Page 2 of Arden and the Girl Downstairs

I fought with Ralph when I told him he needed to stay in Canary Bay with Julia when we moved to New Hope. It took some time, but we worked out a compromise. He hired his replacement and still has a full say on everything; the new security and help work for him. It was a concession I gave him. I trust him with my life, which means whoever he hires can be trusted as well.

Moving my attention back to Dad, I take a deep breath and get ready to tell him everything. “She slipped into a diabetic coma. They think it was caused by diabetic ketoacidosis and an infection in her kidneys. They mentioned that the infection may have been causing her sugars to spike, which means that she may not have noticed the underlying symptoms. But no one can say for sure.

She woke up and has been in and out, but never lucid enough to tell us what happened. They’ve been having some problems stabilising her sugars. I told them to contact her endocrinologist to come up with a plan, but none of these idiots are listening to me. Ralph called Tim, and he had to move some things around, but he’ll be here tomorrow.” I then fill Dad in on whatever other bits of information I can recall, which really isn’t much.

“Alright, leave it with me. Go home, have something to eat, get some sleep, and for heaven’s sake, please take a shower.” I want to fight him on it, but he’s right. I need all those things, and his authoritative tone means it’s not up for debate. Dad hardly uses that tone on me anymore, but when he does, I don’t argue. “Do you mind if I come and stay at the house for a few days? I’d love to see it in person, and I’d kill for some of Martha’s muffins.”

That makes me happy, and I chuckle despite the chaos in my head.

Dad was supportive of my first renovation; he let me do it on my own and made sure that I knew he was available if I needed anything.

“Of course, I’ll have Martha make up one of the spare rooms. We’re still settling in. I sent everyone home this morning to get some rest in a real bed, but we haven’t actually spent a night there yet.” A yawn escapes me as I stand and stretch.

“I know, which is why I am sending you home. Ralph’s downstairs waiting for you.” He stands and gives me another hug.

“Thanks, Dad. Please call me if anything changes.”

“Of course, you’ll be the first to know,” he reassures me as I turn and walk towards the door.

“Arden . . .” The tone of Dad’s voice gives me pause, and I face him again.

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you.” I nod in response, choked with emotion, everything from the last three days hitting me harder. It’s all I ever wanted—to make him proud. With those words replaying in my mind, I leave the hospital and go home to sleep for the first time in three days.

Ella

“I’ll have a Shlong Island iced tea,” Arden slurs at me across the bar. I take in his appearance: his crisp white button-down is wrinkled, bow tie hanging to one side, and his hair is a mess. Probably because he has spent the last hour running his fingers through it.

This isn’t the Arden I see every day leaving the house. That Arden is put together, his shirt wrinkle free, bow tie straight, and not a single hair out of place.

I don’t know what happens in the fifteen hours between him leaving the house in the morning and then stumbling into Grumpy’s, but if the smell on his breath and the slur of his words is any indication, my guess is he has drunk himself stupid in every bar in New Hope.

“No, scratch that, I want a bex on the seach.” His eyes close briefly as he speaks.

You know the point you realise you’ve had too much to drink? The minute your eyes close, and you’re not sure if you’ll open them again or drift off to sleep. Or, if you sit down to go to the toilet and close your eyes to pee. That’s the point you should probably call it a night and go home before you pass out on the toilet. Could you imagine waking up on a toilet?

Or even worse . . .

Could you imaginesomeone elsefinding you asleep there?

I’m pretty sure if Arden sat down to pee, he’d be passing out.

I glance down the bar to Ralphie, Arden’s driver . . . or security guy? Or personal assistant? I have no freaking clue what Ralph’s job is exactly, but he is a big dude and he’s always at the house—I frequently notice him and Arden talking together. He also hates my nickname for him, which means I’m going to keep using it.

He shakes his head, indicating it’s time to cut Arden off. I haven’t actually poured Arden an alcoholic drink in over two hours. I’ve been switching his jack and coke for just coke, and he hasn’t even noticed. I’m not that irresponsible to serve alcohol to someone who is inebriated.

I turn back to Arden and he’s staring at me. This isn’t unusual. He often sits there and stares at me. At first it creeped me out a little, but I’ve since learned it means he wants to talk.

Sober, Arden has barely said three words to me. I’m the problem he couldn’t throw cash at.

Could you imagine buying an entire apartment block, but not being able to evict the tenant from the ground-floor apartment?

That’s what happened. My aunt and uncle sold their apartment block to Arden last year, but one condition of the sale was that I got to stay in my apartment for as long as I wanted.

I moved in when I was sixteen. I didn’t pay rent, so the money I made at Grumpy’s covered most of my bills. My aunt and uncle didn’t kick me out, but when the twins turned into teens, our living situation got cramped. If I’m being honest, they may have given me a roof over my head and helped me get through high school, but deep down they never really cared. I was only an obligation they fulfilled to the bare minimum.

So, as soon as I was old enough to be on my own, I moved. It was the best option for everyone involved, and for the most part, I’ve been okay. It would have been nice to have some help and support during the tough times, but I made it through on my own.

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