Girl Abroad

Part 6 – January

I’M BACK IN LONDON BY THE FIRST WEEK OF JANUARY AND ALREADY missing my dad back home in Nashville. I hadn’t realized how much dumb things like my favorite cereal bowl and the scent of the fabric softener were emotional triggers. Or hanging out in the living room with Dad watching The Grinch and Home Alone on TV with popcorn and hot chocolate. It was harder to say goodbye this time. Turns out I’m more of a daddy’s girl than I wanted to admit. For his part, Dad was a trooper. He kept the teary heartstring tugging to a minimum. Hardly mentioned the number of pedestrian fatalities in the UK at all.

Going home was the recharge I needed to get my head on straight and chase away the dreary gray clouds. Still, coming back to Notting Hill was a relief after the long flight. There’s something about walking in on Lee yelling at the boys about burning dinner that my soul needed while I was away.

Now, on the last Sunday before classes start, Jack and I are cozy on the couch while he watches a rugby game on TV and I get a head start on next semester’s reading assignments.

“See that one there?” he asks, tapping my leg. He’s got his arm draped over my lap as I sit with my back leaning against him.

I half glance up from my book. “Hmm?”

“His dad scored four tries in a single game for the All Backs in the World Cup.”

“Mmm.”

“Literally ran over an English player like the bloke was a bunch of daisies in a field. Mowed him right over.”

“Mmm.”

Jack pinches my hip. “You listening to me?”

“No,” I say, lifting my head from my book to smile at him. “But you keep going if it makes you happy.”

“You’re a bit of a shit, you know that?”

“A bit.”

As if defending my honor, Hugh jumps up from the back of the couch to bite at Jack’s ear.

Hugh does this. Randomly attacks the boys. I think it’s just his way of trying to play and get their attention, but the guys are all living in fear of mortal danger. It was up to Jamie to care for him during the break, and if the scars on his arms are any indication, the poor guy has PTSD.

“Christ, you demon,” Jack hisses, cupping his reddened ear. “That damn mad thing is trying to kill me.”

“Better be nice to me then.”

“I’m always nice.” He leans down to kiss me, but we jerk apart when we hear the front door open and then Jamie appears.

“Right.” Jamie tosses his coat and scarf on the armchair, then picks up my legs to sit at the end of the couch and drape my feet over his lap. “What’s for dinner then? I’m famished.”

He isn’t the least bit fazed by me and Jack being a little snuggly on the couch. So far, we’ve managed to keep the more blatant displays under the radar, too paranoid to chance anything more.

“Text Lee,” Jack says. “See if he wants Chinese.”

As he pulls his hand away to be less conspicuous, his fingertips brush across the bare skin of my stomach under the hem of my sweater. Lee is far more suspicious than Jamie, and if he walks through the door, we don’t want to be too flagrant.

It’s these small exchanges that keep my head in a fog. The small expressions of his desire. It does a number on me. Everyone loves a secret, and I can’t deny there’s something exhilarating about sneaking around. All the excitement of being naughty without the guilt of hurting anyone. Good wholesome trouble.

But it does get old. I mean, isn’t this why I left Nashville? To get some autonomy. Freedom. To make out with a guy anywhere I see fit, not lurking in the shadows and laundry rooms of my own house, listening for approaching footsteps. How much different is this than sneaking a boy through my window after curfew?

It only illustrates the crux of my predicament. Jack and I aren’t really together if we’re hiding it from our roommates. And because we haven’t broached the subject, I haven’t made a decision about Nate either. It’s probably a good thing Nate was in Portugal over the holidays, sparing me the anxiety of seeing them both.

When we spoke about it in Nashville (or rather, when I agonized over it for hours and she listened while probably drowning in boredom), Eliza was convinced the answer would become clear to me after some time away. But I’m more torn than before I left.

When I’m with Jack, it feels right.

And when I’m with Nate, it also feels right.

Awesome.

I’m still obsessing over it the next day when I meet Celeste for lunch. She treats us to a fancy café where I find her sporting a new designer bag and a blinding diamond and emerald bracelet.

“Someone had a good holiday,” I tease as the waiter pours our sparkling water.

“Armond” is her explanation. “He’s the one who hosted the New Year’s party Phillipa dragged me to.”

“Ah, of course. Yacht Party Armond.”

She covers her bashful smile with a sip of water. “He’s a patron of the national ballet company and on the board of several philanthropic arts organizations.”

“What happened to Roberto?”

Celeste snorts. “Some actress. I guess it slipped his mind to mention her before ringing me from Geneva to say he wouldn’t be stopping by for dinner with the family.”

“Ouch. That’s harsh.”

“His loss.” She brushes her hair back, the bracelet glinting in the sunlight. “No way she’s as flexible as I am.”

I almost cough up my water. “Jesus, Celeste.”

“What about you? Indulge in any hometown flings while you were away?”

“Nope. Dad and I hung out mostly. He was a little clingy. But it was nice to get some bonding time, just the two of us.”

“Come on. You must give me something, darling.”

“Really— ”

“Don’t lie to me,” she insists. “Your cheeks are doing that pink glowy thing. Either you’re pregnant or…”

“Definitely not.”

“So explain yourself.”

It’s impossible to win a staring contest with Celeste. She’d sooner hold me at knifepoint in a crowded restaurant than let me change the subject, so I relent. If only because I could use the advice.

“I seem to have gotten myself stuck in a bit of a triangle,” I confess.

Her face lights up. “I love those.”

“Your brother won’t.”

“Oh God. Tell me it isn’t Jamie.”

“What? No. Jack.”

“Oh. Right, that makes sense.”

“It does?”

“Sure. We discussed this ages ago, remember? He’s so fit. If you weren’t living with him, I’d have set you two up.”

Her remark gets me wondering where Jack and I would be by now if we weren’t roommates. Would this be a relationship? Exclusive? Bring me home to Mum? From the guy who doesn’t do long-term commitments, it’s hard to picture that changing.

“I’m impressed by your stealth,” she says. “Lee is a bloodhound for those kinds of shenanigans. You two must be pretty clever for him not to have noticed.”

“Assuming he hasn’t.”

“Trust me. He wouldn’t keep it to himself.”

Fair point.

“So who’s the third point in this triangle? Have we been galivanting about the city with a certain Lord Tulley?”

I crack a smile. “Absolutely not.” Though the truth is harder to get out. “It’s, ah, Nate.”

Celeste rocks back in her chair. “Oh.”

Yeah, I expected that.

“He and I sort of hooked up. After he broke up with Yvonne,” I quickly qualify.

“She’s still in bits over him, you know.”

Guilt pricks at my gut. “Really?”

“I tried to get her out of her flat during the holidays, but she wasn’t having it. I think she’s been in the same pair of sweats every night for a month.”

“I had no idea she was so into him. Like am I crazy, because they never seemed…”

“That’s just how she is. Yvonne was mad about him. She’s devastated.”

Well, now I feel like shit.

But…ugh. How much loyalty do I even owe Yvonne? I don’t know her at all. We’re not friends, and she hasn’t gone out of her way to try to change that.

“Should I…” I trail off, biting my lip.

“Take her to coffee and tell her you charmed her boyfriend out from under her?” Celeste supplies. “No. I can’t picture her reacting well to that. Best to keep that information to yourself.”

I study Celeste’s face, but her expression is unreadable. “Are you going to tell her?” If I should be sleeping with one eye open, I’d like to know.

“I don’t want to be in the middle of it.”

To be honest, neither do I.

Celeste sighs. “And if I’m being entirely truthful, it was quite obvious to everyone but Yvonne that Nate wasn’t in love with her.” She pauses. “So who do we like more? Nate or Jack?”

“That’s the thing. If I knew, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Physically, they’re both attractive, so there’s no clear winner there. Personality-wise… well, Jack’s fun, you know? Easy. We can be silly together. Nate makes me feel more grown-up. He’s challenging. Adventurous.”

“Can’t get much different than those two.” She flashes a cheeky grin. “Who’s the better shag?”

My cheeks heat up. “They’re both very skilled in the sexy-times department.”

“Well, this is a real conundrum then.”

“I know.” I blow out a frazzled breath. “And then, on the other hand, I don’t know if there’s a point in obsessing over any of this. Nate hasn’t once asked me to be exclusive. And there’s Jack, who said he was going to prove to me that he’s serious after jerking me around a few times. I promised him I’d be patient, but he still hasn’t made his intentions clear, so I don’t know what this is. What we are.”

My frustrated groan echoes between us.

“Piece of advice.” She holds out her glass to the waiter when he comes by to top us up. “You’re a beautiful, powerful, intelligent woman. You don’t have time for silly little boys who can’t make up their minds. Why should you settle for just one, be forced to choose, when you don’t even know what you’re choosing?”

She’s not wrong. Neither of them has told me what they want out of this. A girlfriend? A friend with benefits? A fleeting fling?

How can I choose between them when I don’t even know what they want?

Those questions haunt me for the rest of the evening, making it difficult to concentrate on the assigned reading for my European history class. It doesn’t help that both Jack and Nate text within seconds of each other.

Jack: Match is over. We murdered them. Grabbing a bite and pints with the lads at the Red Fiddle if you fancy joining us. If not, I’ll sneak into your room later?

Nate: Come over to mine? I’ll be off early tonight. Around ten.

I groan out loud. God. Why can’t I just choose already? I don’t want to be sitting here trying to decide which guy I’d like to fool around with tonight. That’s not me.

When I see Ben Tulley’s name light up my phone screen, I answer on the first ring, desperate for an effective distraction.

“Abbey, darling. How are you?”

“Excellent. How’s the weather in Ibiza?”

“Sweltering. And quite past its expiration. I’m home now. Back in dreary London.”

“My condolences.”

“One can’t linger long in air he can’t see. Lest we lose our stamina.”

“I’ll try to remember that. So. To what do I owe this honor, Lord Tulley?”

He chuckles. “I’m calling because I’ve some boxes here cluttering my drawing room and I wondered if you might fancy a peek inside.”

My spirits are promptly bolstered. “You remembered,” I say happily. “I was worried you might forget them in Ibiza.”

“And miss hearing the delight in your voice? Of course not. So, fancy that peek?”

“I do believe I would,” I answer, glad he can’t see the huge dorky smile on my face.

“Brilliant. I’ll send my car ’round.”

I take a quick shower and get dressed, twisting my damp hair in a bun. I throw on some jeans and a T-shirt. But like my nicest T-shirt. I don’t want to be pretentiously overdressed for a glorified study session, but I also don’t want the doorman at Ben’s flat to lock me out and call the cops.

“Hey.” Lee pops in and throws himself on my bed while I’m picking out matching socks. “What do you say we go out to eat? Jamie’s gnawing on his arm down there, and I don’t feel like cooking.”

“Can’t. I’ve got plans.”

“Oh? Do you have pics?”

I grin. “Not those kinds of plans. Ben’s back in town, and he has some boxes for me to snoop through.”

Lee jerks upright. “At his flat?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Alone?”

“Are you asking to chaperone?” I inquire, rolling my eyes.

“Should I?”

I throw him a look. “It’s not a date. I haven’t even spoken to him in weeks.”

“But he’s back and you’re his first call.”

The suspicion clouding Lee’s face makes me laugh. “I sincerely doubt that’s how it happened.”

If anything, after a month on the Spanish coast, I’m sure he’s quite exhausted of female attention. Even the Energizer Bunny has to change out his batteries every now and then.

“Look, babe.” Lee crosses his legs, meeting me with his serious face. “That Tulley reputation is well earned. It isn’t all idle gossip.”

“I know that. Ben’s the first one to admit his family has its skeletons.”

“Yes. And he isn’t above reproach.”

Who among us, right?

“Whatever he gets up to in his off hours is his business,” I say, shrugging. “I’m not writing his memoir.”

“No, you’re just running over to his flat. In the middle of the night. Alone.”

It sounds sinister when he says it like that.

“Not the middle of the night,” I point out. “It’s only eight.”

“Abbey, luv.” Lee uses the tone he reserves for when Jamie does something stupid. “Eric and I have talked about our dear Lord Tulley.”

“Of course you have. Your boyfriend is a gossip,” I remind him. Gossiping is the only thing Lord Eric enjoys more than his fussy show cats and the tall fussy man sitting on my bed.

“Maybe. Doesn’t make him wrong. And he had some troubling things to say about Ben’s not-so-private predilections.”

“So what, he has a red room? Don’t all you posh Brits?”

Lee sighs. “I mean…at his age, there’s only one reason he gives attention to a college girl.”

“First, he’s twenty-seven, not thirty-five. And second, ouch, okay?”

“Look at me,” my roommate says, reaching out to clasp my hands. “As a friend, I’m trying to save you from yourself.”

My expression softens. “I appreciate your concern, but it’s entirely misplaced. Yes, Ben and I got a little flirty at the royal ball, but that was ages ago. That ship has sailed. He’s not a love interest. He’s barely a friend. More like an academic benefactor. I’m going over there to look through some boxes, take some pictures, and that’s it.”

Lee drops my hands. I gather my bag off the floor and swipe my keys from the nightstand.

“I’ll grab something to eat while I’m out,” I tell him.

“Hey,” he says before I leave. “I’ll keep my ringer on. Call or text if you need anything.”

When I arrive at Ben’s penthouse, he greets me looking like he just stepped off a yacht. Sporting a tan and salt-sprayed hair. A linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Barefoot in khaki pants. He’s like an ad in Vogue for sunglasses or a six-figure watch.

“Hope you don’t mind,” I say, carrying a paper bag into his stainless-steel chef ’s kitchen. “I asked your driver to stop on the way for some takeout.”

He swirls a tumbler of dark amber liquor, watching me set cartons on the marble countertop. “You’re quite a peculiar girl.”

“I get that a lot.”

“It’s working for you,” he says, lifting his glass to salute me. “Keep it up.”

“Should we eat first, or we can nosh while we go through the boxes?”

“I admire your industriousness, but let’s have a drink first.” Ben pulls a bottle of white out of the wine fridge under the counter, then finds a corkscrew. “The boxes have been waiting half a century. They’re not going anywhere.”

I consider refusing, but I can’t deny that putting down some of Ben’s absurdly expensive wine sounds more appetizing than paper cuts at the moment.

“All right.” I hold my hand out for the glass. “Hit me.”

“That’s the spirit.” He passes me a generous pour and we clink glasses. “I do admire Americans and your appreciation for procrastination.”

“Why do I feel like that’s an insult?”

His answer is a wink as he sips his drink. He pops open a carton of food, becoming more agreeable to it once he’s smelled the arresting aromas of the Vietnamese place I passed on the way here.

“Speaking of which,” he says, “a few friends did invite themselves over when they found out I was back in the city.”

Oh.

“Trust me, they’re a lovely lot. Just don’t let them give you investment advice.” He laughs.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. If you’ve got other plans, I can come back another time. Or just take the boxes with me and arrange with Sophie to ship them back— ”

“No, no. I’m not chasing you out. Far from it.” Ben downs his drink and pours himself another. “I prefer to conduct business with friends. And as we embark on this adventure of discovery together, I should like us to be friends.”

“Okay.” Though I’m not sure how a party is conducive to the task at hand. I’m starting to feel a bit duped.

“Oh dear,” he says. “I’ve gone and done something dreadful, haven’t I?” Ben watches me with amused concern. “Please, darling. You mustn’t be afraid of a bit of fun. Life is always throwing unexpected surprises at us.”

My stomach sinks as I watch Ben reach into his pants pocket and pull out a small capped vial of white powder.

He flashes me a cheeky smile. “You really must give yourself permission to relish the chaos.”