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“A word of advice for future negotiations,” Rory murmurs after a beat, a shred of amusement creasing the corner of his mouth. “You were doing so well when you listed your demands. Confident, leaderlike, clearly passionate for your…charitable cause. But when you start issuing ultimatums and letting them dominate your speech instead, that’s when you deserve to lose. That’s when reverse psychology comes into play.” He gives me a grin that seems somewhat pained. “Fortunately for you, I’m a charitable sort and can overlook your novice debating style to say that, yes, you may bring your irritating, freckled boy-pet with you. Luckily, there are so many rooms in the apartment that I’ll probably succeed in never seeing him, even if the knowledge of his existence alone is enough to bring me out in hives.”
And then he winds up the window with ringing finality.
It’s no wonder, I think to myself, that it takes effort to persuade Danny to enter the car after this barrage of insults. He finishes his sandwich in several furious, chomping bites, crumpling the wrapper as though he wishes it were Rory’s face, and tossing it in the nearest bin. I slide into the back of the car, my side happily pressing against Luke, who tenses in a heartbeat. I pat the remaining space. And, looking the very picture of gloom, Danny reluctantly follows.
“That wasn’t fair of you, little saint,” Rory murmurs the moment Finlay restarts the engine. We practically glide across cobblestones, the car so smooth there’s barely any bumping. “If you were to leave, then I’d actually be worried. You have nowhere to go.”
“Nor does Danny.”
“Danny can take care of himself.”
Danny gives a short, derisive laugh as he gazes out the window. I put my hand in his, glad to have him with me, and only after a moment does he return to me a true smile.
The car slows to a halt outside one of the tall, handsome sandstone townhouses. From the outside, it looks like it contains maybe twelve individual apartments, but when I mention this, Rory’s quick to assure me that the entire building belongs to him.
“You live here?” Danny asks, his voice awed.
“My mother’s originally. It’s where my father resides when he’s doing business in Scotland.”
“Placatin’ the rowdy nationalists,” Finlay murmurs in a sly tone, switching off the engine. “Great wee motor, this.”
Rory rolls his eyes. “It’s not awee motor, it’s a former executive saloon fit for the Prime Minister. It probably contains rather a substantial motor.”
“Aye, aye, whitever.”
As though he can’t take much more of this, Danny opens the door, picking up his oversized backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. I admire the outline of his back, the swell of his triceps. Since the last time I saw him, it seems like he’s got strangelybuff.
Danny turns to offer me his hand, which I accept gratefully. I stagger from the car, kind of in heaven, as I’m surrounded by all the boys I’ve ever wanted.
Luke darts out of the car quickly, pulling up the hood of his sweater and shooting Danny a curious, distrusting glance.
The townhouse looks down on us all, grand and imposing, a gilt number five gleaming from its black door. The building is propped up by supporting columns so tall I have to crane my neck to see where they stop.
Rory unlocks the front door and pushes it open, striding in like he, y’know, owns the place. Checkered linoleum greets us, similar to the Lochkelvin estate, and the foyer houses tall jungle-like ferns encased in vast gilt pots.
In the main hall is a stone statue of an elegantly dressed lady carrying an urn, a circlet in her hair and flowing robes skirting her bare feet. As I gaze upon it, I come up with a maxim there and then: if you have a statue like this inside your house, you must be pretty damn wealthy. A staircase winds its way up floors and floors of space, so many dizzying levels that I can’t even make out the end of it. A plush red carpet runs through the center of the hallway, making us feel like VIPs indeed.
“Y’know,” Finlay drawls, spinning on the spot and gazing up at the stained glass dome ceiling that filters soft blocks of colored light into the building. “I just dinnae think it’s fancy enough.”
“Shall we visit your humble abode and compare?” Rory snipes. “It’s in the Grange, isn’t it? Most affluent area of Edinburgh. Millionaire’s row.”
I stare at Finlay in surprise.
Embarrassed, Finlay mutters in explanation, “My mum — she does a lot o’ speaking engagements. It’s… quite a profitable venture.”
His face is bright pink, like he’s been caught out.
“Anyway. Welcome to my home,” Rory announces, attaching his keys to a bronze hook by the door. “Now let’s have some fuckingfun.”
