CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE DUFFY

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

DUFFY

The night Kieran finally convinced me to watch The Damned United was the rainiest day of the year.

I wore my fluffiest, most ridiculous pair of jammies for the occasion. The ones I’d stuffed into the back of my closet in my adolescence when I decided I wanted to be an ice queen, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to throw away. They were my first Christmas gift from Tim and held a special place in my heart, since they were one of the first “real” gifts I’d received since my biological father had left us. Up until then, it was all rewrapped items we already had at home or things I knew were hand-me-downs from the neighbors.

There were dozens of printouts of me laughing on the PJ bottoms. Custom-made sleep attire that was supposed to please me but really mortified me as a teenager. The PJs were magnificently ugly, but I’d been wearing them a lot since I returned to England a few weeks ago. They reminded me of the old me. The one who’d blossomed the first time Tim took her for a Nando’s and wasn’t ashamed of how completely enthralled she was by the small gesture. I missed that person. A lot. But I was beginning to reconnect with her. My accent had morphed back to its South London self. I was beginning to take more interest in arts and creativity, less in brands and stilettos. I stopped going to SoulCycle—I never much liked it, anyway. The spinning machine’s seat did horrendous things to my lady bits—and I got my workout walking places and watching old-school fitness DVDs with Mum like the last couple of decades had never happened.

“I can’t believe it took me almost a month to convince you to watch this masterpiece.” Kieran shoved a raspberry Jammie Dodger into his piehole.

“I can’t believe you convinced me, period.” I rolled my eyes, slurping fountain Diet Coke, a leftover from our nutritious McDonald’s dinner. “It’s about footie, has virtually no fit men in it, and it’s about footie.”

“You already said that.” Kieran shifted on our living room couch.

“Not enough.” I shook my head solemnly. “Never enough.”

A few minutes into the movie, I was properly annoyed.

“It’s not even set in our era!” I waved a hand at our TV. “Literally, there was nothing good about the seventies other than ponchos. I miss ponchos.”

“The seventies are still your era, you dimwit.” Kieran laughed.

I kicked him across the couch, and he kicked me right back. Amused, I took another drag of my Coke. Being back home felt weird, but somehow right. I’d slipped right back into my family’s life, like a piece of a puzzle they’d been waiting for so they could complete the picture.

In the mornings, I worked at the chippy with Tim and Kieran, which was lovely. The fresh air by the Thames felt good in my lungs; talking to tourists, seeing people happy put me in a good mood. I was no longer holed up in a stress-filled studio or stuffy offices. Then I usually clocked off and went around the city taking pictures. Of buildings. Of people. Of trees. The Thames. I wanted to show them all to my husband, but even if they were all just for myself—I took pride in them.

In the evenings, I had dinner with the family. Real dinner, with carbs and a glass of wine. Sometimes I went down to the pub with Kieran. Watched cable shows with Mum. Played cards with Tim. The more time I spent with my family, the more I struggled to remember what it was that I’d found so atrocious about my pre-Manhattan existence. These days, the only thing I missed about the place was Riggs.

Riggs, who still hadn’t contacted me. With every passing day without a word from him, I anticipated that my wretched hope he’d seek me out would’ve evaporated. It never did, though. Each morning, I woke up with a fresh sense of grief.

I still felt as I had the day I’d boarded the plane to London. Like he’d torn my heart out of my chest and ravaged it like a pomegranate, blood trickling down his muscular forearm. It was ironic, how I’d always wanted to trade love for comfort, but once love struck, comfort became the last thing on my mind.

“Duffy? Duffy!” Kieran kicked my ribs across the settee. Guess I’d been zoning out. Who could blame me? I’d be better off watching paint dry.

“Bloody what?” I whipped my head toward my brother.

“First of all, good to hear your real accent is back.” He wiggled his brows. “Second of all, there’s someone at the door. Go answer it.”

“You go answer it,” I raged. “It’s pissing outside, and I’m a delicate flower.”

“I got us dinner.” Kieran stubbed his chest with his finger. “And you’re a pesty weed at best. It’s your turn to unplaster your arse from the couch.”

“It could be a murderer,” I pointed out smartly, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’ll have better luck shooing him away, with your size and strength.”

“Him?”Kieran’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “So now we’re under the assumption all murderers are males? I reject that framing.”

“Eighty-five percent of serial killers are male, and eighty-two of them are white,” I countered, squinting at him. “Which means I might be looking at one right now. Should I be worried?”

Kieran gave me a look, throwing a Jammie Dodger at my arm. “Go get the door, smart-ass.”

“Ugh, fine.”

I kicked the throw off my waist and trudged to the door. Mum and Tim were upstairs, watching The Age of Innocence for their book club (the book, according to Tim, simply had “too many pages to even count”). Besides, they clearly had keys to their own house, so I was taken aback that someone was paying us a visit this late at night and in this weather.

Maybe it was a serial killer. If so, hopefully my jammies alone would scare them away.

I swung the door open with a sigh, expecting to see a volunteer asking for donations for something. “Hi. Let me get my purs—”

The rest of the word died in my throat.

In front of me stood Riggs. Tall, gorgeous, rugged Riggs. His floppy blond hair wet from the rain, bracketing his face. There were so many emotions in his stare I couldn’t even begin to untangle them.

And .?.?. he wore a suit. A proper one too. With a jacket and bow tie and everything. For the first time in his life, my husband looked like a groom.

I’d never seen him looking so formal. So .?.?. drenched. My heart skipped three beats before trying to bulldoze its way out of my rib cage and jump into his arms.

Riggs is here. Riggs came to London to see me. Riggs, my husband. And .?.?. I’m wearing the most atrocious thing to ever be created, bless Tim.

The first thing I did was not trust my own eyesight. This was clearly a hallucination. Another step in my cognitive decline since I’d started eating junk food and drinking soda. I reached to pinch my arm, then immediately regretted it when I gave myself a bruise.

“Aw, Duffy, you daft cow.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my wife like that.” He frowned.

Oh. My. God.

Seriously, what was happening?

Too shocked to produce words, I simply stared at him, clutching the doorknob for dear life.

It seemed like a lifetime passed before he said anything. For the first few moments, he just drank me in, as I did him. Taking inventory of the person who used to share a roof with me and was now across a threshold.

“I brought waffles.” He raised a Tupperware container between us, then handed it to me. The condensation of hot, fluffy pastry adorned the plastic dish from within. I grabbed it and held it tightly, knowing my shaky hands weren’t to be trusted.

“Ch-ch-cheers . . . ?”

I needed to say something. He needed to say something. Somebody definitely ought to start this conversation. Was it an official breakup conversation? A let’s-get-back-together conversation? Were we even really together in the first place? My head was spinning.

“How did you make the waffles?” I blurted out. “You don’t .?.?. live here.”

Really? That’s your main focus right now?

“I rented an Airbnb.” He looked very intense, as though the task of making these waffles was the most important thing in the world to him. “They’re still hot, by the way.”

They were. They made my chest feel fuzzy from the heat.

“This is why it took me a couple days to get here after coming back from Sri Lanka,” he explained, still looking a little startled to find himself on my doorstep. “Hmm .?.?. are these PJs full of little pictures of your face?”

“I’m afraid so.” I glanced down on a sigh. “Actually, I’m quite terrified so, seeing as I wasn’t expecting any guests.”

Especially ones I consider the love of my life.

“Duff?” Kieran boomed from the living room. “Is it a serial killer? Did he finish the job? More food for us, I guess.”

“It’s fine!” My voice was high pitched. Riggs was still standing in the rain. In my shock I forgot to invite him in. “I’m wrestling him down to the floor and rolling him in the carpet before calling the police.”

“Brilliant. Let me know if you need help.” I heard Kieran munching on something crunchy. My eyes shifted back to Riggs.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked.

“What?” I gasped. “No, no, no. We’re just watching a stupid football movie where everyone is fully clothed. In horrible seventies clothes, no less.”

Riggs let out his familiar You’re-cute-when-you’re-neurotic chuckle.

“So, uhm, what’s up?” I asked after a pause. “I mean, I appreciate the waffles, but .?.?. why are you here?”

Was he here to hand me the signed divorce papers? I hadn’t asked for anything. Maybe he appreciated it and wanted to thank me in person for not turning out to be the money leech I appeared to be. Or maybe he wanted something else. I didn’t dare hope. Hope was the worst thing one could have when disappointment waited just around the corner, with its rust-tipped talons, ready to squeeze your soul out of you.

“Why am I here?” He let out a short breath, as if the question had just occurred to him. Raindrops clung to the tips of his lashes, and he looked like a beautiful vision. Something completely unreal. “I’m here because I thought about you every single day, every single hour, every single minute, every single second while I was in Sri Lanka.”

My insides felt like dominos, falling atop each other at an escalating speed.

“I’m here because everything you’ve ever offered Cocksucker, I want from you. Every kiss, every argument, every baby, everything. I’ve been wanting those things for a while from you, I think. But telling you this was admitting defeat. I promised myself very early in life I wouldn’t care. Would never be chained to a person, to a place. Which made watching you agonizing over him so fucking frustrating.” He took a ragged breath. “I’m here because if it weren’t for you, I’d have never met Charlie, and looking back at the whole thing .?.?. I’m glad I did, even if I only got to know him for a little while.”

My eyes felt hot, and I knew I was about to cry.

“I’m here because you made me feel, and no one else ever had, so I’d be a world-class fool not to explore that. I’m here because I loathed that you didn’t touch my money, because it proved that all the things you tried to be—untrustworthy, materialistic, superficial, ruthless—weren’t true at all. You are, and always will be, the girl who blew her entire savings on a poor stranger who couldn’t afford a subway ticket just because she cared.”

My entire body rocked back and forth with sobs now. Okay. That did escalate quickly.

“I’m here because I don’t want to get a divorce. I want to give this a fair shot. I think we can do it. But most of all .?.?.” His eyes met mine, and they seemed eager, anxious, full of determination. “I’m here because I’m fucking in love with you, Daphne Bates. And if I have to buy your love, then I’m not above that either. Mansions, yachts, country clubs, designer bags. Anything you want, I’ll give you. Just be with me.”

Daphne Bates.

I dropped the waffles at my feet, and we crashed into one another, like a perfect storm. Rain pounded on my head, my back, and my arms as I wrapped myself around him, my legs lacing over his waist. Riggs searched my lips instantly, and I tilted my head up and kissed him hard, rough, feeling his fingers twisting inside my hair, keeping me in place as his tongue invaded my mouth.

I moaned when his mouth descended from my lips to my neck. His face was cold, but his kisses burned hotter than the blazing sun. His fingers sank into the soft skin of my bum, and he ground me against his cock, making sure I knew he fancied me despite my silly jammies.

“Duff! Have you managed to roll our serial killer into the carpet yet?” Kieran’s voice pierced our little bubble. Riggs groaned into my shoulder. I could still feel his erection pressing against my center and cursed my twin brother inwardly when my husband disconnected from me, putting me down gently.

By the tone of Kieran’s voice, I knew he was aware it was Riggs at the door and was now simply taking the piss.

“Yes,” I groaned, rolling my eyes and tugging Riggs inside, where it was warm and dry. “The police are on their way.”

“Goodie. Let me know when they’re here so I can put the kettle on.”

Riggs and I looked at each other again. He was dripping water all over the carpet, and I was quite sure Mum was going to kill us both when she found out.

“Can we take this to the kitchen?” I asked.

“Is that where you’re going to tell me you’ve moved on and aren’t interested in giving us a try?” A guarded look clouded his face.

“As if.”I swatted his chest. “I’ll go get the waffles. You go upstairs and dry off before you catch pneumonia. I have loads of plans for you, and you need to be healthy for all of them.”

Fifteen minutes later, Riggs, Kieran, and I were all in the kitchen, wolfing down waffles with Nutella, nursing steaming-hot teas. Kieran was leaning against the kitchen counter, finishing off the Nutella by dragging his finger inside the tub.

“So, does this mean you two are back together now? Shelby would love a double date.”

I turned to look at Riggs for confirmation from my vantage point of sitting in his lap. He didn’t even spare me a look.

“Book that double date. While you’re at it, tell all of Duffy’s admirers to stop knocking on the door unless they want their fingers broken.”

Kieran’s eyebrows lifted. “I’ll try to get the message to the press. And since Duffy told me you’re a gazillionaire, does this mean you’re going to invest in our chippy?”

“Kieran!” I chided, appalled.

“Do you want me to invest in your chippy?” Riggs’s arms tightened around my waist, and I felt a thrill, knowing I belonged to him and he belonged to me.

“I want a Covent Garden branch,” Kieran said, ignoring me completely. “Tourists love Covent Garden. We can make bank.”

“Because there isn’t any fish-and-chips in any of the hundred pubs in Covent Garden?” I huffed.

“Not like ours, no,” Kieran said with conviction.

“I’ll invest in you,” Riggs said airily. “On one condition.”

“The answer is yes.” Kieran dumped the empty Nutella jar in the bin. “Unless the condition is I snog the fox that lives in our backyard, in which case the answer is still yes, but let’s all pretend I tried to negotiate it.”

Riggs laughed. “I’ll never do that to the fox. But I do need you to give us some space. Duffy and I aren’t done talking.”

“‘Talking.’” Kieran used air quotes. “All right, then. I’ll be in the living room if you need me, trying to mentally block what’s about to happen here, next to my beloved food.”

“We won’t be needing you,” I assured him.

Kieran crept out of the kitchen. I turned to look at Riggs, who grinned down at me wolfishly, slipping his big palm into the front of my jammies.

I’d missed this. No matter where we were or what we were doing, the man was always in the mood.

“So?” he asked. “What do you say? Are we giving this thing a chance?”

“We better.” I rubbed my nose against his affectionately, hugging him. “Since I’m in love with you, too, and have absolutely no interest in mansions, yachts, and country clubs.”

I left the designer bags part out. I wouldn’t say no to a new Chanel or two. You know, down the line.

“That’s good to hear.” His palm patted me down there, his tone turning smoky.

“What made you come here?” I asked. “I mean, what made you change your mind?”

“My mind was never changed. I’ve always wanted you.” Riggs started drawing lazy circles between my thighs. It was incredibly hot. “But I was always sure you’d turn your back on me and get back with BJ. And I didn’t want to disclose my financial situation because I didn’t want you to be with me for the wrong reasons. Actually .?.?.” He pushed one finger in, through my jammies. Ahhhh. “That’s a lie. I did. I did want you to be with me and fuck the reason why. But the prospect of losing to Cocksucker even if I had a fatter bank account was paralyzing. So I convinced myself I didn’t do monogamy. But then I saw your letter when I got back from Sri Lanka and realized not only that you weren’t with Cocksucker, but that you actually wanted to grant me a divorce. And divorce isn’t something I’m ever going to consider, just so you know.”

I moaned, partly because what he said was swoonworthy, and partly because he was now circling my clit with his thumb.

“Now, do you have any questions for me?” He looked at me seriously.

How could he expect me to think straight when I was so close to an orgasm? He dipped his index and middle fingers into me, still encircling my tight bud with his thumb, gaining speed and using the perfect pressure.

“Did you .?.?. uhm, you know, when we were apart .?.?.??” I choked out halfway through the question.

Sleep with other women?

He shook his head. “Not when I was mad at you and we lived together. Not after I was gone. Not during my travels. Not ever. I’ve been faithful to you from the day I moved in with you.”

“But I smelled other women’s perfume on you.”

“Arya’s.” His chest quaked with a chuckle. “I crashed at Christian’s when we were on bad terms. Their entire apartment smells like lilies.”

“What about Gretchen?” I started panting. I was very close to climaxing.

“Gretchen?” He sounded surprised. “I told her to go screw herself months ago. She was in town from DC while you and I were married.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” My question was more of a sigh. The pressure building between my legs was unbearable, and I knew I was about to come apart any moment now. Riggs increased the pressure, and I tried not to think about how we were doing this in my parents’ kitchen and any one of my family members could walk right in at any moment and catch us.

“There wasn’t a point.” He trailed his tongue along my jaw. “You were stressed about finding a job, and it wasn’t like Gretchen stood half a chance. From the moment I saw you, Poppins, I was all yours.”

I came riding his hand. Riggs watched me the entire time. When the brain fog of the orgasm began to evaporate, I got up on shaky legs and hurried to get some water. Riggs leisurely stood up and washed his hands.

“So .?.?. what’s next?” I heard myself ask tightly. I still couldn’t believe my luck. “You’ll be traveling the world and coming to visit me here?”

I couldn’t help but remember what had stopped me from fantasizing about something more with Riggs. His inability to stay in one place for a long period of time was always there, and I doubted he wanted to change.

Riggs smiled. “I was thinking our marriage could be more traditional. As my wife might say—I’m no spring chicken anymore. Besides, settling down is not all that bad when there’s someone next to you you’re obsessed with.”

We met halfway in my parents’ kitchen.

“London or New York?” I asked.

“Let’s flip a coin.”

He produced one from his wallet.

“Heads New York, tails London,” I said.

He tossed it in the air, then flipped it on the back of his palm, covering it.

“You ready?” He looked up at me. I nodded.

Riggs revealed our future location.

We both laughed.

“Perfect.” He kissed my forehead. “Absolutely perfect.”