Effortless

“Like, ‘seeing’ him seeing him? Or just business lunches?”

“It started as business but they’ve been hanging out on the weekends and what not. I’m surprised she hasn’t told you yet.”

You and me both.

“He seems like a decent guy,” Darren said, clearly trying to play the peacemaker. “I’ve done some work for him in the past and got on with him quite well. Alastair knows him from years ago.” He paused and smiled sheepishly. “That’s not news to you though. They went to university together at Oxford.”

I stopped mid chew. “They did? I didn’t know that.”

“No? Brent was a year ahead of him. They played rugby together and were pretty friendly until something happened.” He shrugged. “I always assumed Brent was jealous of Alastair’s social ranking what with the family business and all. He seemed quite determined to make a success out of his real estate venture to steal some of the thunder from the Holden clan. Not sure why though, since they do media and what not. Seemed a bit odd to me.”

I kept eating my sandwich in the most nonchalant way possible as Darren continued spilling details about Brent. Nothing about it was earth shattering, just interesting enough to fill some of the holes that Alastair left out. I felt better having a clearer picture of their past interactions outside the sphere of Alastair’s relationship with Olivia.

“Your fiancé is a frosty one to try and be friends with Lia. And I say that with no disrespect. Whatever happened between him and Brent must have been huge because they were like brothers at university. At least that’s what I hear.”

The fact that Darren loved to gossip could work in my favor. My curiosity was insatiable and anytime I learned a new nugget about Alastair it left me craving more. For the time being, I chose to stifle the questions and just enjoy the rest of our lunch.

“You have exactly twenty-four hours to tell your best friend about that ring, lass,” he said on our walk back to the building. “I can’t keep a secret like that from Steph forever. We live together. She’s up my arse all the time wanting to know if Alastair has told me anything. I’m surprised I haven’t gone mad yet from all her pestering.”

I laughed heartily as we walked into the elevator. “You’re a saint, Darren.”

“True that.” He winked and gave me a little wave when we reached his floor.

Even though my dealings with Brent had always been a little stressful, I decided to have a little fun at Stephanie’s expense and texted her when I returned to my office.

1:43pm How big is it?

1:47pm ??????????

1:48pm Brent’s wonder stick

My desk phone rang within seconds.

“Yes?”

“Amelia Grace Meyers,” she hissed, “you’re not funny.”

“Sorry.” I laughed. “I couldn’t help myself. What are you doing after work?”

“Finding a new roommate.”

I laughed even harder. “Aw, don’t be mad at Darren. You know he can’t stay quiet about big news like that forever.”

“There is no big news. We’ve hung out and stuff. It’s really nothing.”

“Alright. Whatever you say.”

“Lia,” she whined, “he’s not even my type. He’s too buttoned up and proper. I like ’em carefree and wild.”

“You’re protesting too much.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “We had dinner a couple of times. That’s it.”

I tapped a pen on my desk, wanting to be judicious with my words. “Listen, um. Just, you know, be—”

“I know,” she snapped. “You hate him and Alastair hates him so I have to hate him too.”

“That’s not what I was going to say. I just…I know how you are when people say negative things about—”

“Oh my God,” she grumbled. “Do you really think we sit around and talk about Alastair like he’s some fascinating subject? Jesus Christ. He’s your boyfriend. He has a bad history with Brent and his sister. I could give three flying shits about all that because it’s really none of my business. You need to stop convincing yourself that your relationship with Alastair fucking Holden is the end all, be all of the world.”

I sat in stunned silence, confused as to how this conversation took such a sour turn. When she was heated, Stephanie could be irrational.

“Fuck,” she muttered. “Look, I didn’t mean to fly off the handle like that. I’m PMS-ing and this deadline for creative is stressing me out and” —she sighed— “you know I love Alastair. And I love you. And you’re far from being the girl who thinks their relationship is the most important thing on the planet to everyone else. Did I cover them all?”

“I’m coming down to bring you Pamprin.”

“Smart ass. I’d rather have ice cream.” She paused. “I really am sorry.”

“Wow.” I snickered. “You hate apologizing so that PMS must be severe.”

”And yet you continue to test my limits, Amelia Grace,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice. “We should get together this weekend and do something fun. Maybe we could take the train into Edinburgh for some lunch.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Fantastic. I gotta run. We’ll talk later.”

Shaking my head at Stephanie, I placed the phone in its cradle and emailed my sister to give her a quick update on how I was doing. I also promised to come visit her soon. I flirted with the idea of calling my mom but decided to wait until this weekend. She’d most likely want a detailed report on how everything was going here and wouldn’t take too kindly to being ushered off the phone after a brief conversation.

Eyeing the silver envelope again, I finished reading the invitation for Olivia’s bridal shower. The Hotel du Vin? I did a quick search online and learned it was a luxury boutique hotel in the West End. It looked quite lovely from the photos.

Maybe I should go.

I exorcized the thought from my mind before it had a chance to fester and grow. The last thing I wanted was to spend time with that girl.

* * *

Steady rain tapped against the windows, its delicate rhythmic dance relaxing me as I walked into the living room. Being alone in this big house put me on edge a little but only because I was still getting used to its size and some of the weird noises it made late at night. I decided against watching TV and chose to be nosey. Seeing as Alastair kept decorations to a bare minimum, there wasn’t much to see. Yes, the earth tones that drenched the room were gorgeous and luxurious but aside from the framed photos I’d put out the other night there wasn’t much here that screamed him.

I ran my fingers along a gold key that sat in a small crystal dish on one of the shelves while looking at some of his books. They were mostly reference books about various financial topics. Almost lost among them was a book that appeared to have no title on its spine.

“What’s this,” I mused, pulling it off the shelf. The soft, dark leather was old and worn, so I assumed it had to be a favorite novel of his or something. Opening it, I discovered it was an old diary. I saw the name Rose Taylor Holden handwritten in the front. Though small, I felt its weight in my hands after seeing his mother’s name. I scanned the shelf again, hoping to find another hidden treasure. One by one, they made themselves known; a tattered children’s book, an old photography manual, a comic book about someone named Moven Marvin.

The closer I looked, the more I could see that he did keep pieces of himself in this house. He just kept them hidden and protected, like he did with everything else.

A surge of love flowed through me as I returned the books to their proper places. What I first assumed to be nondescript decorations must have belonged to his parents. Every little figurine or bookend or delicate vase must be something from his childhood home.

His well-versed ability to show the world only what he wanted them to see extended to the privacy of his own house but was so subtle it went unnoticed. I trotted off to the bedroom and grabbed my phone.