Beautiful Secret

by Christina Lauren

  Even Bennett joined the rest of us in regarding her with a mixture of curiosity and awe.

  “Jesus Christ. How old are you, Ruby?” George exclaimed.

  I was grateful to have George at the table. He was willing to ask all of the questions I wanted to, but never would.

  She reached up, tucked her hair behind her ear again in a gesture I’d come to translate as her single, uncomfortable tell. “Twenty-three.”

  “You’re practically a zygote,” George said, groaning. “All that ambition and you’re not even a quarter century old.”

  “Well, how old are you?” she asked, her sunshine grin taking over her entire face. “You don’t look much older than me.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” George whined. “It’s depressing. I’m practically approaching Viagra.”

  “He’s twenty seven,” Will answered, shoving George playfully.

  “But seriously. Let’s get to the important stuff,” George said. “Do you have a boyfriend, adorable-twenty-three-year-old-Ruby?” My attention darted down and I stared intently at my drink. “And does he have an equally adorable gay friend?”

  “I have a brother,” she hedged, and then frowned apologetically. “I find him to be pretty adorable, but sadly, he’s straight. I could have made a fortune charging my girlfriends for sleepovers in high school.”

  Bennett nodded and said, “I like your entrepreneurial spirit.”

  George leaned in, saying, “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you sidestepped the boyfriend question. Do I need to play matchmaker while you’re in New York?”

  “I honestly don’t think you want to go there.” Ruby lifted her glass and perched her straw on her lips, meeting my eyes. “This one here can attest, only a half hour ago I looked like a streetwalking crackhead.”

  “On the contrary,” I argued. “No one wears a hotel robe with more dignity.”

  She giggled and then coughed as she swallowed. “You’re my favorite liar.”

  “I’m being sincere,” I told her, putting my tumbler back down on a cocktail napkin. “I was also impressed with the way you managed to get a hair pointed in each direction. Few can achieve that simply by napping in a hotel bed.”

  She shrugged, her smile nearly giddy over our verbal banter. “Many have tried to teach me the ways of sleek hairstyling. Many have failed.”

  I looked up to a table of grown men, watching us with rapt interest. I was definitely going to get the third degree from Max later.

  “So, no boyfriend,” George said, grinning wolfishly.

  “Nope,” she answered.

  “And not interested in anyone in particular?”

  Ruby’s mouth opened and immediately snapped closed as her cheeks bloomed pink. And then she blinked around the table, narrowing her eyes. “You can’t tell me you guys all get together for drinks and talk about relationships. Are we moving on to shoes next?”

  Bennett tilted his head toward George. “It’s this one. Get him in a bar and it’s always like this.”

  “I’ve told you a hundred times, Ben-Ben,” George drawled, “you’re the boss in the day, I’m the boss after dark.”

  Bennett stared at him coolly, and I watched George struggle to not fidget under the pressure. “George,” he said, finally, fighting a laugh, “you have never said that to me.”

  In a burst of relieved laughter, George said, “I know but it sounded so good. I’m just trying to impress Ruby.”

  “Ruby, you’re going to steal George away from me,” Will said, smiling.

  “Not likely.” George reached forward to tap Will’s nose with each word: “She. Doesn’t. Have. The. Right. Parts.”

  “Okay, then,” Bennett said, lifting his drink and taking a long swallow. “Back to discussing body parts. All is normal.”

  * * *

  A silence fell over the table as everyone turned to watch Ruby leave the bar and head upstairs to bed. She had been utterly charming throughout dinner, and the group had groaned in unison when she’d excused herself because of our early morning. I, too, had been quite sad to see her go.

  “Well, well.”

  I looked up to see my brother’s smug expression.

  “Now that we’re alone,” Will began, “I think we can all agree to drop any pretense that we’re not ruined for civilized conversation, yes?” Each of them nodded in agreement and beside me, his glass now refilled, Will raised his tumbler to take a small swallow of scotch. “I also think we can all agree Bennett will be an important consultant on this case.”

  Max snickered.

  “The conference?” I asked, confused.

  “It’s an all-too-common predicament,” Bennett added dryly. “Knockout intern. Boss in denial. I’ll draft up a step-by-step plan of containment.”

  I blinked, swallowing thickly as I realized what they meant. “She’s not my intern. I have absolutely no say in her career.” I shook my head, frustrated because it was exactly the wrong thing to say. “I’m not . . . that is to say, she’s not interested. Nor I.”

  All four men laughed.

  “Niall,” Will said, leaning his elbows on his knees. “She nearly dropped her drink in your lap when George asked if she was interested in anyone.”

  “Was going to say the same thing,” Bennett said.

  “And something tells me she’d be first to volunteer to clean it up,” Will added.

  “Well, maybe that’s because she’s interested in someone who works with us at R-C.”

  “Yeah. You.” Max lifted his glass and finished the last of the amber liquid.

  “Sincerely,” I said, fighting a smile. “She’s a fantastic girl, but she’s certainly not a romantic option for me.”

  Tilting his head, Bennett asked, “What color are her eyes?”

  Green, I didn’t say. I shook my head as if I didn’t know.

  “What was she wearing?” Will asked.

  A blue dress that hit just above her knee, I didn’t say. A delicate gold chain around her neck and a ring on her right ring finger that I had to resist asking her about until George bulldozed in and asked about a boyfriend.

  I rolled my eyes, and my brother laughed again, this time pointing his drink at me. “Blokes don’t notice these things unless they’re interested.”

  “Or George,” Will added, and George reached over to grab the back of his neck and try to pull him in for a kiss.

  “Well, it’s apparent I needn’t think on this any further,” I said. “You’ve all decided for me.”

  “It’s what we do,” Will said, adjusting the skewed collar of his shirt as he settled back into his chair. “It’s a sickness, we know.”

  “I thought we’d lost that muscle, honestly,” George said.

  “It’s a relief to know we still have it in us. The ladies will be so proud.” Max rapped his knuckles on the table as he made to stand. “Alas, I’d best be off. New routine: Sara gets the baby to sleep; I do the midnight bottle feeding.”

  “Finally taking a bottle from you then? Guess you smell like a woman, too,” I said to Max, reminding him of the little dig he’d thrown my way on my last visit.

  Max laughed and patted me on the back, and we all stood, a silent agreement in place that we were ready to call it a night. I watched my brother gather his things and say his goodbyes, feeling the same mix of pride and longing for what he was headed home to: a wife, a daughter. A proper home.

  “Kiss the girls for me,” I requested as he made his way out of the bar. He waved a hand, retreating, and then disappeared from view. The hotel bar felt completely deserted, silent in an immediate way now that the four men had left.

  I wanted to put a better name to the longing I felt watching him go. It wasn’t tinged with envy or bitterness over my own circumstances. It was that I’d realized, when visiting Max and Sara only weeks ago, that I knew what I wanted—stability, a wife, a family—but now I was so far behind. I’d never been great with change, and it was daunting to face the prospect of altering
my expectations about life and my future post-divorce.

  I hadn’t realized until now how I’d put off even thinking about what life looked like from here on out and how to make it what I wanted. I’d simply hit pause. For seven months I’d neatly plowed ahead: diving into work, into footie and rowing on the weekend, the occasional evenings out with my mates, Archie and Ian.

  But to get what I wanted, I’d need to put myself out there and meet someone.

  And now, through the power of suggestion—from Tony, from Max and Will and Bennett, even George—or maybe simply from being in the presence of a hypnotically beautiful and sweet woman, my mind immediately wondered if Ruby could be the type of woman I’d date.

  But I didn’t want to move toward Ruby simply because others thought I should, or because I had a space to fill in my life. Of course I found her attractive and—in the private spaces of my mind—could easily imagine having a go.

  Could I ever be in a relationship with passion and honesty, with a degree of loyalty I’d never felt from Portia? My loyalty had always been first to her, but hers had never wavered from her parents, leaving me a distant second. It hadn’t struck me as off, but in hindsight I knew it meant we would never have been able to be true partners in our marriage.

  In the past year or two I’d come to realize I’d been resigned to Portia as my lot simply because she carried so much of my history with hers. But, despite my hesitation and oft-noted reserve, I was raised in a house of passion, and children, and the most absurd sort of adventure. Though I wasn’t the one to pull the trigger on spontaneity and wildness, I needed it around me in the passive way that we also need air, or warmth.

  Ruby’s mischievous face lingered in my thoughts as I took the lift to our floor.

  It seemed as though she was placed in front of me at the perfect time. Not necessarily so I could approach her romantically, but so I could gain perspective on how many different types of women were out there—and that they weren’t all like Portia.

  The process of splitting up a shared life with Portia into two separate ones was an excruciating, gradual process. First, it was the flat: with almost no discussion, we’d decided it went to her. Next, it was the car: also hers. She kept the dog, the furniture, and a sizable portion of the savings. I let it all go, strikingly unburdened.

  Portia was my first kiss, my first love, my first everything. Married at nineteen, I’d believed in staying married despite misery, unfashionable as that view might have been.

  It was simply that, one day, our misery reached a point where I could see no point to it.

  I couldn’t see her being passionate with me ever again, and for myself as well our lovemaking had long since taken on a sort of mechanical, transactional flavor. There had been no mention of children in years and, to be fair, I was unable to imagine Portia ever loving her children the way my mother had loved us: with enthusiastic kisses planted to our bellies and constant physical reminders of motherly adoration. Now, months away from the divorce, I wondered how I’d ever imagined a life with her: clean, cold, everything in its place.

  In the end, our divorce had started over something as innocuous as a rescheduled lunch. I’d received notice of a meeting that would run into the time we were meant to arrive at the restaurant midday. Portia often worked from home, but an hour of flexibility turned out to be too much to ask.

  “Do you ever consider my day?” she asked. “Do you ever consider what I put aside to spend time with you?”

  I thought back to the romantic holidays she’d canceled, and the anniversary dinners she had missed because she stayed late at a friend’s flat and forgot or, once, extended her girls’ holiday for another week simply because she was having too much fun to come home.

  “I endeavor to,” I told her.

  “But you fail, Niall. And, honestly, I’m sick of it.”

  Being Portia, she needed to have the last word. And in that moment, with a sharp clarity I hadn’t expected, I was fine with that as the last word. I simply wanted out.

  “I understand, Portia. You can only do so much.”

  She’d startled slightly at the use of her given name; I’d only ever called her “Love,” for years. “That’s just it,” she said wearily. “Niall. I’m swamped. I simply can’t live my life and carry the weight of all this, as well.”

  All this, she said, meaning: us. Meaning: the burden of a loveless marriage.

  She looked up at me, eyes moving across my face, down my neck, and to where my hands were comfortably resting in the pockets of my trousers.

  I could never escape the feeling that, when she looked at me like that, she was comparing me to someone else. Someone more posh, less tall, more American, less patient with her.

  After what felt like minutes of ticking silence, she spoke again.

  “We aren’t,” she began with exquisite understatement, “very natural together anymore.”

  And that had been it.

  Five

  Ruby

  When my alarm went off at six, it felt like I’d only just closed my eyes.

  From beneath my pillow I could tell the room was still dark. Even so, I could hear the echo of horns from the city outside, the bustle of people up and out and already braving the chilly morning, on their way to work or school or whatever adulting they had to do.

  I rolled to my side, doing the mental calculation of how many more times I could hit snooze and not be late, when I remembered exactly where I was . . .

  Who I was with . . .

  How much fun I’d had last night.

  And whose bed was likely just on the other side of mine, separated by nothing more than an insignificant, paper-thin wall.

  He could be in bed, right now. I closed my eyes and let myself imagine that, and suddenly getting ready for a day spent with him felt way more important than sleep.

  I leapt out of the bed and raced toward the bathroom, careful to avoid any and all mirrors along the way. Today would be my first day of the summit. My first day working alongside Niall Stella, learning and being a part of what he did, not just a moving piece in the periphery.

  And after last night, I saw him so differently. He was still the man who preferred to remain at the perimeter, watching and taking note of what was said and how, but he’d also been this relaxed, funny guy, with a bunch of other guys, just enjoying a drink in a bar. He could unwind, be social, laugh at himself and others in his gentle way.

  He’d teased me again—in front of his brother—his dark eyes shining with amusement and fondness. I felt my stomach swoop low, my heart trip in my chest as I remembered. Would he be like this the entire trip? And if he was, how would I manage to keep from falling at his feet, professing my love?

  Gah.

  I could name at least a hundred ways in which I could screw this up on a normal workday. But today? Tired and suffering the effects of jet lag? Who knew what could happen.

  I could practically feel the heavy bags under my eyes, but even so, a jolt of adrenaline surged through my veins. My heart raced when I imagined us working so closely together today, both of us bent over a file on the table, our shoulders side by side and his soft hair falling down over his forehead.

  This was going to be a train wreck for sure.

  Food was the last thing on my mind, but I needed to bring my A-game today. I ordered room service and was thrilled to hear the little doorbell only minutes after I stepped from the shower.

  The scent of breakfast wafted in from the hallway, and any thought of not being hungry flew right out the window. I raced to the door, stopping to double-check the modesty of my robe before I let the waiter in, because it was far too early to find the humor in any accidental wardrobe malfunctions.

  I signed the bill and was just closing my door when Niall Stella walked down from the elevators.

  Holy hell. He had been to the gym.

  “Good morning, Ruby.”

  Stay cool, Ruby. You’ve got this. “Morning. You’re up early.” I said.
/>   The Number of Times I’d Seen Niall Stella Sweaty: one.

  I tried to covertly look him over, but subtlety was a wasted effort. I thought Niall Stella knew how to wear a suit, but he wore T-shirts like it was his life’s calling. I wanted to pray at the altar of his dark, sincerely tight blue shirt. He wore it so unself-consciously. So unironically. Knowing him, he picked it out for some complicated aerodynamic reason. And holy lord did it do wonderful things to his chest.

  His posture was straight, stomach flat, and chest defined and bulkier than I’d expected. He wore what looked like soccer shorts and his legs were just as muscular as I imagined. Seeing him like this, I was struck by his height all over again. I was on the tall side and I’d never been around a man who made me feel so tiny and feminine. This close to him, and with the clean scent of his sweat between us, I was starkly aware of my curves, my mouth, and how he towered over me by several inches. Without effort, everything about him was so dramatically masculine.

  “Room service delivery of Fritos?” he teased, and motioned to my robe.

  I looked down and laughed. “I was planning on wearing this for the rest of the month, hope that works for you.” I tugged on the tie and watched as his eyes followed the movement.

  Sweet Lord.

  I wanted to reach out and drag him to me, using the neck of his shirt to pull him down on the bed. Or maybe I could wrap the sweaty hem of it around my wrist, use it for leverage while he fucked me from behind . . .

  Oh.

  I felt my cheeks grow warm.

  He leaned a broad shoulder against the wall, facing me. “The dress you wore last night was rather lovely. Perhaps you could alternate days?”

  I laughed. “I—”

  Wait, what?

  My eyes went wide as I processed what he’d said. His cheeks were pink, too, but he held my gaze. Don’t get flustered, Ruby. Don’t get flustered.

  “That’s a good idea,” I said, feeling an enormous grin invade my face. I pretended to smooth the skirt of the robe down my thighs. “This might be a bit drafty.”