Page 48 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

“Look,” I said. “You could have told me we were having roast Martian with cantaloupe and I’d have still got the wrong wine because I know bugger all about the stuff. I brought it because it’s the sort of thing you bring to a dinner party. If I knew you better, I’d have tried to find something you’d actually like—flowers or Turkish delight or posh elderflower juice. But I don’t, so I couldn’t, so you got some crappy wine.”

There was a long silence. At this point, being thrown out of the house was looking like a positive outcome. But Nathaniel surprised me.

“I’m sorry, Arden. You’re right, of course. And I appreciate the gesture.” He helped me to my feet, his eyes steady on mine, their gold sheen luminous and solemn. “The truth is, I taught myself about wine when I came to London. But it shouldn’t be a social mandate, especially if you don’t actually enjoy drinking it.”

“I don’tmindit. I just tend to prefer my drinks pink, sweet, and bristling with unnecessary cocktail umbrellas. Y’know, like me.”

“I think I have the ingredients on hand to make a cosmopolitan. Though I can’t promise a cocktail umbrella.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to put you to any trouble.” Fuck, we were getting into competitive Good Host and Good Guest territory now. “I’m honestly happy to drink whatever you were intending for us to drink.”

“It’s no trouble. I’ll even have one myself.” He gave me a slightly strained smile—which I appreciated a hell of a lot more than an unstrained smile since this was a fucking straining situation. “Unfortunately, I still have some things to take care of in the kitchen. You’re welcome to come with me or wait in the living room—I realise in either case I’m treating you badly, but I hadn’t anticipated Caspian’s absence.”

I widened my eyes at him. “What? Caspian Hart? Absent? Say it ain’t so.”

“Well, I…” Nathaniel’s lips twitched uncertainly, as if maybe it had never occurred to him to laugh a little bit at Caspian. “I suppose my entire relationship with Caspian could be characterised as the triumph of hope over experience.”

Heh. Mine too. “Dude would take a conference call at his own funeral.”

“I’m afraid I really must get back to dinner. The lounge is just through there”—he waved somewhere off to my right—“and the kitchen down here.”

I really wanted Option Lounge. But that would involve essentially admitting I’d rather sit alone in an empty room than spend five minutes in Nathaniel’s company. Repressing a sigh, I followed him down the hall. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, it’s all ready to go. I just need to keep an eye on the lamb.”

“Ah,” I said sagely, “but quis lamb custodiet ipsos lamb custodes.”

Somehow, Nathaniel’sbackmanaged to give me a weird look. “I…I have no idea what that means.”

Good call, Arden. Because what this evening really needed was a “who watches the watchmen” joke. In Latin. “Don’t worry about it. I thought it might be funny, but it just turned out stupid. Story of my life, really.”

Needless to say, Nathaniel’s kitchen was amazing: spacious and airy and decorated with the sort of subtle sophistication that would probably always be beyond me. The floor was wood, like the hall, the surfaces granite, and the fittings a dusty grey-blue that still managed to work. But what really got me was the way it was so clearly a loved space—the care that had been lavished on the design, with everything to hand and in its proper place, and the American-style breakfast bar that hinted at a wish for company. It was perilously easy to imagine what dating Nathaniel might be like. Sitting at this very breakfast bar in a wash of buttery sunlight, while he…I bet he would make French toast. In his dressing gown, with his hair still tousled, and the taste of cinnamon on his lips.

God. No wonder Caspian wanted to marry him. The best you could hope for from me in the morning was a sloppy bj I’d probably doze back off in the middle of anyway.

“Your house is so nice,” I said.

Nathaniel had made a beeline for the cooker, which was big enough it probably qualified as a range, and currently bristling with a terrifying array of pots and pans. But he glanced over his shoulder, blushing faintly. “Thank you. It was a bit of a fixer-upper, to be honest. I could never have afforded it otherwise.”

Fan-fucking-tastic. So not only was his house completely ridiculous, but he had made it that way himself. The man was an entire episode ofQueer Eyeall on his own. Actually, he was better than an episode ofQueer Eyebecause he seemed legitimately able to cook, and wasn’t just going to put cilantro on top of something and call it a meal.

I hoisted myself onto one of the chairs at the breakfast bar. “And the food smells out of this world.”

Because it did.

Also, at this rate, I could just keep complimenting Nathaniel on the amazing life he had and we wouldn’t have to talk to each other at all.

“Thank you.” He threw me a smile, which seemed genuine. And then, in quite a different voice, “Oh, there you are. Hello, sweetness. How’s my darling?”

For a brief about-to-throw-up-in-my-mouth moment, I thought Caspian had arrived, but it turned out Nathaniel was talking to a cat which had just come into the kitchen.

Not quite willing to abandon the Admire Everything strategy and conscious that pet owners—much like people with kids—dug it when you made a fuss of their animals, I said, “Oh wow, he’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t she? She’s called Lillie, after Lillie Langtry.”

“Wasn’t she friendly with Oscar Wilde?”

Nathaniel nodded.

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