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Eighty
Magnolia
“Do you like it?” Beej asks, looking over at me a bit nervous.
We’re standing in the foyer of the house he bought us.
A cute little four-bedder apartment on Kensington Church Street. He paid £16.5M for it so Bridget says I have to stop referring to it as ‘cute,’ even though it is cute, because four is a cute number of rooms. The apartment itself is perfect. Completely. Not a thing in the world I’d change. I like the backsplash, I like the windows, the balcony’s even lined with lilacs. Not to mention the number one house perk, that boy in the foyer I’m marrying who looks like a statue at all times, from all angles with his perfect hair and his pillow mouth and those eyes that make my resolve dissolve with a glance. Baroque-print silk-twill shirt from Versace, black elasticated-waist straight trousers from Jil Sander, and my nemesis, black Old Skools.
“I love it,” I tell the boy sincerely.
“Yeah?” Beej steps over to me, looking up at the high ceilings as he wraps his arms around me mindlessly. I dressed like a homeowner today. Versace belted cotton-tweed mini dress in lilac (cute), the cream perforated logo cardigan from Sandro, with the cream Saint Laurent La 16 bouclé-tweed mules.
“Yeah, me too,” says Henry as he strides out of one of the bathrooms, hands in the pockets of his black logo-tape detail cargo trousers from Heron Preston. “Can I live here too?”
“Sure!” I smile brightly at the same time BJ scowls, “No.”
Henry’s shoulders slump.
Bridget stands in the balcony doorway, arms folded over her chest, shaking her head at us.
“I can’t believe that you two idiots finally sorted yourselves out—” She does a big sigh and walks inside. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”
I frown at her, locking BJ’s arm around myself like a seatbelt. “We weren’t that bad.”
“Yeah, you were—” Henry nods. (“We were.” BJ nods.)
I frown more and stomp off into the kitchen.
“Where was Christian last night?” Bridget asks, walking after me.
“Oh, yeah—” I turn back to BJ. “I was going to ask you but I didn’t want you to think into it.”
He gives me a look. “In what way?”
I pull an awkward face. “In the, you know, in the old ‘he loves me’ way.”
I clear my throat, toss him a sheepish smile.
“Yeah, right,” he snorts. “I think we’re all past that now.”
“Right, great.” I nod and run my fingers over the white marble countertop, admiring it for a second before scowling up at the boys. “Then where the fuck was he?”
“Did he just not come?” Bridget asks, annoyed on my behalf.
“That’s so rude.” I glower.
BJ shakes his head. “I think something happened with him and Daisy.”
“Did they break up?” I snap my head in Henry’s direction. He’s already shaking his head.
“Well, is everything okay?” I look between the two of them.
“Yeah—” BJ nods but he’s frowning. He’s lying, I think.
“Did Julian do something?” I ask carefully.
BJ shakes his head dismissively. “Nah.”
