Like Gabby had said, nothing had changed—single or married, married or divorced. And that was how I wanted it, wasn’t it? I was flat hunting for a place that would be empty eighteen hours a day, every day. Where there’d be nothing in the fridge and only my clothes in the wardrobe.
“So, what are your first impressions?” Martha asked, looking at me.
I glanced at Violet. “What do you think?”
“I think the third bedroom is too small. You spend a lot of time working. There isn’t enough space for you in there, and if you took the second bedroom as a study then the third isn’t big enough for a guest bed. The master en suite doesn’t have dual sinks or a separate shower, and I think that could impact resale.” Violet sighed. “It’s also overpriced by about two hundred and fifty pounds a square foot for the area.” She put her hand on her hip and glanced around again. “But I like the ceiling height and the views. I just don’t think this is it. Maybe we should look at a mews house to compare. Plus I want to see inside one. We Americans don’t have many houses left that were built three hundred years ago and shared with horses. I can’t decide whether the horses were super lucky or the humans were just slumming it and I want to see for myself.”
My God she was cute, sexy, and smart. And so caring.
I didn’t have to think about what I needed from a house because Violet had done it for me.
“I have a mews house lined up,” Martha said. “And a duplex. Shall we move on?” She turned and headed toward the exit.
Violet grinned as if to say You thought I wouldn’t do my homework?
I had no reply but the beginning of a raging hard-on for this girl who was clever and prepared and considered everything I needed before I even knew what that was myself. She was always like that—the picnic in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the junior sharing my office. She cared about me and my needs and I wanted to do the same for her. I wanted her to feel as special as she made me feel.
Twenty-Five
Violet
“This isn’t shopping, it’s hell!” I yelled at Darcy, who was plowing ahead in front of me while people coming from the opposite direction were banging into me on either side.
She dipped down a side street and I followed, but not before getting cursed at by a man wearing a t-shirt that didn’t quite cover his belly. Given it was mid-November and freezing, I couldn’t be mad because he was sure to be dead from hyperthermia by the end of the day.
“Christmas shopping season has started in earnest—I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Darcy said.
“But it’s not even Thanksgiving until next week.”
Darcy pushed my shoulder “But you’re not in America. You get that we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, don’t you?”
“I’m in denial about it, and anyway, you’ll be celebrating because we’re all going to be in Woolton.”
She beckoned me into a shop. “I can’t wait, actually. I found a place that sells yams.”
“We just use sweet potatoes,” I replied, stepping up through the door.
Darcy rolled her eyes. “Now you tell me. I’ve spent hours trying to track them down. And you really eat them with marshmallows?”
“Sure. Candied yams.”
She shook her head. “If you say so.”
“I’m sorry but no one in Britain can complain about candied yams when you people eat Marmite. I mean that stuff is heinous. It smells like fermented rat poop. Looks like it too.”
“It’s really good for you,” she replied, acting as if it were totally no big deal to be spreading poop over toast in the morning.
“I don’t care if it makes me look like Charlize Theron. It’s disgusting.” I glanced around at the sparse rails and gleaming white floors and ceilings. The place looked expensive, but then most places Darcy shopped in were out of my price range. “You promised me Forever 21,” I said.
“It’s further up. This place has great stuff.”
Surreptitiously, I picked up one of the labels hanging off the sleeve of an ordinary-looking t-shirt. A hundred bucks? In another life, maybe.
“You’ve told me nothing about all the boys you’re shagging,” Darcy said as she trailed her fingers over the rack.
“Shagging?” I laughed. “Yeah, not many boys. But lots of kissing.”
Darcy looked at me from over her shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“I’m kinda dating someone. Like, I have a boyfriend.”
She put back the trousers she’d just reached for and turned to me, a huge grin on her face. “You have a boyfriend—I thought you didn’t believe in those? When did this happen?”
“I’m not quite sure how it happened.”
“How did you meet? What does he do? You have to tell me everything.”
“He’s a barrister in chambers. It started off as a lust thing.” I shrugged. “And I don’t know, it morphed into something more. He’s not like other guys. He feels more like a man. A grown-up—you know.”
“I’ve never heard you talk about any man without a hint of contempt in your voice, not even your brother.” She turned back to the rail, moving each hanger with a swipe. “It sounds like you really like this guy.”
“Well Max deserves all the contempt I dish up, but Alexander’s just a bit misunderstood. He’s spiky on the outside, but he’s kinda great when you get to know him—full of integrity and honor and super smart. I enjoy spending time with him. He makes me laugh, even if he doesn’t mean to.”
“It sounds serious,” she said. “We get to meet him at the weekend, right? He’s coming up to Woolton?”
I frowned. There was no way I’d invite Alexander. “God, no. He’d never take the time off work.”
Darcy pulled out a blouse, inspected it on both sides, then shoved it back on the rail. “You’ve not asked him?”
“There’s no point. I know he’d say no.”
“But you’d like him to come?” she asked.
“I haven’t thought about it,” I lied. “You know me. I don’t make plans with men.” I didn’t want to put Alexander in a position where he felt he was letting me down or not giving me enough time. And anyway, why would he want to meet my family? It was too much. Too serious. I’d be back in the US by the end of January and he’d still be here, working himself into oblivion. Our expiration date was looming. Even my extended contract had only bought us a few months and I didn’t want to integrate our lives any more than they already were. I’d leave London in a few weeks, and Alexander with it.
“I’d love to meet him. He sounds perfect for you if he’s ‘spiky’ on the outside but misunderstood. You pretend you don’t care, but I’m not buying what you’re selling anymore.”
I laughed. “I never said I didn’t care. Anyway, we’re not talking about me. Alexander’s far from perfect. He has a short temper and never says anything nice just to keep the peace.” But he had a kind and generous heart and a wicked smile.
She paused at the rack and turned to me. “It sounds like you might have met your match. I’ve never known you to dial down an argument—you and Scarlett bicker constantly.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s because Scarlett’s always wrong.”