg, a couple of bruised ribs, and a sprained neck. Serves her right for potentially endangering the lives of strangers by driving in such a state.”
“Wow.”
I’m quiet for a long stretch while Nesta checks out the jewelry. Molly starts to fuss, so I hand her to Nesta, who pulls a snack out of the diaper bag that she set by the register. While Molly sits on the floor and chows down on some cheese crackers, Nesta turns back to me.
“Sorry to bore you with all this. That was probably the one plus of breaking up with Tristan—not having to deal with or hear about his mum anymore. And here I am talking your ear off about her.”
“No, that’s ... I appreciate you talking to me like it’s old times. Truly. I don’t miss the lies and deceit, but I do miss seeing you regularly.”
Nesta gives my hand a squeeze. “Well, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to see you more regularly too.”
“I’d love that.”
She brings her haul up to the register, and I start to check her out.
I glance at her. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“What does your family think of me being with Milo now?”
I’m certain I know the answer, but when a knowing smile tugs at Nesta’s lips, I’m thrown.
“Like you don’t already know,” she says.
“Ha. I guess I do. I’m sure they think I’m a tramp working my way from Tristan to his cousin, soiling the pristine Chase family name.”
Nesta rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Tristan’s mum thinks that, but that’s no surprise. They’re insufferable. But everyone else understands, Riley. Really.”
I pack her purchase into a brown paper shopping bag. “I’m sure his grandparents feel the same way.”
When Nesta doesn’t say anything, I glance up.
“Of course they don’t,” she says. “Not since Milo gave them a talking-to. Surely you remember that.”
I stammer. Milo defended me to his grandparents?
I attempt to play off my misstep. “Right, but I mean, no matter what they say, deep down they must think awful things about me.”
Nesta shakes her head. “No way. Milo is their beloved grandchild—their favorite grandchild. Believe me, I’d know—I teased him about it all the time as kids, about how wild it was that two of the most stereotypical British grandparents favored their American grandchild out of all of us. But he was always so excited to see them. He loved spending time with them and always remembered to call them on their birthdays. He was the only grandchild who’d remember to write them thank-you notes for the birthday and Christmas gifts they’d send him. And he brings Gran flowers every time he visits her. Of course they loved him the most. But when they stepped out of line, he made it clear that he’d drop out of their lives completely if they weren’t polite and welcoming to you.”
“Oh.”
I’m stunned. At how easily that seems to have gone down. At how it sounds like it was a nonissue for Milo to stand up to his own family for my sake.
And then, like some perfectly timed flashback, I think back to the times that Tristan’s parents and grandparents were low-key and/or outright rude to me, and Tristan either ignored it or didn’t even notice.
My chest squeezes. Another sensation appears behind it. Warmth. Actually, “heat” is a better word. It feels like a small flame simmering in my chest at the thought of Milo standing up to his grandparents and defending me. I have no idea what he said, of course ... but just the fact that he said anything, that he put his relationship with his grandparents on the line because of his feelings for me, leaves me dizzy in the best way. And something else. Some other disorienting feeling that I can’t quite put a name to.
“So. Does my cousin have any more romantic surprises up his sleeve for you?” Nesta’s question pulls me back to our conversation. “I heard from my mum about the trip to Portugal he surprised you with.”
“Oh.” Again I’m stammering, struggling to keep pace in this conversation where I don’t know half of what she’s talking about, but I have to pretend like I do. “Not that I know of. But I guess that’s why it’s called a surprise.”
She chuckles. “Christ, he’s got it bad for you. I’ve never seen him like this with anyone.”
Her comment sets off the singular question in my brain. “Nesta, did you know that Milo liked me? That he had feelings for me ever since ...”
I trail off when I see the regretful look on her face. “Yeah. I did. Honestly, it was obvious as hell. I thought you knew.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t. Until he told me.”
“I suppose I should have told you.”
“I honestly don’t even know what I would have done if you did. I was totally in love with Tristan. I didn’t even like Milo.”
Nesta chuckles as she picks up Molly. “Oh, I remember.”
“Did he ever talk to you about me?”
She shakes her head. “Even when I tried to bring it up with him, he always refused. I get it. I mean, no one likes to be vulnerable, especially not to admit that they’ve got it bad for their cousin’s wife. Milo can be a smug bastard at times, but he didn’t want to come off like a slimeball.”
“I guess I had him pegged all wrong for a really long time.”
“Well, it looks like you two have got it all figured out now.” She winks at me. “That’s all that matters.”
I hug her and Molly goodbye before they leave, the whole time thinking, “God, Nesta, if only you knew. I haven’t got any of this figured out, not even close.”
But that’s not the main thought on my mind anymore as I get through the rest of the workday. All I can think about is Milo defending me, standing up for me.
When I walk through the door of the Marylebone house, Milo is standing in the kitchen, frowning at a label on a box of pasta. When he looks up at me and smiles, that flame in my chest burns hotter.
“Hey. How was your day?” he asks.
I don’t answer him. I shed my trench coat and drop it on the couch as I make my way over to him, my heart racing, that heat in my chest burning hotter and hotter by the second. I stop in front of him and look at him. I wait for the nerves, the uncertainty that burst through my chest and stomach this morning when he touched me. They’re nowhere to be found. That fire in my chest must have burned them away.
I reach up and cup my hand to his stubbled cheek. I hold my breath, waiting to see if that hesitation resurfaces, if those nerves reappear. They don’t. All that’s left is heat as I stand here and touch Milo. Milo, who defended me without hesitation.
I swallow as I work up the nerve to test this new feeling blooming inside me. I lean up and press a quick kiss to his lips. It’s a chaste kiss—lips only and lasting just a couple of seconds. But it’s exactly what I need.
That touch of my mouth to his causes the heat in my chest to intensify for a split second before warmth takes over. It spreads through my chest and all over my body. All of me relaxes now that I’m near him.
Warmth. Comfort.
There’s still so much I don’t know about what happened in that year I lost. There’s still so much I don’t know about Milo, about our relationship.
But what I do know is that it turns me on to know that he defended me. And I know that tonight is when I start to feel something for him.
I step back and soak in the surprised smile he gives me.
And then I finally answer his question. “It was a good day.”