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“I never said I didn’t like money. I just don’t like billionaires. No one does.”
I take Alistair ice-skating at the Jo Malone ice rink in Battersea. When I say I take him, what I really mean is that Macavoy takes us, and Henderson watches, standing at the edge looking serious and holding his hands in that way bodyguards always do. I pay for the tickets with Alistair’s card, so really, it’s a group effort.
I don’t want to say it’s magical, because that would be a cliché, but everything is snow-white, Christmas lights sparkle, and there is a giant Christmas tree in the center. I feel like I’m in a festive Hallmark movie. Alongside the rink is a huge gingerbread house, contemporary art sculptures, and an incredible sweet truck. People mostly seem in a good mood—apart from wailing toddlers who are no doubt wondering what the hell their parents were thinking with this unique form of torture. Once our muscle memory kicks in after a few near-falls, Alistair and I are skating hand in hand.
Afterwards, we go to the restaurant adjacent, an edgy bistro where we sit in transparent plastic domes outside, and drink warm mulled wine, even though it’s only noon. When we start getting tipsy, Alistair asks for the menu and orders a table-top worth of tapas.
I have this feeling sometimes—not often. It’s an almost overwhelming contentment, where there is absolutely nothing wrong, nothing to immediately worry about, nothing to want. Life is never perfect, but there are perfect moments, and this is one of them. It’s like swooning. For a second, I forget about how impossible our relationship is, how mismatched we are in every way except one. I forget how ridiculously wealthy and good-looking Alistair is, and I just bask in the loveliness of the moment.
“You’ve had too much gluhwein,” Alistair says.
“Speak for yourself,” I reply.
“Oh, I’ve had too much, too. But you look totally lovely. Your cheeks are pink, your eyes are sparkling. Good god,” he says, looking into his glass. “What is in this wine?”
“A love potion,” I blurt out without thinking.
I immediately panic. I said the word love. I didn’t mean it. It was just a joke, and not a very good one. Fuck. Now he’s going to think I’m angling for some kind of confession or commitment or something. After three days! FML.
Alistair wiggles his eyebrows at me. “It’s working. Let’s get you home into bed.”
I laugh, mostly out of relief. “It’s only—” I look at the clock. “Four o’clock.”
“I don’t see a problem.”
I pay the bill and leave a huge tip. The waitress swallows and asks if I’m sure before she taps the final amount into the machine.
“Of course!” I reply. “Everything was amazing.”
She sniffs quietly and keep her eyes down. “Thank you.”
Time slows down and my giddiness subsides. I get the feeling she really needs the money. I don’t know what her situation is, but the gratuity was enough to make her emotional.
“Ready?” asks Alistair, oblivious to the exchange.
“Ready,” I reply, smiling.
He buys doughnuts for everyone on the way home.
Chapter 25
Have It Your Way
Imake Macavoy, Lucky, and Henderson all take a doughnut.
Once the door of the hotel room is closed, I turn to Alistair. “Does Henderson ever sleep?”
“Nope,” he jokes.
“You still owe me the story. About you and him.”
“Hmm,” he says, pushing up against me. “Can it wait?”
Part of me wants to say “no, there’ll never be a good time, tell me now.” The other part of me is slightly drunk and extremely horny, especially when I feel his body heat up against me like that.
“Have it your way,” I say. “And by that, I mean, have me your way. Any way.”
He grips me tighter, sending a frisson of excitement down my spine. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
