After a few minutes, Stephen finds me. Ah. Ronnie.” I can’t help a relieved grin as I spot Stephen hurriedly walking towards me. “I’ve placed your sister in a bedroom. She’s in the kitchen right now, helping the chef cook lunch even though everyone has told her it really isn’t necessary. Your sister is politely stubborn, isn’t she? Oh! Please excuse my manners. Let me help you with your bags. Wasn’t Aiden there with you? Why doesn’t he have your bags? Never mind. I must apologize for his lack of civility. He doesn’t do well in social situations.”
I snort. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I’ve noticed.”
It is then that Aiden makes his grand appearance, and his brow turns quizzical upon seeing Stephen’s frown and my failed-at-being-hidden smirk. Oh well. Let him figure it out for himself, but I doubt that his pride will allow him to realize what a complete jerk he is.
Chapter 4
Seeing as how I have been so consumed by taking care of Taylor and making sure that she has everything she needs to be comfortable, I completely forgot to grab actual pajamas for myself which means that I am sleeping in my plaid shirt and boy shorts. Which I definitely don’t mind or anything—thank God Stephen has a heater—but I have to make sure that when I go down to breakfast tomorrow, I have pants on.
Stephen has shown me my room, and soon afterwards, I learn that it’s right next to Aiden Shawe’s. When I ask him for a room closer to my sister—and as a result, farther away from Aiden—he blushes and tells me that the only room next to hers is his. I assure him that it’s fine, and head back to my room, which is where I am now.
It’s about midnight now, and though I’ve attempted to try and sleep for the past hour, I can’t. I chalk it up to the fact that Joel McHale’s perfectly symmetrical face isn’t looking down at me like it usually is in my room, but my consciousness won’t allow myself to remain naïve. I get up and start pacing. This is all Aiden Shawe’s fault. I mean, I don’t like him. In fact, I loathe him. I hate him. I detest him, and everything in between.
And yet, he’s constantly on my mind.
I start to pace up and down the room and decide to look around. It’s huge, the size of both bedrooms in my apartment combined. A king sized bed is pressed against the main wall. There is a dresser against the opposite wall as well as a wardrobe that could probably house an entire department store. Plus, across from the bed, there’s a desk with a vanity mirror. An expensive-looking painting hangs above the bed, and next to the bed is a nightstand. The room looks like it’s straight out of those home magazines my mother is obsessed with. And soon, there will be a rut in the rich carpet of this beautiful room because I can’t stop pacing.
Maybe I’m trying to tire myself out. But that won’t work. This entire thing with Aiden Shawe—
Okay, I don’t like him. I promise I don’t. But I kind of like his face. I mean, he’s nothing short of gorgeous despite being a jerk. His face reminds me of a heart; his lips are shaped like a bow without an arrow. His nose rolls downward, fitting his face to a tee, his cheekbones are sharp, and those eyes…don’t even get me started on those eyes. His height astounds me only because it’s so hard to find tall males these days. And that voice. Deep and melodious, it’s like every time he speaks, the hair on my body stands completely on end.
But I really do hate him. I promise I do. I just really like looking at him.
And even though he pisses me off, it upsets me even more that he has this stupid effect on my senses. Even more so than that, he probably doesn’t even remember my name.
But no more! From this point forward, my resolve against Aiden Shawe will harden, and while I admit there is attraction, at least on my part, I will not entertain any thoughts on it anymore.
With that thought, I hop back into the bed and snuggle under the covers, resolving to go to sleep. And two hours later, I might have actually done so if some strange guy hadn’t climbed through my bedroom window. So instead of actually sleeping at two o’clock in the morning, I’m screaming.
* * *
“Can you believe that the Bixby sisters are staying the night, Aiden?” Farrah drawled after she took a sip of her dry martini. Hannah and Marion had just headed upstairs but hadn’t been aware of Aiden or Farrah’s presence, which was fine by Aiden; it gave him the means to watch his sister’s friend without any pressure of being caught.
“No,” he replied as expected. But his answer was true in a sense; Aiden really couldn’t believe they were spending the night. And even more than that, he couldn’t believe Hannah had actually managed to talk him into staying the night.
“I swear, I bet one of them slipped something in the sushi just to take advantage of my brother’s charitable hospitality,” she continued.
The two were in the sitting room which pocketed the kitchen. Aiden had just needed space to himself to think about everything that had happened to him. More specifically, he wanted to think about the new acquaintance that he had made in Marion Bixby. And in relation to that, he had started to notice little things about her that he didn’t really care about. Like how whenever she yelled at him, her nose would scrunch, her eyes would flash, and those dimples that framed her chin—those diagonal dimples that he wasn’t sure actually constituted as dimples—would pop. It was actually really annoying, to be honest. No wonder he kept staring at her; her face captivated him because it was so interesting to look at.
The fact that she got mad at him and then confronted him about his imperfections, as though he had any flaws that were so easy to see, ruffled his feathers, so to speak. Aiden would never admit it aloud but she frightened him a bit. Apparently, it had been relatively easy to see through him. Or maybe he was just thinking too much on it.
“…plaid shirt!”
Aiden looked over at Farrah with a blank stare. He hadn’t realized Farrah was talking until just then.
“Don’t you agree, Aiden, that the younger sister is quite a character? And in the lowest sense of the word.” She tossed her long hair over her shoulder, making a dismissive sound with the tip of her tongue against the back of her teeth. “I swear, she’ll be the worst influence on our dear Hannah.” She stopped short and looked at Aiden, suddenly wanting to know his opinion on the Bixby girl. “What do you think, Aiden?”
Aiden didn’t know what she was referring to. “About what?” he asked her.
“Marion ‘Ronnie’ Bixby,” Farrah said. Normally she was quite impatient, but her patience ran as smooth as a waterfall when it came to Aiden Shawe.
Aiden didn’t know exactly how to respond to such a question. But to be fair, Farrah probably had no idea how loaded the question really was. “I find,” he said after another long moment of thought, “that she has incredibly expressive eyes.”
With that, he excused himself and headed upstairs to his bedroom.
Except, even though Aiden had every intention to fall asleep once he had slipped off his shirt, slid on pajama pants, and went into his bed, he just couldn’t. His eyes were staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts on the woman in the next room.
As the minutes ticked away, his eyes began to droop, and just as he finally felt himself drift off, a scream jolted him awake. It sounded like it was coming from Marion’s room, and without thinking about it, quickly hopped out of the bed, disoriented, to say the least, and dashed into the adjacent bedroom, throwing propriety out the window. He couldn’t say why he had rushed in —she could have been having a nightmare for all he knew—but he did, and it was a good thing he had.
Marion was there, obviously; her face was flushed and she appeared to be holding her hand as though she had somehow injured it. He was about to ask her if she was all right when two things happened at once: first, Aiden noticed that there was a strange man in her room, shifting his weight and trying to hold his groin and his bleeding noise at the same time. Second, people started rushing in, including Taylor, who was using Stephen’s arm around her waist as an advantage to balance her weight.
When he looked back at Marion, he realize
d that she was as ill-prepared for a sleep over as he had been. The young woman was wearing nothing more than that awful plaid shirt, and though the boy shorts weren’t as revealing as a thong might have been, they didn’t exactly leave much to the imagination, which prompted the revelation that Marion Bixby had shapely legs and one hell of a—
“What’s the matter?” Stephen asked, cutting his friend’s thought off at probably the most opportune time.
“What do you think is the matter?” Aiden exclaimed, pointing at the stranger as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “There’s some wanker who snuck into Marion’s room!”
“I’m calling the cops, Stephen,” Farrah announced.
“No, don’t do that,” Stephen said once he saw the man. “George, is that you? This is George from back home. Aiden, you remember George Thatcher?” Aiden paled at the name, but no one noticed save for Marion’s sharp eyes. “George, what happened to you?”
“It looks like Ronnie kicked his arse,” Hannah said, pride and amusement tainting her voice.
“Excuse me!” Marion exclaimed, temporarily forgetting that her left hand was in excruciating pain. “But am I the only person—”
“Without pants?” Farrah asked, looking down at Marion’s legs with obvious disgust. “Yes, actually.”
“Well, sorry,” Marion said, her tone sharp as her eyes narrowed into Farrah’s. “I didn’t know there was a dress code for sleeping, but next time, I’ll make sure to bring a push-up bra.”
“There won’t be a next time.”
Before Marion could retort, Aiden stepped between the two women. “All right, that’s enough,” he said, his voice firm and commanding. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Marion straighten. “I have no idea why the fuck George is here and to be honest, I don’t give a shit. Stephen, you seem to know what’s going on with this whole ordeal so why don’t you take care of him? Hannah, help Taylor back to bed. Farrah, you go back to bed as well, and Marion, if you would just follow me, I’ll grab some ice for your hand.”
Though Aiden didn’t so much suggest as he ordered, he hoped Marion would listen to him anyway. He didn’t know why he was going to get her ice when she was perfectly capable of doing it herself, but Aiden didn’t attempt to rationalize any explanation.
The two waited until everyone had left the room, and as they did, Aiden turned to look at her, and found it surprising that she was looking at him. As though both were seared with something hot, they immediately looked away from each other.
“Yes,” Aiden began. “Well, I’m sure that Stephen has taken George down to the kitchen….”
“I’ll just run my hand under cold water or something,” Marion told him in a soft voice.
He wasn’t sure why she was being so easy on him, especially after their eventful car ride, but he wasn’t going to question it. She looked tired anyway.
“Right,” Aiden agreed. He turned and then headed to the door before stopping abruptly, only to turn back to look at her. “I must apologize on Stephen’s behalf for his lack of explanation. George Thatcher is a close friend of Stephen’s so it should come to no surprise that he is here, albeit incredibly tardy. For him to have climbed into your bedroom, even without prior knowledge to your presence, is unforgivable, and for any discomfort you might have, I apologize once more. On Stephen’s behalf, of course.” With that, he quickly tilted his head down as though he were bowing and then left the room.
* * *
I always wake up early on Christmas, whether I am five years old, hoping Santa brought me a Spice Girls doll or eighteen years old, hoping Santa brought me Bones Season Four on DVD. Upon opening my eyes, however, I suddenly remember that I’m not in the apartment I share with my older sister—and now Hannah—nor am I in my old room at my parents’ place. I am in Stephen Downey’s Malibu mansion. Oh, and Aiden Shawe was actually nice to me last night. Apparently Christmas miracles do occur.
After putting on my pants, I go in to check on Taylor, who is fast asleep. Deciding not to wake her, I head back out of her room, and it is only then I remember that my hand is throbbing. Last night’s events instantly replay in my head, and it is decided that I get some ice for my hand, even though my mind wants nothing more than to start analyzing just how Aiden knows George Thatcher and why he should so thoroughly disapprove of him.
In a matter of moments, I am sitting at the kitchen table, ice on one hand, skimming over the morning newspaper the maid—yes, they have a maid—has brought in.
“Hey.”
I lift my eyes, and surprisingly enough, the guy from my room is leaning awkwardly against the doorframe, looking at me with a puzzled look in his brown irises. It’s like he’s unsure whether or not to actually enter the room in fear that I might bite his head off or something. I like a guy who knows there is a good chance he may be fucked.
“Hey.” I furrow my brow as I blatantly stare, unsure of what to make of him. He’s definitely good-looking in a pretty boy sort of way. He looks like he may say more, but then he stops himself. Apparently Romeo over here needs prodding, and I am just the type of girl to prod because I want answers anyway. “Let me just cut to the chase,” I begin, glancing at my numb hand. For the moment, it doesn’t hurt. “I have two questions for you. Who are you, and why the hell were you in my room last night?”
He grins at my bluntness, his brown eyes sparkling as though this is some kind of joke. But as he continues to regard me, he realizes it isn’t, and coughs into his hand. “Right.” He seems nervous, but I really don’t care. I just want to make sure he’s not going to do it again. “Listen, the first thing I should probably do is apologize for scaring you like that, though I must say that you pack quite the punch.”
Damn the English and their charming accents! How am I supposed to stay focused when he’s complimenting me with that voice?
“—anyway, you don’t really care, do you?” George continues, and I notice that his body seems to relax a bit. “My name is George Thatcher. Me and Stephen and Aiden, we all know each other from school. Stephen and I were notorious for one upping each other in practical jokes; whatever one guy did, the other would somehow have to beat him. Stephen thought I was in England and couldn’t make the Christmas party, which is exactly what I told him, but I was planning on coming anyway in order to reclaim my throne.”
Okay, that kind of makes sense. I mean, it’s weird and everything, but it was an accident. He really didn’t seem to know I was there. And yet, I’m still somewhat suspicious, and I think it has something to do with the way Aiden had looked at George Thatcher last night. Something about it was off, and I’m hoping George will tell me what that is since I know for a fact Mister Aiden Shawe won’t.
“What’s the deal between you and Aiden?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t come out too demanding.
“You noticed that,” George says, running his fingers through his beige-colored hair. I had no idea beige could actually be a hair color. Maybe it’s an English thing. “Well, since I invaded your room, you probably do have the right to know. The story isn’t all that surprising and is quite ancient actually; we were both in love with the same girl back at university. But lucky as I was, she was mine. She chose me. But Aiden Shawe did not like it. I knew him when he was a child, and as a child, he was a spoilt kid. Whatever he wanted, he got, and the woman I was with…. Well, he wanted her. What could I possibly do? Aiden Shawe had everything I didn’t in terms of money and finances, so he was more apt at seducing her than I could ever be. I was just some poor uni student. Well, to cut an already long story short, I walked in on the two of them in the dorm that I happened to share with Aiden…and that was the end of my relationship with her and my friendship with Aiden. Aiden Shawe wins again.”
“What a douche,” I say, looking at him with pity and incredulity. No wonder I don’t like Aiden Shawe. As Kanye would say, how could he be so heartless?
“But I wasn’t about to let him ruin my friendship with Stephen,” George continues, and t
he way he’s staring at me, I feel like my soul is being penetrated. And I’m not exactly sure whether or not that’s a good thing. “So here I am, completely ashamed of having scared a beautiful woman by invading her bed chamber.”
Did he just say bed chamber?
I think I’m blushing. But how can I possibly help it when George is so good-looking and has an accent and just called someone like me beautiful? I’m actually surprised I’m not giggling like a schoolgirl, but thankful at the same time. Schoolgirl laughter in any form is certain guy repellent, and for the moment, I do not want to repel George in any way.
But maybe I could store some away for Aiden Heartless Shawe.
Chapter 5
Today is going to be a good day. I can literally hear that Black Eyed Peas song in my head, except, in my mind, I’m changing the word “tonight” with “today.”
We’re leaving this godforsaken place today.
Because Taylor is better. Much better.
Actually, I think she could use a couple of more days here—not that I want to stay, mind you—because I think she’s still kind of weak. But she has assured me that she would be able to handle driving back home, especially if we left at nine, avoiding most of the LA traffic. And if worse does come to worst, I can always drive.
Four Sides of an Attitude: A Cufflinks & Austen Novel Page 4