How to Belong with a Billionaire

by Alexis Hall

  “Then why”—for the first time he faltered, a hint of something desperate and uncertain creeping into his words—“why did you do it?”

  Because I want you so badly and it hurts so much I went temporarily insane? “Because I’d taken coke earlier and was out of my fucking mind.”

  His whole I’m not angry with you, Arden thing cracked like a carnival mask, leaving him pale with fury, and glaring at me with wolfish ferocity. “You. Did. What?”

  “I. Did. Drugs.”

  “Why?”

  Because I want you so badly and it hurts so much I went temporarily insane? “Because I’m in my early twenties and it was New Year’s Eve and I was partying like someone in their early twenties on New Year’s Eve.”

  “If you ever do that again, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” I asked, with genuine curiosity.

  He caught me by my pyjama top and dragged me to my feet, which took some doing because I was still wobbly, and basically deadweight. “What were you thinking?” he growled, directly into my shocked little face. “I believed you would have more sense than to jeopardise your career, your future, and your health for a transitory distraction.”

  “Um…I don’t know how to say this in a good way, but it’s pretty weird hearing this from you when Ellery has been using for years.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, the crease I always wanted to stroke away with my fingers appearing between his brows. “And you don’t think I’ve done everything in my power to stop her?”

  “I…” Whatever sparks of defiance I’d conjured from the ashes of my self-esteem fizzled out. “I’m sorry. It was stupid and I wish I hadn’t and I hurt Ellery and I feel awful and now…it’s in the papers and it’s icky.”

  “I’ll have the story suppressed.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” he said simply. “It’s not significant except personally. But Arden?”

  I peeped up at him.

  “Promise me you will never do anything like this again.”

  “Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson. I promise.”

  He seemed to realise he was still holding me. There was nothing sexy or romantic about it—I actually felt like a puppy that needed to be yanked out of its own poo—but he let me go abruptly, a hint of pink creeping over the crests of his cheekbones.

  God. How was he so beautiful? Impossible that he had ever been just a little bit mine.

  Leaving me on the sofa, safely back in my duvet, he went to make calls. I tried not to listen but the warehouse was full of echoes and kept bringing his voice back to me. I think he was talking to Finesilver and he sounded angry. I even caught the words should have brought this to me before, which was both vindicating and uncomfortable-making.

  At last he came back to me, phone in one hand, coat over his arm. Even after all the months I’d spent with him, Casual!Caspian was still something of a rare beast to me and I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed this slightly softer side to him. It reminded me of his arms around me while we’d washed dishes in Kinlochbervie. The snuggly weekend we’d spent together after Boston. I’d never seen him in a creased shirt, though. He must have dashed out of the house like whoa.

  “We believe this may be the work of Boyle,” he said. “I understand he’s been harassing you?”

  I don’t know why some part of me balked at causing trouble for Boyle, because he certainly had no compunction in causing trouble for me. “Only a little bit?”

  “Finesilver will assist you in filing a restraining order.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “The story is, of course, out there now, but I’ll ensure it doesn’t spread, assuming you do nothing further to feed it.”

  Probably I should have done more to resist Caspian’s forceful brand of problem solving and caretaking. But I’d screwed up big-time. My pride could pay the price. “I won’t.”

  There was a pause.

  “As for you”—Caspian’s eyes raked over the unprepossessing splat that used to be Arden St. Ives—“you will probably be out of sorts for at least a day due to depleted dopamine stores, and may experience residual symptoms, including mood swings for at least a week or two. Try to rest, stay hydrated, eat well, and under no circumstances attempt to alleviate your condition by taking any more drugs.”

  I blinked at him from inside my blanket. “You know a lot about this.”

  “The information is commonly available.”

  Then it clicked. “You looked it up for Ellery, didn’t you?”

  “Well”—he gave a bitter-edged smile—“at least someone can benefit from it.”

  Another pause. Then:

  “Given the context, I am not insensible of the irony, but…” Caspian was blushing again.

  “But?”

  He glanced away. “Would you mind terribly if I had a cigarette?”

  “I thought you’d given up.”

  “I have. I mean, I am. I just—”

  “You’re a grown-up, Caspian.” I gestured at the pretty, hand-painted glass ashtray that lived on the coffee table and was, as usual, full of roaches. I mean, the weed sort, not the insectoid sort. I guess with Ellery it could have gone either way. “I’d rather you didn’t die of lung cancer anytime soon, but smoke if you want to.”

  “Thank you.”

  “They’re not mine, by the way,” I added hastily. “I live with musicians.”

  I curled my knees up to make room on the sofa and Caspian sat down next to me. It was all very decorous but I could just about feel the outline of his thigh against my duvet-swaddled feet. Reaching into the inside pocket of his coat, he pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a matchbook. It hurt, of course. The familiarity. The deft motions of his hands as he lit up. The almost imperceptible flicker of his eyelashes as he inhaled. The sensuality of his lips parting around a stream of smoke.

  “Umm,” I said. “I’m excruciatingly aware this isn’t my business, but didn’t you tell Nathaniel you weren’t cheating?”

  “This is an aberration.”

  “You’re carrying cigarettes around with you. And that isn’t the first one from the packet.”

  He gave me a sharp, stricken look. “I don’t want him to be disappointed with me.”

  “I think he’d be more disappointed about you lying. I know I would.”

  “Arden, please. The nature of my relationship with Nathaniel is very different.”

  “It really must be if you can’t be honest with him about who you are.”

  He tapped his cigarette against Ellery’s ashtray. “If you recall, I wasn’t honest with you either.”

  “You didn’t tell me things. Things you probably should have. But I think…I really do think you let me see you.”

  “A little too much, I fear.”

  “Not for me.”

  Clearing his throat, he said, “I need to—” at the same time I blurted out, “You don’t have to go.”

  He tucked the duvet more firmly around my feet. “You should rest.”

  “Why?” I flashed him the cheekiest grin I could manage. “What are you planning on doing to me if you stay?”

  “What? No. I…hadn’t…I wouldn’t…Oh for God’s sake, don’t be such a monkey.”

  I’d forgotten how adorable a flustered Caspian could be. “To be honest, I was probably going to lie here, feeling bad about upsetting Ellery, and watching The Last Jedi.”

  I’ll admit that last bit was shameless. And I wouldn’t even have gone there if I’d thought there was the smallest chance Ellery would come back and find us together. I desperately wanted Caspian to stay. But not if the price was Ellery.

  “You mean,” asked Caspian with a kind of furtive eagerness, “the latest Star Wars?”

  In another world, I’d have taken him to the cinema to see it. Did billionaires even go to cinemas? Most likely they had private movie theatres. But I’d have insisted on going, and he would have indulged me, and I would have held his hand and watched his face instead of the
film, and there in that soft darkness, we could have been any other couple.

  I nodded. “You could join me? Keep an eye on me to make sure I’m resting.”

  “Well”—his voice had gone very soft—“probably you shouldn’t be on your own right now. You could have adverse reactions.”

  I had severely adverse reactions to being without Caspian, but I kept the thought to myself. “I could. I’m sure people get fucked up by cocaine twelve hours after they’ve taken it all the time. Should I get my laptop?”

  “I…yes. All right.” And he let out a breath like he had after his cigarette.

  The last time we’d watched Star Wars, it had been in the lap of luxury at One Hyde Park, for which I’m sure our grungy sofa and my fourteen-inch screen were a pretty poor substitute. Yet Caspian looked as rapt as ever as the yellow text began its scroll. And I bedded down next to him, with my feet as near as I dared to inveigle them.

  After the almighty fuck-up I’d made of last night, to say nothing of those depleted dopamine stores Caspian had mentioned, it didn’t seem right that joy was uncurling inside me like a hedgehog in spring. Although as joy went, it was kind of fickle—as if I owed Ellery a misery debt. And maybe I did. The guilt was still inside me, a witch’s finger, poking me in the ribs, reminding me what a shithead I’d been to someone I loved. But someone else I loved was with me right now, and the truth was, Caspian made me happy. So very, very happy.

  It felt the same, you see. Being with him. Like everything that had come between us was nothing but shreds of old dreams, and this—him and me together—was what was real. He shifted on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other, his hand drifting down to rest on top of my ankle. His fingers curled, holding me through the duvet, and I knew then, half in bliss, half in anguish, that I was as much his, as utterly his, as I had ever been.

  Star Wars washed over me gently. I’d seen it before and apparently drugs beat the hell out of your body, so I let myself float, anchored by Caspian’s touch and the glimpses I occasionally stole of his profile. Because, yeah, greedy as ever when it came to him, and I’d missed him. Missed the curve of his cheek and the line of his jaw. The hollows of his throat. The tiny mole at his brow. The stern set of his mouth, and its secret capacity for smiles. I’d missed making him smile. Making him unravel. Missed his kindness and his cruelty both. His outrageously competitive streak. His unexpected shyness.

  I’d read somewhere that The Last Jedi was the longest Star Wars movie that had ever been released. Honestly, I wished it had been longer. A lot longer. But eventually Luke Skywalker and Kylo Ren had faced off on the blood-coloured soil of Crait and the credits had done their thing, and Caspian and I were alone again in the silence.

  I still remembered what he’d said to me after The Force Awakens. “I wish my father could have seen that. But I’m so glad I got to watch it with you.” I think that was the moment I realised I’d fallen in love with him. How could I not have—with such a ridiculous, complicated, tender-hearted man?

  “So,” I asked, hoping once again to share his Star Wars wonder, “how did you find it?”

  He turned to me, frowning, his eyes dark. “I don’t think I cared for it very much.”

  “What?” My mouth dropped open and hung there, gormlessly. I just hadn’t seen that coming. “Why? And if you say it had too many women in it or whatever, I swear to God I’ll—”

  “Of course I don’t care that there were women in it. What do you take me for?”

  “I…I don’t know. It’s something people on the Internet aren’t happy about.”

  One of his eyebrows flicked impatiently upwards. “Star Wars is an adventure story about good and evil. I fail to see how the number of female characters is a pertinent metric against which to judge its success in that regard.”

  “Then what didn’t you like about it? I mean, the pacing was a bit choppy but it seemed pretty adventure story-ey to me?”

  “I didn’t like that they turned Luke Skywalker into a failure and a coward.”

  I blinked at the passion in his voice. “I…don’t think he was any of those things, was he?”

  “He spent three films trying to overthrow the Empire and rebuild the Jedi order. When we meet him here, he is living alone in a cave having accomplished neither.”

  “Caspian”—I gave him a somewhat bewildered look—“are you, like, cross with Luke Skywalker because he didn’t change the entire galaxy by himself?”

  “If that was his original intent, he should not have stopped until he achieved it.”

  “You do realise,” I pointed out, “that you’re holding an imaginary space wizard to an impossible standard?”

  He shrugged. “I just didn’t enjoy seeing a character we have been led to admire reduced to a broken ruin, his honour and heroism twisted into fear and selfishness.”

  Oh. Oh. “I didn’t see it that way at all. I guess, for me, heroism isn’t about being perfect or untested. It’s about knowing what it is to fail and suffer and make mistakes, and still doing the right thing when it counts.”

  “But”—Caspian’s foot was twitching—“he’d wasted so much time. And let down so many people.”

  I pushed back the duvet and crawled out of it, kneeling next to him on the sofa instead, wanting him—for once—to hear me. “I think what Luke believed about himself, and what his friends believed about him, were very different things. He was living in a cave, as you put it, because he couldn’t forgive himself. Not because he’d done something unforgivable.”

  Caspian turned, and in my need to reach him, maybe I’d misjudged the distance, because we were suddenly close. Very close. Close enough to feel his breath against my face when he spoke. “I know I’ve said this before, but I wish I could see the world as you do.”

  I lost myself in the paler fractals in his eyes. The faint tug and cling of his upper and lower lips between the words they shaped. The soft curls at his temples.

  “You don’t have to,” I told him. “Just let me show you.”

  One of his hands came up to cup my face, the edge of my jaw slipping into the soft cradle of his palm as if it belonged there. My eyes closed involuntarily—I wanted to look, dammit—surrendering me to the long-missed pleasure of his touch.

  “Arden,” he murmured. “My Arden.”

  “Yours.”

  His mouth brushed mine. Honey-sweet, electric, making the hairs on my forearms dance in giddy delight. But it was only for a second.

  He gasped. Pulled back. Dismay slashed across his face like graffiti. “I…I need to go. Nathaniel…Nathaniel is…”

  I don’t know what I said. Probably wait or stop or please or don’t. It didn’t matter. He was gone.

  Leaving me, of course, distraught in his wake.

  Because he always did.

  And I never fucking learned.

  Chapter 25

  So much for a new start for a new year. But y’know what, life went on. It’s the one thing you could always rely on. Well, unless you were dead, but then you probably had bigger problems to deal with. Or no problems at all. Swings ’n’ roundabouts. I was inescapably down for a couple of weeks—because of Caspian, or cocaine, or the fact I was an idiot, or maybe all of the above combined—and I missed Ellery terribly. Like Professor Wossname in My Fair Lady, I’d grown accustomed to, well, not her face, because she was usually facedown somewhere, but the stomp of her boots, the smell of her nail varnish, the too-easy-to-take-for-granted comfort of having someone to come home to. Nobody drank my milk or ate my cereal or carved obscene sculptures into the side of my bread. But honestly? I kind of wished they did.

  I cared for Broderick, as per my promise, polishing his tusks and combing his fur. But I think he wanted Ellery to come home too. I sent her regular updates about his health and general well-being, along with photographs of his activities—like the tea party he had with some of his whale friends—which took me bloody ages to set up. But, hey, what else was I going to do with my time now that I’d utterl
y alienated one of my best friends?

  The story of me utterly alienating one of my best friends, though that was obviously not how it got reported, stuck around but, as Caspian had promised, didn’t grow. Barely a day or two day after it had hit, a fresh scandal broke—something about a minor MP apparently sending dick pics to an undercover journalist posing as a teenage girl—and that largely overwhelmed the proportion of the news cycle that thrived on salacious things happening to other people. The timing couldn’t have been more ideal, which gave me pause, and some pricklings of unease, especially since Finesilver had pretty much told me this sort of thing was his job. But then, if we’re trusting you to run the country, you should really know better than to send pictures of your genitals to randos. Right?

  While I wasn’t mad keen on having pictures of me doing an incredibly stupid and hurtful thing floating around in the public domain, the practical consequence seemed to be minimal. Unless you counted another uptick in Instagram followers and a handful of calls from companies wanting me to endorse shit, and the occasional promoter trying to make me go to their club nights. I’ll admit the money—which would have been more than I made in a month at Milieu for a single Insta—was tempting. But given I mainly posted pictures of, like, Broderick and my shoes and the view from my office window at various times of day, I would have felt skeevy as fuck suddenly being all “Hi, I’m Arden St. Ives and I totally legitimately use Brand Name Energy Drink in my daily life! #BrandNameEnergyDrink #BrandNameEnergyDrink4Life #DefinitelyNotBeingPaidForThis.” Also, no power on earth was getting me voluntarily through the doors of a straight club. Ew.

  Over the next month or so, I did, however, manage to write some semi-decent pieces for Milieu on the principle that you might as well throw yourself into your work when everything else has gone to dogshit. And there was George, of course, probably the only good thing in my life I hadn’t fucked up yet. Not that she was a thing. But the truth was, it was depressingly easy not to fuck up when your caring came with carefully created limits. Probably there was a lesson in that. Except I wasn’t sure it was one I wanted to learn.