I’ve never thought of Matilda as someone I’d date. But now… I’m starting to wonder.
Five
Matilda
My sister shoves one more shoebox into the boot of her rental car before slamming the door shut.
“Could you not have rented a bigger car for this?” I ask, swiping away a bead of sweat trailing down my nose.
“How was I supposed to know the boot would be this small?” Rachel snaps back, laughing at my frustration.
“The boot’s like a Tetris challenge for packing anything larger than a pencil,” I tease, and we both end up laughing in the middle of the street.
“Right, come on. The landlord’s waiting to hand the keys over — we’d better get a move on,” I say once we’ve both regained composure.
Rachel hasfinallymoved out of our parents’ house. Honestly, I was starting to think the day would never come. But apparently, the final straw was when she had to usher Teddy — her boyfriend of all two weeks — out the first-floor window while Dad knocked on her bedroom door. I nearly wet myself laughingwhen she told me, though she wasfarfrom amused. That was the moment she decided she was getting her own place.
Her new flat is only a ten-minute walk from mine, and I couldn’t be happier. Up until now, I’d had to travel over an hour to visit the family back in Suffolk. Having her nearby makes London feel a little less lonely.
The apartment block is modern, sleek, and exactly the kind of place I dream of designing one day. Of course, that kind of living in East London doesn’t come cheap. Rachel has big plans to become a full-time investigative journalist, or writer (don’t think she is too sure herself) but for now she’s working at some swanky restaurant in the city. I know that alone won’t cover all her bills — Mum and Dad must be helping her out — though honestly, I think Dad would’ve paidanythingjust to have her move out. We all love Rachel, but she’s… a lot to live with.
“Where the hell am I supposed to park this thing?” she huffs, blowing a strand of hair from her eyes while scanning the packed London streets.
I pull up the parking app on my phone and point her to a nearby street spot.
An hour later, keys in hand, we’ve made four trips between the car and her new flat, hauling boxes, bags, and a frankly suspicious number of shoes. The place is beautiful — clean lines, big windows, neutral tones. Very Henry Chase. My chest tightens a little at the thought. Would I ever help design something like this one day?
“Right,” Rachel says, rummaging through a box. “IknowI have some champagne glasses in here somewhere… ah-ha!” she cheers, pulling out two mismatched flutes wrapped in bubble wrap.
“Oh, amazing,” I grin. “But do you actually have champagne? Or wine? Or anything to drink?”
She glances around at the mountain of boxes and black bags, frowning. “Crap. Okay, I’ll run to the shop. You set up somewhere we can eat. I’ll grab pizza too!”
Her voice echoes down the hallway before the door clicks shut.
I flop down onto the sofa, pulling out my phone to kill time. A few scrolls through the news and—
I freeze.
Henry.
The headline reads:Chase Architects Climbs the Ladder of Success.My thumb taps the article before I can stop it.
Chase Architects have been nominated for an award by the Royal Institute of British Architects.
A smile spreads across my face — pride swelling in my chest. He must already know. But then a small, stupid pang of sadness hits. Why hadn’t he told me? I mean, whywouldhe? It’s not like we chat about personal things. Still, something as huge as this — I would’ve thought it might’ve come up at some point.
I scroll further, and my breath catches at the photo beneath the article. Henry, standing outside our office building. Crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, fitted grey trousers. Casual, but effortlessly sharp. His brown hair is slightly wind-swept, his green eyes bright even in the photo’s muted tones.
My stomach flips.
Get a grip, Matilda.
I lock my phone, shake my head, then hover over the screen again.
No. Don’t do it. Don’t—
I sigh. “Screw it.”
