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No. Google never gives me the answer I want anyway.
I get defensive now. I mean, twenty-two isn’t that old, and it’s not like I’ve had the time for relationships. It was difficult enough trying to finish my degree and keep my health on track without the added stress of finding a boyfriend the past few years.
My mind wanders even further as I wonder whether Robert is the person I want to lose it to. We’ve known each other for a long time, but our interaction has hardly ever been what you’d call romantic, balanced, or anything else that’s conducive to a good first sexual experience. In the back of my mind I’ve always harboured notions of it being love/hate between us, rather than simply “hate.” His recent behaviour certainly points towards it being love/hate. But why the hate?
Oh, yeah, because I stole Sasha.
It just seems so trivial. Then again, when you’re a teenager trivialities make up your entire life. Little things that don’t matter can drive you to act in extreme ways. In Robert’s case, his extreme behaviour was bullying me to the point where I would practically have a panic attack whenever I saw him.
The next morning Sasha wakes me early to go dress shopping with her.
“Dress shopping?” I ask, acting like the idea is foreign to me. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear a dress before, Sasha. I must take a picture. This is an occasion to remember.”
She rolls her eyes. “And the sarcasm award goes to…”
“Fine, fine, give me twenty minutes to shower and wake up properly. Oh, and I’ll need to have some breakfast too before we go.”
“No probs, I’ve to call Dad about some stuff. See you in a bit.”
When I make my way downstairs, freshly showered, wearing chino shorts and a loose knitted top, I find Robert standing by the door, repeatedly throwing his car keys up in the air and then catching them. He’s got a grey shirt on and dark pants. My heart stops at how beautiful he looks. Masculine beauty is the deadliest of cocktails.
“Morning,” he says with a charming smile.
“What are you doing?”
“Didn’t Sasha tell you? I’m your chauffeur for the day. I also need to get a suit for tonight’s party.”
I shake my head. “You two are so alike, leaving everything until the last minute.”
“Oh, so I suppose you’ve got your outfit all sorted.”
“Uh, yeah. I’m sure I have a dress that will do the job.”
He smirks. “How very low maintenance of you.”
“I prefer to call it having better things to do with my time, but low maintenance works as well.”
“I can see that.” He takes a step forward and runs his hand over my top. “You do realise there are holes in this.”
I look down at myself. There are holes, but only the tiny ones you get in knitted clothing. “That’s the way it’s supposed to look, silly.”
He raises his hands. “Hey, I’m not complaining. In fact, I quite like it.”
“I’m sure you do. Where’s Sasha?”
“I’m here,” she calls, just leaving her room and coming down the stairs behind me.
A second later there’s a knock on the door, and Robert goes to answer it. A man in a neat shirt and shiny black shoes stands there, holding out an envelope.
“Henry, good to see you,” says Robert cheerfully.
“Yes, good to see you, too. Your father sent me over with this.” He hands him the envelope, seeming flustered. “Anyway, I’m rushed off my feet today with the party happening tonight, so I’d best be off.”
He gives me and Sasha a nod hello and then turns from the doorstep.
“Who was that?” I ask once he’s gone.
“Henry. Dad’s personal assistant,” Robert answers as Sasha rushes to swipe the envelope from her brother.
She rips it open and pulls out a slim gold credit card. “I called Dad and told him I was going to find an outfit for the party. He offered to pay and said he’d send this over.” She pauses, and her grin spreads as wide as it will go. “Who’s up for a shopping spree?”
“Eh, yes. Oh, and we both still need to get Dad a gift. Any ideas?” asks Robert.
“Uh, hang on a second. Are you two going to buy your dad a present using his own credit card?”
Sasha laughs. “Yep. It’s a tradition. Or maybe a passive-aggressive fuck-you for all the times he missed our birthday growing up.”
“That’s so sly, but in a way kind of justified,” I tell her.
“You’ve got it in one, kid,” she says, throwing her arm around my shoulders conspiratorially. “So, what say we do breakfast at Harrods…followed by shopping at Harrods? Dad’s treat.” She waggles the credit card in her hand.
“Ah, sis, sometimes it feels like you read my mind.” Robert grins as we head out the door to his car.
After a leisurely breakfast, I find myself sitting and waiting in various stores while Sasha and Robert try on outfits. Correction, Sasha picks the second dress she tries on; it’s Robert who takes the longest. Sasha and I are sitting in these big luxurious armchairs in the fitting area of a men’s boutique while an assistant helps him decide on a suit. The assistant is fairly pissed off with us at this point, as we keep making funny comments before bursting into laughter. Like, “Robert, your bum looks too big in those pants,” and “Those shoulder pads put the ’80s to shame.”
Juvenile, yes. But fun. Even Robert can’t help the permanent grin on his face.
“Was there champagne in that orange juice you had at breakfast, by any chance?” he asks us.
“We’re just giddy,” says Sasha. “And I’m excited for Alistair’s after party. He said he’s hired strippers. Male and female. It’s going to be hilarious.”
Robert smiles at his sister before his eyes shift to me. “Are you excited for the strippers, too, Lana?”
I put on a serious face. “Very much so. I think I might ask for my first ever lap dance.”
His smile immediately dies. “You won’t do anything of the sort. Those male strippers are creepy.”
