THIRTY-THREE ARABELLA

THIRTY-THREE

Arabella

I WAKE UP SLOWLY, struggling to keep my eyes open at first. This bed is like sleeping on a cloud, as are the pillows, and I’m reluctant to leave it. Then I remember.

Sitting straight up, I push my hair out of my eyes and that’s when I notice the single pink rose in a pink bud vase, sitting on my nightstand. There’s an envelope sitting next to it and I grab it, opening the card to find a drawing of a fashionable dark-haired woman on the front of it, her long brown hair trailing behind her, her eyes covered in massive dark sunglasses.

The image reminds me of … me.

I crack open the card to find a simple Happy Birthday greeting, accompanied by a note.

I SAW this card when I went into town for last minute Thanksgiving supplies a few days ago and thought of you. You’re a lovely young woman who makes our Rowan smile and that’s a rare sight to see, so thank you. I hope you come to visit us again soon.

Xo,

Marilee

I CLUTCH the card to my chest, overwhelmed with emotion. Even their cook thought of me and snuck into my room to leave me a rose and a card. I cannot handle how sweet everyone in this house is.

I really can’t.

There’s a gentle knock on my door and I drop the card on the duvet cover, scrambling out of bed and snagging my robe that’s on a nearby chair, hurriedly pulling it on as I go to answer the door. I fully expect to find Marilee standing there with a welcoming smile on her kind face but when I yank the door open, I’m surprised.

It’s Wren, holding a tray in front of her. I spot the silver dome covering the plate, the cup of coffee and glass of orange juice, and another, smaller bud vase with a pale pink rose in it. I touch my chest, gasping. That she took time out of her day to bring me this? So thoughtful.

“Happy Birthday! Marilee made you breakfast, and I volunteered to bring it to you. I’m so glad you’re awake.” She gestures with the tray. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course.” I step aside, holding the door open for her as she enters my bedroom. “You didn’t have to bring me breakfast.”

“But it’s your birthday so let us all indulge you today. I have a feeling you’re going to get utterly spoiled and it’s going to be wonderful.” She turns to look at me, standing right beside the bed. “Do you want to eat it in bed or at the desk?”

“In bed,” I admit, running toward it and diving under the covers, my robe still covering me. I spread the covers over the top of me, making them nice and smooth before she settles the tray over my lap.

“Whew, it was heavy.” Wren takes a step back, shaking out her hands. “Do you need any help?”

“No, I think I’ve got it.” I lift the silver dome to find a plate filled with Marilee’s perfectly scrambled eggs, two pieces of crisp bacon and two slices of whole wheat toast. “Aw, these are all my favorites. Thank you for bringing this to me.”

“You’re welcome.” Wren clutches her hands in front of her, watching me. “Do you need anything else?”

I take in everything that’s on the tray. Orange juice and a cup of coffee plus a few packets of sugar and creamer. The silverware and cloth napkin and even a couple of containers of strawberry jam cover the tray. “I think I’ve got everything I need.”

“Good.” She smiles, looking nervous, and I can’t help but frown at her. “Rowan told me about your apprenticeship. It sounds wonderful, Arabella.”

“Oh.” When did he find time to tell her? It’s barely eight o’clock and he fell asleep in my bed last night—both of us were too exhausted to mess around and that’s fine. I enjoyed sleeping with Row, all snuggled up with him. He didn’t seem to mind either. “Yes. I’m excited.”

She watches me carefully. “You don’t sound terribly excited.”

“I AM .” I put on my best, brightest smile. The one that is fake as hell. “I can’t wait to go to Paris!”

“Have you been there before?”

“A few times.”

“And you’re spending Christmas at The Ritz.”

I pause in scooping up a forkful of eggs. Boy, Rowan did tell her everything. “I am. With my parents.”

“That sounds fun.”

I meet her gaze. “Do you want me to be truthful?”

“Always.”

“I prefer spending the holidays here. Your family is so … close. And kind. And fun. I really enjoyed yesterday.” I tried to, at least. I was too preoccupied by what felt like my impulsive decision. Leave it to my mother to put a damper on the holiday, and she’s not even here. “Not that I’m a part of your family, but you make me feel that way. And I don’t come from a big family. I’ve spent a lot of holidays by myself. Well, with servants. Or Lancaster Prep staff.”

Wren settles right on the edge of my mattress, reaching out to rest her hand on top of my leg. “I hate hearing that. It breaks my heart, but I’m so glad that we’ve made you feel welcome. Rowan cares about you, Arabella. He just wants to see you happy.”

Oh wow. This means he really talked about me with his mother and I … I don’t know what to say. This moment feels important and I need to react properly.

“I care about him too,” I admit.

Her smile is faint. “It’s not easy making Rowan smile, especially after his accident, though he’s always been a serious child. Since you’ve been here, it’s rare to see Row not smiling. You’re responsible for that.”

I think of an angry Rowan yesterday when he got jealous over my conversation with August, and I’m glad she didn’t see that. “He thinks I’m silly.”

“I think he’s in love with you.” Wren slaps her hand over her mouth while I gape at her. She drops her hand and murmurs, “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

My heart, my entire being, is glowing over what she said. “I think I’m in love with him too.”

“I’m sure you don’t want to talk about this with his mother, but if you do feel that way, tell him. Don’t hold back, especially since you’re leaving soon.”

That’s exactly why I wouldn’t say anything. What’s the point, if I’m going to Paris in a few weeks? Why would I admit that I’m in love with him when I can’t be with him? It’s best if I keep my feelings to myself and get over him as fast as I can. I’ll be busy once I start my apprenticeship. I’ll work hard every day to the point of exhaustion and then I won’t think about him because I’ll be too tired.

Right. Like I could forget him. I’m only fooling myself. Meaning I’m an absolute fool if I think I can “work hard” and erase him, and what we have shared, from my memories. Please.

“Okay, well, eat up! You have a big day planned.” Wren jumps to her feet and rushes toward the door, turning to look at me one last time before she leaves. “Want me to tell Rowan you’re awake?”

“If you’d like.” I shrug, trying to play it off—play off my feelings for her son, which are big and overwhelming and enough to make me cry.

But I don’t cry. I keep the smile fixed on my face until she shuts the door and once she’s gone, I collapse against the stack of pillows behind me, jostling the tray on my lap. My appetite is gone and I feel terrible. Marilee fixed this breakfast for me as a special treat and I should enjoy it.

Determined, I sit back up and scoop up some eggs, shoving them in my mouth. Nibble on a slice of bacon. Add creamer to the coffee and take a sip. It’s going to be a good day, even if I have to fake it.

O NCE I ’VE TAKEN a shower and gotten ready for the day—Rowan never did come to my room, though he did send me a Happy Birthday text while I was in the shower—I make my way downstairs, bracing myself. I’m sure I’ll be greeted by well wishes for my birthday and while it’s nice, I’m not used to receiving acknowledgment from really … anyone. I’ve always preferred acting like it’s just another normal day. That way I’m not disappointed.

But the moment I walk into the family room, I find Wren in the middle of the room, giving orders to Beau, who’s standing on a ladder and moving the very balloons she said she would get for my party.

“Mom, this is dumb. The balloons look fine,” Beau grumbles as he grabs hold of three streams and drags the balloons closer to where he is.

“Stop complaining and help your poor short mother out.” Wren catches sight of me and beams. “There’s the birthday girl! Tell Arabella Happy Birthday, Beau.”

“Happy Birthday, Beau,” he says, grinning.

I laugh. “Thank you.”

Wren rolls her eyes, ignoring him. “I know it seems early, but we’re setting up for your party. The guests should be showing up later this afternoon, around four or so? And we’ll serve dinner—pizza, as per your request—and there’s a DJ coming who’ll set up in here and play music if anyone wants to dance.”

“A DJ?” I’m shocked. I thought this was going to be a small, simple affair amongst the family.

“Well, we need music at a party, am I right? Though Whit was offended that I didn’t ask him to help out. When the kids were younger, he was always the DJ at parties.”

I can’t even begin to imagine that. I didn’t really speak to Whit Lancaster yesterday because he’s thirty million times more intimidating than his son. And while that sounds like an exaggeration, it’s really not.

“It’s true,” Beau pipes up, most likely because he saw the disbelief flit across my face. “He has great taste in music.”

“See?” Wren’s smile fades. “I’m thinking that maybe you should leave for a few hours? It’s not that I want to get rid of you, but I don’t want you to see everything we’re doing for the party.”

“Mom, she could help,” Beau groans.

“The birthday girl does not have to help set up for her own party. That’s a rule.” Wren turns to face Beau, who’s still standing on the ladder. She rests her hands on her hips. “Your father will be home soon. He texted me a few minutes ago that he finished his golf game.”

Sheesh. How early did the man go play golf?

“And Marilee will help. Patrick said he would too.”

“Isn’t he the driver?” I ask.

“Patrick has been in our lives since we were teens. He and Crew are very close. He drives us wherever we need to go if we don’t feel like doing it ourselves. He’ll go pick up the children from school. He putters around the house and outside. He calls himself a jack of all trades.” Wren laughs. “We tried to gently force him into retirement a few years ago, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He’s practically a part of the family.”

“I call him Uncle Pat,” Beau adds.

Wren shakes her head. “He does not.”

The front door slams and we both turn to find Rowan entering the family room, his cheeks ruddy from the cold air outside, his hair windblown. He’s wearing a thick black coat over a gray Lancaster Prep hoodie and a matching pair of sweatpants, and I’ve never seen him look better. It takes everything I’ve got within me not to hurl myself at him and beg him to run away with me.

Preferably not to Paris.

“Happy Birthday,” he murmurs when his gaze lands on me, his perfect lips curved into a perfect smile. “Don’t you look pretty today.”

I swear I just heard the tiniest squeal come from his mother.

“Thank you.” I am blushing. My face is hot and I’m shuffling my feet like I’m a bashful little girl. Such silly behavior because I am now officially an adult. “Where were you?”

“Had to run a quick errand.” He jerks his thumb toward the foyer. “And I left the car out front. Thought maybe we could go for a drive?”

“That is a perfect idea. I want Arabella out of the house while we set up for her party.” Wren gives me a gentle shove toward Rowan. “Go. Enjoy yourselves. Take her to lunch maybe.”

“I never ate breakfast,” Rowan admits.

“You’re a growing boy, Rowan. You shouldn’t skip a meal.” I smile brightly at him. “Let’s go get you fed.”

We leave the house in a hurry, though I come to a stop on the steps when I see the car parked in the drive. “Is that your vehicle, Rowan?”

“Yeah.” He stops to stand beside me, pride filling his voice. “That was my birthday present when I turned sixteen.”

I glance over at him. “What is it?”

“A Ferrari—and it’s fast as fuck.” He lifts his brows. “Want to go for a spin?”

“I don’t want to crash and possibly—die on my birthday,” I tell him.

“I won’t drive too fast.” He holds his hand out toward me, his pinky extended. “Promise.”

We hook pinkies and then he runs ahead of me, opening the passenger car door. “Get in, birthday girl.”

I slide onto the smooth leather seat, sinking right in. He shuts the door and rounds the front of the car, giving me plenty of time to watch him, and when he catches me staring, he smiles. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of it. It feels so—intimate, the way he’s looking at me right now. My heart flutters. My stomach flutters.

The spot between my legs flutters.

I’m still staring at him when he climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, which purrs like a kitten. A kitten that’s really a tiger because I can practically feel the power in the rumbling sound. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“I’ve never seen you drive before.”

“When I broke my ankle, my dad drove the car back here from campus because he didn’t want me doing something stupid. Not that I could actually drive with that boot on my right foot,” Rowan explains.

“You had this car on campus.” I rest my hand against my chest. “I never knew.”

What a missed opportunity. Not that Rowan was particularly interested in me before. It took a while for him to see just how perfect we are together.

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs. “And I’ll be driving it back there when we return to campus Sunday.”

Ugh. School. Reality. I don’t want to go back. I love it here. Everything is different at the Lancaster house, even Rowan himself. Once we’re back on campus, people will be watching us. Most likely gossiping about us. Will the gossip and attention freak him out? What if he starts acting distant? I only have a few weeks left before I leave Lancaster Prep forever.

I push the thought out of my brain. I can’t focus on that right now. Today is a good day. No negativity allowed.

“Are we going to keep sitting here or are you going to take me for a drive?” I’m goading him and he responds in typical boy fashion.

“Put your seat belt on, Bells.” He grips the steering wheel and revs the engine, which roars like a lion. “And hold on.”

He shifts the car into drive and hits the gas, the force of it all making my head knock back against the seat. I grip the handle on the passenger side door, my mouth hanging open as he whips the car around the circular drive, the tires squealing and the back end swaying.

“Rowan!” I’m yelling, my hair flying across my face when he lowers both windows, the cold air whipping into the interior of the car.

Tilting his head back, he laughs at me, his foot heavy on the gas, his hands firmly gripping the steering wheel. He peels out of the driveway onto the road and now we’re going even faster.

“It’s freezing!” I wrap my arms around myself.

“Aw, come on, Bells. Speeding down the road with the wind blasting across our faces on your eighteenth birthday—doesn’t this feel like freedom?” He glances over at me, flashing that intimate smile at me once again before he returns his attention to the road.

“Stare straight ahead,” I tell him, wagging my finger. “And don’t go above the speed limit.” He groans. “I mean it, Row! I’d like to arrive at our destination in one piece.”

Rowan lets up on the gas, though I can see that he’s still driving a little over the posted limit. He hits the button and both windows slide back up, the warmth from the heater filling the interior once again, and I relax against the seat.

“That’s better,” I murmur.

“You’re no fun,” he tells me, sounding like a pouty baby.

“Please.” I settle my hand on his firm thigh and give it a squeeze. “I am the most fun you’ve ever had.”

His chuckle is rich and warm and settles deep within me. “You’re not wrong, Bells. You’re not wrong.”