Her expression softened. Showed just how tired she was that she’d even consider the offer. “You sure?”
“I’m sure. I promise I’ll have this whole house cleaner than when we found it.”
“You and your promises,” she said, turning her head to look at me from the corner of her eye. “You like making them.”
“I like keeping them.” I stood and held out my hand. “Off you go then.”
She slipped her palm into mine. My skin lit up as I pulled her to her feet. Here we were again, standing three inches apart. Three inches too far. My usual impulses were all there. The impulse to put my hands on her. Pull her close. Unzip this lovely little lace number she was wearing.
But I wanted to see her home safely more. I wanted to clean up the fucking mess I’d made more.
I dropped her hand. Turned to grab her shoes—I’d seen them by the doorway to the kitchen. I helped her gather her things. Helped her into her coat. I walked her out to the car and closed the door behind her.
I’d never felt much of anything when I sent a girl home. Tired, maybe. Relieved that the awkward morning-after talk was over.
But when I walked back into the house, hands shoved in the pockets of my trousers, I felt something acute, and pressing, and hard.
I felt Aly’s absence. The house was quiet. Empty. The silence seemed to shout her name. I kept glancing at corners and through doorways, willing her to appear.
Willing her to tell me this ache in my chest was just guilt. Not want. Want that grew every time we talked or she laughed or looked at me. Really looked the way she did, like I was a real person and not a prince or a piece of ass.
How many people had I looked at like pieces of ass?
That was my destiny, though, wasn’t it? Being looked at like that—being seen—it was just a tease for someone like me. I acted like an animal because, deep down, that’s what I was. And even someone as clever and quick and beautiful as Aly couldn’t change that.
Didn’t mean I couldn’t come through on my promises. I wasn’t capable of giving Aly the Volvo and the baby and the white picket fence. I didn’t want to give her those things. But I did want to come through on my promises. I may have been an animal, but I was a thoughtful animal. There were perks to being a prince. I’d be an idiot not to use those perks to impress a girl.
Especially a girl who deserved them.
Chapter Eleven
Aly
The next day, I was in the middle of my usual Saturday morning routine—cup of coffee, oatmeal, email—when the buzzer rang. My stomach did a somersault. I’d never had an unannounced visitor at my flat. No surprise there, considering I knew all of ten people in London, most of them clients. Philip only came over when we had arranged to meet.
I crept over to the intercom, wondering if the press had somehow gotten my address and I was about to have a Notting Hill moment where the funny guy poses for photographers in the doorway in his whitey-tighties. I looked down at my cruddy sweatpants and stretched-out tee shirt. The felt slippers with the button-eyed cat were just icing on this lovely little cake I had going on.
I sighed. I always imagined I’d have shaved legs and be in a sexy, silky black nightie when this happened. I could be glamorous when the occasion called for it. But honestly, who slept in those things? I mean, were they even machine washable?
Praying I wouldn’t be greeted by a reporter from The Daily Mail, I hit the intercom button.
To my surprise, it was a delivery. Apparently a big one, too—a few women were downstairs waiting to bring it up to me.
A smile tugged at my lips. I wasn’t expecting anything; I had work stuff—samples, contracts, smaller pieces of furniture—sent directly to the EP Designs office. Maybe Philip had sent a gift?
I buzzed them up, making a dash to my bedroom to throw on slightly less cruddy leggings before dashing back to the door to open it. I watched as three impeccably dressed, swan-like women swept into my flat. Each of them carried an enormous grey box tied with matching satin ribbon.
My heart began to pound when I saw the name Emilia Wickstead on the tops of the boxes. It was the store I’d stopped to ogle when Rob had run into me before our lunch.
One of the swans smiled at me warmly. “Where would you like us to put these?” she asked in a cut glass accent.
“On the table there,” I replied, gesturing to the small antique table by the window that served as kitchen table, desk, and extra counter space. My apartment was in a great part of town, but it was tiny.
The women carefully laid the boxes on the table.
“We hope you adore the dresses,” the lead swan continued. She held out a card. “Please do not hesitate to call me if you have any issues. The store is available to you anytime, day or night. Alterations have been covered as well should you require them.”
I stared at her. Dresses? Day or night? Alterations are covered?
“Thank you,” I said, taking the card.
She smiled again. “Enjoy.”
The women marched out of my apartment, trailing the scent of expensive perfume in their wake. I looked at the boxes. They were almost too pretty to touch.
Almost.
I reached for the first box. The ribbon was deliciously silky in my fingers as I untied it. I lifted the lid. Saw a white envelope with my name scribbled across it. I turned it in my hand and opened it.
Can’t Be Bought—continuing my effort to buy some friends (despite your nickname, I’m going to try). Hope this makes up for last night. I’m sorry—FC&P
“Rob?” I said out loud. “What in the world…”
If my heart was pounding before, it was absolutely hammering now.
I turned back to the box. Then I folded back the tissue paper, its small sigh enormous in my quiet apartment. Lifting the garment, my breath caught in my throat.
It was one of the sherbet-colored dresses I’d lusted after. The lavender one. It was even more beautiful in person. The crepe fabric was thick and unbelievably buttery, its drape utter perfection. I’d never worn anything half as nice in my entire life.
With shaking fingers, I checked the label. It was my size. How did he know?
The following boxes contained the other dresses I’d admired—the pale orange and pretty white ones. Each was prettier than the last.
The three of them together must’ve cost a small fortune.
I laid the dresses on their boxes and stared at them for a long time. I don’t think I would’ve been more surprised if Elvis had walked into the room. What Rob did last night was a dick move. But he’d cleaned up after his date. He’d also given me a ride home in his chauffeured Range Rover. It’d been way more than what I expected, at least from him.
And now he sends these dresses. How the hell had he known about them? He saw me looking at that shop window for all of, what, five seconds? Maybe his security detail guy had tipped him off.
Or maybe Rob had actually been paying attention. My body warmed at the thought. I resisted the sensation—this road led nowhere—but it was impossible not to feel the tiniest twinge of excitement.
I told myself it was about the gift. The extravagant, lovely gift. Not the idea that he’d been thinking about me. Or that he knew my body well enough to nail my size on the first try.
My first thought was that I should email him. It’d been our preferred method of communication up to this point. But getting thousands of dollars worth of gorgeous dresses delivered to your door called for more than an email, no?
I grabbed my phone and pressed my thumb to his name in my contacts. I realized that we’d never actually spoken on the phone. Not for business, and definitely not for anything else. I felt weirdly nervous when I hit his number and brought the phone to my ear.
He answered on the first ring.
“Told you.” His voice was deliciously rumbly, like he’d just woken up.
“Told me what?”
I heard him swallow. The image formed inside my head: a scruffy, shirtless Rob
leaning against the counter in his kitchen. His bicep firming as he lifted a cup of coffee to his lips. “That I can be thoughtful.”
Fanning the hem of my shirt, I said, “Rob, it’s way too much. Thank you, but—”
“Do you not like them?” The concern in his voice made my stomach flip.
“I love them. They’re beautiful. Unbelievably so. Really, thank you. Just seems a little extravagant. Like, what else did you do that I don’t know about?”
Rob laughed, the gravelly sound sending a shiver up my spine. Jesus, this guy was making me feel hot and cold and jittery and certain all at once. I was on my heels here. Totally unprepared for what was happening. What he was doing to me.
“Nothing.” Another swallow.
I fingered the apricot dress. “I can’t accept this gift, Rob.”
“Too late. The ladies at Emilia Wickstead have strict instructions not to accept returns. Exchanges, yes. But you can’t return the dresses.” He paused. “I want you to have them, Aly.”
My turn to swallow. “How’d you know?”
“About the dresses?” he asked. “Or the size?”
“Both.”
“I pay attention to important things.” Like your body. The words hung unsaid between us. “I saw the way you looked at those dresses in the window.”
I bit my lip. “How did I look?”
“Like you wanted something. Badly.”
Blinking, I looked up at the ceiling and crossed my arm over my torso. Damn it, why did this fuckboy have to have such a smart, sensitive side? It’d been so easy—and so fun—to hate him. But now he was twisting me in knots. He’d pulled an asshole stunt at the party. Then he does this. Sends the dresses. Talks to me in this just-fucked voice. Says insightful things.
“I wanted the dresses.” I looked down. Toed at the parquet floor. “But I also wanted to be the kind of woman who’d wear them.”
“What does that woman have that you don’t?” he asked, smacking his lips. “The Volvo?”
I scoffed. “Yeah. The fairy tale, I guess.”
“Do me a favor.” He was eating something now.
“Nothing to do with holes, I hope?”
Rob laughed again. “Not this time. When you wear the dresses, don’t think about the Volvo. Or the fairy tale.”
“Okay.” I drew a breath. “What should I think about then?”
“Me.”
“Ha.”
“I’m serious, Aly. Think about me and what we talked about last night.”
“Oh. Right. The conversation we had, not over cocktails—”
“But over my date’s regurgitated red wine. Yes. Please tell me you’re going to let that go. The rug is good as new. I stayed there until it was spotless.”
“Just this once,” I teased. “And I’ll think about thinking about you.”
“Good. ‘Cause if you’re thinking about me, you’re not thinking of ways to torture yourself. Thinking about how you haven’t lived up to those impossible standards of yours, or about the things you think you’re missing.”
I kept toeing at the floor. I’d actually thought a lot about what Rob had said last night. I’d always preferred to think my ambition was a good thing. I still believed that. But I’d never really stopped to question why I was so ambitious. Why it was so important to me to keep up with everyone else. Compete with them.
I liked that about myself—that I was a hard worker. But maybe Rob was on to something when he’d said I was checking off boxes just for the sake of checking them off. Not because they meant something to me, or they’d make me happy. But because it’s what everyone else was doing. Which, no matter how many boxes I checked, inevitably led me to fixate on the ones I didn’t.
Maybe, along with these dresses, I could try on caring a little less about what I didn’t have and a little bit more about what I did. Cheesy line? Yes. But the idea was worth a shot.
“You know, you’re the only one who’s ever pointed that out to me. How hard I am on myself,” I said.
“If that’s true, you need new friends.” Rob must’ve finished his coffee, because I heard the clink of the mug hitting the counter. “Listen, Aly. You’re going to be okay. Even if you don’t accomplish the things you think you need to in order to find this ‘fairy tale’ of yours. You’re clever. Good with people. Gorgeous.”
Butterflies took flight in my chest. I wish he’d stop doing this. It wasn’t just the gorgeous part either. It was the part about him saying I was going to be okay, and me believing him. I actually believed Robert the Playboy Prince.
I was losing it. Had to be.
“How are things with your brother?” The change in subject was awkward, but I didn’t like where the conversation was going. Or maybe I liked it too much. “After what happened at the party.”
Rob sighed. “Kit did his nut—”
“What?”
“Means he got angry. Had a bit of a row, we did, and of course I felt terrible about it. But Emily just laughed about the whole thing, which helped. He’s over it. I hope. I promised him it wouldn’t happen again.”
I grinned. “And you keep your promises.”
“I do.” I heard the grin in his voice, too. “Glad I’ve finally convinced you.”
There was a pause. It wasn’t a bad pause. It was more of an anticipatory pause. A breathless one. Like neither of us could wait to see what the other would say next.
“So,” Rob said. “Tell me where you’re going to wear the dresses.”
“Oh.” I shook my head. “Yeah. Well, I have a date with Philip tonight, and the restaurant is pretty fancy, so…I’ll probably wear one there.”
Another pause. This one felt harder.
When he spoke, his voice had an edge to it. “Which one?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I think I’d like the purple on you best.”
I shouldn’t flirt with him. I shouldn’t—
“And why is that?”
“It’s the shortest. It’ll show off your legs. You’ve got an amazing pair of them. So, wait. I’ve actually changed my mind. I don’t want Philip seeing you in that dress. Try the white one instead.”
A liquid tug of heat moved between my legs. The legs that Rob apparently very much liked.
I had a sudden, pressing need for a date with my removable shower head.
I had to end this call before it went somewhere it shouldn’t.
“Look, Rob, I need to get going.”
“Oh.” Was Rob actually disappointed? Did he want to keep chatting? Because I did. I really, really did. But we couldn’t. Road to nowhere, remember? “Oh, okay.”
“Thanks again for the dresses. It’s very generous of you. I absolutely love them.”
“Don’t forget to think about me when you’re wearing them.”
I smiled. “We’ll see.”
We said our goodbyes and hung up. My phone was warm in my hand. Our chat had gone on much longer than I’d thought it would. It was one of those conversations I had a feeling could go on all day. The kind I’d had back in college with my crushes. We’d stay up until four in the morning listening to Dave Matthews and talking about nothing and everything because we could. We had all the time in the world. No careers, no real worries. No proverbial or biological clocks ticking yet.
I set my phone down with a sigh. That’s how Rob made me feel—like I had time.
Time I stupidly, recklessly wanted to spend with him.
Chapter Twelve
Aly
I was putting on my eyeliner that night when my phone rang on the lip of the sink.
The thought was there before I could grab it. Squash it.
Rob.
My heart leapt.
Then it fell when I saw that it was Philip. I drew a sharp breath. That wasn’t fair of me. Or smart. Philip was my boyfriend. Rob was…I didn’t know what he was. But I did know he’d never be my forever guy.
Setting down my eyeliner pen, I grabbed my phone and answe
red it.
“Hey!” I said, forcing brightness into my voice. “Running early? I just need another twenty.”
“Aly,” Philip croaked. “I’m so sorry to do this. But I’m going to have to cancel tonight. I think I’m coming down with some sort of virus. I was feeling fine all day, then all of the sudden it hit me. I would’ve called you sooner, but I—uh—haven’t exactly been able to leave the, uh, loo. If you catch my meaning.”
“Oh,” I said. “Oh my God, Philip, that’s awful. Are you okay? Need me to bring you anything?”
“I”—burp—“don’t want you anywhere near this thing. Thank you, though.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“All right.” I crossed my arm over my stomach. “I hope you feel better. Keep me updated, okay?”
“Of course. Sorry again for cancelling so late.”
We said our goodbyes, and I hung up. Poor guy. Stomach bugs were the worst. I honestly wouldn’t wish one on my worst enemy. I shot him a text, reminding him to let me know if he needed anything.
Then I waited for the disappointment to come. I’d been looking forward to our date. At least I thought I had. But if I was being honest, all I felt at the thought of not seeing Philip tonight…was relief?
And that made me feel like a schmuck.
I looked in the mirror. I’d gone the whole nine yards tonight. Blow out, make up, the purple Emilia Wickstead dress. Lingerie underneath it, with the hope that Philip and I might actually do something more than just kiss. Was I trying too hard?
I was definitely trying too hard.
I knew I’d liked talking to Rob too much today. Probably what had spurred me into putting more effort than ever into Philip. Into our date. Maybe this will be the night, I’d thought as I’d shaved my legs. The night lightning strikes, and magic happens, and I feel those butterflies I’ve been waiting for.
I was so freaking determined for that night to happen with Philip. But it seemed like no matter how hard I tried, it wasn’t happening. It hadn’t happened on our last date. Or the one before that. Made me wonder if he was a sleeper like Mr. Darcy, or if he just wasn’t the one.
Royal Rebel: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Flings With Kings) Page 8