Page 47 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

“Sorry. It’s just coming up to the holidays and they’re all flying home and I’m, obviously, y’know, not. And I’d be on my own anyway, what with my parents being dicks and Poppy being a film star, but it feels way worse when you can’t walk.”

Honestly, I should have thought of this without him having to tell me. I was a shitty friend. “I’ll come,” I squeaked.

“You’re going to come to Boston? On your own. In winter. To be with your friend who can’t do anything.”

“No, I’m going to come to Boston on my own in winter to be with my friend who is you.”

His mouth did something twitchy—like it wanted to smile but wasn’t quite ready. “Ardy, you once got lost in a large Tesco’s.”

“Yeah, but I’m grown up now. And you can’t Google Maps a supermarket.”

“Look, this is really sweet of you. But you’ll probably die. And you know you can’t leave your family at Christmas.”

“They’ll cope.”

“I’llcope.”

“Not the point. I’m coming and you can’t stop me.” I leapt decisively off the bed. “Now I have to go because I’ve got to buy a ticket to Boston and shoot myself before dinner tomorrow.”

Obviously I didn’t shoot myself. Because I did, in fact, have a sense of proportion and I also had no idea how to get a gun in the UK. Then again, I did buy a ticket to Boston, so maybe I could pick up a Glock from a corner shop while I was over there. Y’know, just on the off-chance Nathaniel invited me back.

Anyway, ticketed and ungunned, I left work promptly so as not to be late for the thing I desperately wanted to be late for. I can’t say I hadn’t fabricated and discarded about sixty-three million potential excuses over the course of the afternoon, but now that going had become unavoidable, I didn’t feel quite as bad about it as I’d been expecting. It helped that I was looking extra cute today, in pink jeans and a dark blue shirt, the coat Caspian had bought me (mainly because it was the only one I owned), and Ilya’s scarf. And I’d even nipped out at lunchtime and bought a bottle of wine: A+ guesting.

Nathaniel lived in Muswell Hill, which was about half an hour up the Northern Line, but I decided to walk to Warren Street in order to cut down on the Tube changes. My route took me along Regent Street, which was ablaze with Christmas gold, spilling like glitter from the shop fronts and the electric angels who hovered above us on wings of light. The road rumbled with taxis and buses, and I got fairly jostled as I wriggled through the crowds, but I was nevertheless caught by the most unexpected sense of belonging. I’d been in London for over six months, watched the greens of summer in Hyde Park, walked by the river on silver autumn evenings, and turned up the collar of my coat against the December dark. This was my city now. And even though I was a pin-drop of a nobody amongst a cacophony of strangers, I didn’t feel alone.

Having factored getting lost into my ETA, I made it to Nathaniel’s house bang on seven. And then lurked in a bush round the corner for ten minutes because I wanted to make damn sure Caspian would be there before me. The idea of having to make awkward small talk with Nathaniel on my own was, frankly, too horrible to contemplate. It also gave me an opportunity to get the lie of land, in case my nerves gave way and I had to run screaming into the night. The street was leafy and suburban, and lined with those generous Edwardian houses that always seemed a bit smug. Nathaniel’s was the end terrace, white-painted and pretty, with mock Tudor gables, a parquet path leading to the door, and a front garden that looked genuinely cared for. There wasn’t much to see at the moment, since all the plants were bare, but I was sure some of them were actual motherfucking roses. While I lived in a disused dog biscuit factory. Yay.

Once I was sure it was safe, and not late enough to be actively rude, I extricated myself from my shrubbery and went to knock. There were stained glass flower patterns in the door, and they didn’t look even a little bit tacky. After a second or two, Nathaniel answered, bringing with him a swirl of warm air and some truly delicious food smells.

“Arden,” he said. “Come on in. I’m afraid Caspian got delayed at work, but he’s on his way now.”

Shit fuck wankery shit on a stick up your arse with bells on. “Oh. Err. Right.”

The hallway was spacious and light and gorgeous and fuck him. Just fuck him.

And he was smiling at me. “Let me take your coat.”

“Oh. Err. Right.”

Except I was holding the bottle of wine, so this led to me getting my arm stuck, and then my scarf got tangled, and then, about six hours later, when I’d managed to get my outer garments off, I spectacularly failed to give them to Nathaniel and ended up just dropping them on the floor at his feet. I bent to grab everything at about the same time he did, nearly banged heads with him, and finally just fell over in a heap on the polished wooden floorboards. Because of course I did.

“Shoes on or off?” I asked.

“Whatever makes you most comfortable.” He began hanging up my coat. “This is a really lovely garment.”

“Thank you. It was…uh…kind of a present?”

From Caspianclanged between us like the bells of Notre Dame.

“I brought you some wine.” I waved it. “It’s probably not very good because it was six ninety-nine, but it’s called Green Fish and it has a picture of a green fish on the bottle, so, y’know…”

Having finished draping my scarf artistically over my coat, he took the bottle from my outstretched hand like I’d offered him a live grenade. “Thank you. How very thoughtful. But I should have mentioned in the email we’re having lamb.”

Hehadmentioned it. Along with the fact the lamb in question would be ethically sourced. “Okay?”

“So,” he went on gently, “you would have known to bring red.”

I gazed up at him in the throes of an Elizabeth Bennett moment. I know I’m not always as brave or as bold as I’d want to be—on top of possessing the poise of a smooshed grape—but goddamn, I had no time for deliberate attempts to socially shame me. I mean, I am short, skinny, and queer AF: You do not get to pull that shit on people like me. Or to put it another way: My courage always rises with every (well,some) attempts to intimidate me.

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