by Parker Swift
* * *
That afternoon Dylan had to go to Athens to oversee the construction of a hotel for nearly a week. Trying to remain playful, I gave him an exaggerated pout, but I really was disappointed. Now more than ever, when it felt so clear that our non-relationship had a definite expiration date, I wanted to hold on to him, not let him go. I wanted him to stay.
He’d be back Friday, and in the meantime I was supposed to take full advantage of Lloyd, and have him take me wherever I needed to go, albeit in the incognito Jaguar. This, I protested. “Dylan, thank you, but—”
He interrupted, “I’m not being nice. I won’t have you taking the tube, especially late at night. There’s no need for you to use the tube at all, actually. This way I know you’re safe.” I rolled my eyes, but he stopped me with an “I dare you do that again” look. “Lydia, do you know how many stories there are of people getting attacked or groped on the tube?”
“Not nearly as many stories as there are of normal people happily making their way to and from work and life on it every day.” He was about to protest, but this time I stopped him. “Public transportation is the great equalizer! It unifies cities, promotes democracy, brings urban access to the masses, safely transporting millions of people every day!” I smiled as I gave him my snarky impassioned speech, and he looked back at me with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.
“Running for office, are we?”
I sighed, abandoning the joking approach. “Dylan, this is important to me. Don’t be a jerk.” He looked dubious. “I mean it. I love taking the tube. I like walking there with all the other people in my neighborhood headed to work. I like descending the steps in a crowd, feeling a part of the hustle and bustle of this place. I love finding a seat and reading the newspaper over people’s shoulders. It makes me feel a part of London. I like it. A lot. You’re veering over the line, Captain Creepy.” He looked surprised, but he also looked like he understood.
“Come on, damsel,” he fake whined, “let me at least pretend you need me and my riches.” I laughed—he just looked so sweetly pleading. “What about at night? Will you let him take you at night?” he challenged. He wasn’t going to give up that easily apparently.
“You mean when Notting Hill is full of cloaked thieves and muggers?” He just looked at me expectantly. “Ugh! Fine! God, you’re such a control freak, you know that?”
He was visibly calmer and looking at me so sweetly, just gazing at me, with this Mona Lisa smile on his face. “What?” I asked, dying to know what he was thinking.
“Nothing. Come here.” He pulled me into hug, and held me there for a minute. “I really don’t want to leave you.”
Chapter 23
I took the tube home, on principle, and Dylan grumpily stayed behind to pack and head off for his trip. I spent the afternoon taking care of business. I paid some bills, sent overdue emails, and made lists of things needing to be done. By evening I was feeling like I truly had things in order. A week seemed to be all a girl needed to move to a new city, become someone’s kinky fuck buddy, and put her life in order. Not bad, I laughed to myself.
I put on my iPod and plugged it into a set of speakers in the kitchen, selecting a playlist of Brooklyn indie bands Daphne’s boyfriend, er, now ex-boyfriend, had put together for me. I turned the volume way up, and with a glass of wine in hand, I got to work on dinner. I truly enjoyed moving around the kitchen by myself, barefoot in my panties, which I’d recently come to treasure, and a tank top. For the first time, possibly ever but certainly since losing my dad, I felt completely free. I can’t say I was perfectly happy—I knew that everything Dylan had disclosed to me presented a real barrier, but I also knew he cared about me. Even though nothing was settled upon or firmed up, really in any area of my life, I still felt like I was right where I was supposed to be. I was doing it, putting myself out there. Living life to the fullest.
Maybe it was knowing that this overbearing gorgeous fiend had completely awakened me sexually. Maybe it was the fact that I was finally living in a town I’d always dreamed of. Maybe it was simply being far away from my old self. I put on my fancy new earrings and had my dinner at the kitchen island, my feet dangling off the high stool, and not really caring why.
* * *
In spite of Tubegate, I allowed Lloyd to pick me up early Monday morning, because I’d made a doctor’s appointment to get myself on some birth control. I was as happy as Dylan was at the prospect of abandoning condoms—I now understood his compulsion for removing the barriers between us.
When I was back in the car clutching a prescription for the pill, a clean bill of health, and the latte Lloyd had brought me, I felt my phone ring.
“Hi,” I said shyly when I saw it was Dylan. I couldn’t believe myself. Couldn’t I at least try to sound as though him calling me didn’t make me completely melt?
“Morning, damsel,” he said in an impossibly sexy way.
“Morning. Where are you?”
“I’m about to walk into a meeting here. Did you go to the doctor?”
“Yes, although I’m sure you knew that already,” I said, catching Lloyd’s eye in the rear view mirror.
I think I could actually hear him smiling. “Well, Lloyd is my driver. Is it a crime that I know what he’s up to?” I guffawed audibly into the phone. “Doesn’t it count that I asked as though I didn’t?” He was definitely smiling. “Are you ok? You sound a little off.”
“Fine. I, um, have my period.”
“Oh. Sorry?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s ok. I just have cramps. Anyway, we’re good to go in a week.”
“Good timing. Are you sure you have to go to work? I’d prefer you just go home.” Oh good god.
“Dylan, don’t be ridiculous. You know you sound insane, right?”
“I do,” he replied in a way that clearly conveyed he didn’t give two shits if he sounded crazy.
“Well at least there’s that.” I wished he were here with me, although if he were he might want to get up to some adventures that my body just wasn’t up for at the moment. “Don’t you have a building to go supervise or a kingdom to rule or something?”
“In a minute.” Lloyd was pulling up in front of my office. “What are you wearing?”
“Seriously?” I said through my laughter. “You really want to know? Or do you want me to make something up? Tell you I’m going to work in nothing but a negligee?”
“No. Don’t lie. I’ll call Lloyd and find out if you do. I want to be able to picture you.” God—he wasn’t acting like someone just using me for sex.
“Well, I’m wearing a navy pleated skirt, which ends around the middle of my thighs. A blousy ivory-colored silk camisole, and a cropped brown leather jacket. Nude flats. A necklace. Anything else you need to know?”
“Is your hair in that sexy ponytail?”
I laughed again—did he miss nothing? “Well, I don’t know about sexy, but yes, it’s in a ponytail. Dylan, I should go. It’s almost nine fifteen, and I have a feeling it’s going to be an insanely busy week. The fashion show is only two weeks away, and—”
“I know. I’ve gotta go too, baby. Be good.”
“You too.”
When I stepped out of the car, I saw Josh leaning against the building smoking. His jaw dropped when he saw me exit. “Well, I can’t wait to hear about this.” Shit, how was I going to explain being dropped off and picked up in a chauffeured Jaguar?
“Oh, it’s an Uber. I’m super crampy today.” I clutched my abdomen. I knew the mention of menstrual business would end the conversation quickly.
“Say no more, lovey. Although, damn. That was the nicest Uber I’ve ever seen.” I was going to have to ask Lloyd to pick me up around the corner. This could get tricky. All the more reason he shouldn’t be driving me to and from work in the first place.
Monday morning flew by without a hitch. Hannah was incredibly pleased with how the museum party had gone. She’d gotten several calls about the gown, her Fashion Week show was sold
out, and she’d heard the Times, the Guardian, and several foreign papers planned on covering it. It was all hands on deck. It was clear that we’d all be working late nights to see us through.
Fiona and I were working feverishly on fielding client calls and scheduling fittings with the models. I was just about to ask her about breaking for lunch when Josh came through the door carrying a white paper shopping bag, “Delivery for Miss Lydia Bell.” He eyed me suspiciously. “Did you order lunch from Quaglino’s?” Josh was clearly trying to assess how he had missed the fact that I was the type to order in extravagant lunches to work, and Fiona looked at me for an explanation.
“Huh. Um, let me see that.” I took the bag and looked in. There was a container of some kind of chowder, some bread, and what looked to be some kind of chocolate concoction.
Dylan! Gah!
“Um, yeah I’ve heard my friend talk about this restaurant, and I wanted to try it. Thanks, Josh.”
I was going to have to get better at lying on the fly. How did he expect me to keep us a secret if he kept inserting his own upscale life into my own? Not that I didn’t appreciate it. Josh darted back to his desk, and I grabbed my phone and texted him:
MONDAY, 12:45 pm
Any ideas for how to explain a fancy surprise lunch delivery to my coworkers?
MONDAY, 12:46 pm
Make something up. I don’t want you going out.
MONDAY, 12:47 pm
That creepy line we talked about? You crossed it. Back away from the line, Hale.
MONDAY, 12:47 pm
You’re maddening. Fine.
MONDAY, 12:48 pm
You’re forgiven, but no more work surprises that I have to explain. When you get back, you can treat me to lunch. In person.
As soon as I hit SEND I realized that we couldn’t have lunch out in public together.
Fuck. Foot. Mouth.
MONDAY, 12:48 pm
I mean…you know what I mean. Sry.
MONDAY, 12:48 pm
It’s ok. Talk to you later. Enjoy your last lunch delivery, damsel.
God, this was a messed-up situation. I mean, sure I loved that he wanted to send me lunch, but it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t demand that we keep emotional distance, be this massive secret, but then bend the rules on his terms.
If I wasn’t allowed to act like his girlfriend, it didn’t feel fair that he could act like my boyfriend, sending me presents at the office whenever he wanted. If he wanted us to stay this casual just-sex thing, the least he could do was help me out and refrain from acting so damn sweet. I wanted to scream at him to make up his mind—were we nothing or were we something?
But every time I tried to think straight about it, or even try to hold on to my anger, images of us tied together in his bed invaded and I sank into a sexy daydream. Fiona interrupted my reverie. “Um, what is that smile about?” Shit.
“Oh, nothing,” I replied, trying to sound as blasé and back-to-business as possible. “Let’s get these fittings scheduled.”
“Not so fast. Did you hook up with someone? You look different. You definitely look like you’ve been shagged, and recently.” I blushed instantaneously. Dammit, why did I have to be the most transparent person on the planet? Fiona clearly interpreted my hesitation as confirmation, because she enthusiastically continued, “Ohmygod. You have! Who?! Is that who lunch is from? You have to tell me everything!” She dropped the papers in her hands and looked at me, riveted. What was I going to do?
I cleared my throat. “I may have had some action this weekend, but it wasn’t anything really. I don’t think I’ll see him again. The lunch is from him, but I’m not that into it.” Nothing could be further from the truth.
“Um, the way you just smiled while looking at your phone would suggest otherwise.”
“No, no. I just went out and had some fun. I’ll tell you if it turns into anything. I promise.” Ugh, I hated lying. “Plus, I am drowning in period cramps today. I don’t think I ever want to get intimate with anyone ever again. I feel hideous.” Diversion.
“Aw, bless. Poor thing.” She said while giving me a distinct no-sympathy look. “We have a ton to do, so get your face out of that chocolate and let’s get to work.”
At six p.m. we took a break to order some supper. I texted Dylan, missing him more at the realization that there was still an entire week to get through before I’d see him again.
MONDAY, 6:03 pm
Working late. Probably won’t head home for a couple of hours. How are you?
MONDAY, 6:05 pm
Do you feel up to it? I’ll have Lloyd come get you at 8? Things fine here—work work work.
MONDAY, 6:06 pm
Yes, please (thank you!) And feeling fine. Hope it’s all going smoothly. Talk later.
While everyone finished up their Thai food in the conference room, I went to the bathroom—I was exhausted and counting down the minutes until it seemed appropriate to head home. As I passed through the reception area, I caught a glimpse of Josh’s computer and saw that his browser was open to a gossip page, the website for Hello! magazine.
It took a moment to register what I was seeing. I’d been drawn to the picture of Dylan—even though I hadn’t known him long, I’d know that suit, that body anywhere. But the thing I didn’t expect was to see him walking next to another woman. It was clear from the Greek writing on the side of a passing cab that they were in Athens, and they were walking down a posh-looking street together. Him and Amelia. Smiling. With his hand firmly placed on her back.
Chapter 24
The headline of the article read, “Has Top Bachelor Dylan Hale Finally Found his Lady?” It looked like the picture was from the previous evening. Was this why he didn’t want me to leave the office today? He thought I’d see this picture spread across every news agent?
I was furious. I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t he at least have given me a heads-up? Were they actually dating? Was I his sweet little thing he was keeping around on the side for kinky kicks while he started to a build a public life with Amelia Fucking Reynolds? Was everything he’d told me the day before total bullshit? I didn’t think so, but then what the hell? This was so humiliating. I suddenly felt like the pathetic mistress in a made-for-TV movie.
* * *
Lloyd drove me home in silence. He asked me how I was, but I couldn’t pull off much more than a brief polite response. When I walked up to my door I saw another huge bouquet of flowers—even more gorgeous than the last—and I brought them inside, practically slamming them on the table. The card read,
Here’s to skin on skin. Feel better. —DLWH
Did I even have a right to be mad at him? I did. I know I did. I felt like I did. Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like, but it felt like that’s what it was. Why even bother telling me there’d be no other women, when he was just going to do this?
All I wanted to do was sink into a steaming bath with a glass of wine. I was crampy, tired, and now annoyed. I missed Dylan, in spite of my fury, but in this moment, I missed Daphne more.
I heard my phone vibrate with a text, but I didn’t want to deal with anyone, especially not Dylan if that’s who it was. I’d get to it when I’d get to it.
A while later, as I let the hot water strip away the day, I heard the phone, perched on a wooden stool in the corner of the bathroom, buzz again. And again I ignored it.
I was postbath but still in my towel, sprawled across my bed, when it buzzed a third time. Then it started ringing. I willed myself to ignore it. I flung my arm over my eyes, just hiding. Within a minute, I could hear the sound of a voicemail registering. What would I achieve by ignoring him? I’d never been good at hiding my feelings, and he’d know I was angry the minute he heard my voice. I grunted in frustration at my inability to resist.
I grabbed my phone and sank right back into the bed. There were three texts and a voicemail, all from Dylan.
MONDAY, 8:00 pm
Home? Get some rest, baby. Athens is boring without you.
> MONDAY, 8:41 pm
Lydia? Are you ok?
MONDAY, 9:23 pm
Goddammit, Lydia.
I listened to the voicemail, which contained no actual message, but I could hear a trail of expletives before the message ended. Just then the phone starting ringing again. I answered this time.
“Lydia?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“What’s wrong?” Oh please.
“So, Athens is boring, huh? You needed to spice it up with some female company?”
“Amelia. This is about Amelia,” he said, sounding instantly irritated. My silence was a clear confirmation. “Lydia, Amelia is a family friend, and I have no interest in her. I told you this.”
“A family friend who desperately wants in your pants, whom your mother desperately wants you to marry, and whom you allowed yourself to be photographed with, when you’re never photographed with anyone. I feel like you’re asking me to trust you, but you tell me you don’t date, and then I feel like an asshole for believing you when I’m faced with evidence to the contrary in the freaking newspaper!”
“Ok” He sighed in resignation. “I’m sorry. Let me explain. Christ, I’m not used to this.” I heard another longer sigh. “I had to go to a dinner last night with the investors in this library project, one of whom is Piers Reynolds, Amelia’s father. He must have told her he was meeting with me, and she came along. Or hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if my mother told her. I didn’t know she was going to be here. She made a fool of herself all evening—it was completely inappropriate for Piers to have his daughter there, but I’m a gentleman, Lydia. I wasn’t going to make her feel bad, and we’ve known each other a long time. We had a pleasant conversation. We left the restaurant together, and I gave her a ride to her hotel. That was it.”