THIRTY-SEVEN ROWAN

THIRTY-SEVEN

Rowan

I PACE the length of my room while I wait for Arabella’s text. She’s taking forever but I should’ve known. I remember how long my sister used to take getting ready and Mom is the same way. It makes my impatience ratchet up to about a twelve versus a ten, which is where I usually hover.

Damn, I need to learn how to control my emotions, especially when it comes to Bells. Seeing her in her robe casually chatting with my brother in the hallway did something to me, and I know I’m being fucking ridiculous, but it bothered me. Made me jealous and we’re talking about Beau. Arabella isn’t interested in him. She’s into me.

Acting like a possessive asshole isn’t going to earn points with Arabella, though there might be a small part of her that likes it. I don’t know. I’m curious about her conversation with my brother. I’d also love to know what she thought about the flowers I sent her. It was an impulsive move since I don’t have an actual birthday gift for her tonight, and I hope she liked them.

I let out an aggravated breath, running a hand through my hair. I came to the conclusion while in the shower that I want Arabella to be my girlfriend. I care about her. Might even be in love with her, though I shouldn’t tell her that. Not before she leaves for two years and I’ll most likely never see her again.

Holy shit, my thoughts are dramatic, but I’m trying to be honest with myself. Out of sight, out of mind may be a cliché, but it’s an accurate description. She’ll become busy. I’ll get busy. We’ll drift apart and then it’ll be over. Forgotten. Like we never existed together in the first place.

I rub at my chest, trying to ease the ache that forms there. The idea of not having Arabella in my life anymore …

It fucking hurts.

My phone buzzes and I check it, relieved to find it’s from Arabella.

Bells: I’m ready! Will you be a gentleman and come pick me up at my door please?

Anything for her. I don’t even bother responding to her text. I leave my room in record time and am knocking on her door, shoving my hands in my pockets while I wait for her to appear.

The door swings open and my jaw drops. She’s fucking gorgeous in a vivid red dress that shows off her long legs and clings to her curves. There are bows on her shoulders, thanks to the straps that tie there, and all I can think about is undoing them later tonight, long after the party is over and we’re in her room.

Swallowing hard, I croak, “Arabella.”

It’s all I can manage to say.

She grabs hold of her skirt and curtsies. “You look dashing tonight.”

I sort of forgot what I was wearing, I’m too entranced with her. “Thanks. You’re—beautiful.”

Her cheeks turn the faintest pink, which is normally unheard of. Not much embarrasses her, but I feel like today I’ve been making her blush constantly. “Thank you. I’m so glad I brought this dress. I always like to pack a special occasion outfit because you never know.”

Arabella pulls the door shut, smiling up at me. “Shall we?”

I offer her my arm, because she asked me to be a gentleman, and she curls hers around it.

Pulling her closer, I lead her along the hall when she murmurs, “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome.” I let my gaze linger on her, appreciating the dress yet again. “Almost the same color as your dress.”

“It’s like you knew what color I would wear. Fate.”

I’ve never believed in fate or destiny or any of that stuff. Horoscopes and signs and the stars aligned—it’s all a bunch of shit. Though I can admit: Arabella is probably the one person who could convince me that sort of thing is true.

We head down the stairs and I slow my pace, accommodating for the very high heels she’s wearing. They’re black and make her legs look even longer than they are, and I can’t help but let my gaze linger on them as we walk. I take her all in while she’s quiet, her energy somewhat nervous, and I appreciate her beauty. Her long, wavy dark hair that trails down her back and the dress. All that skin on display, the front of it dipping low, giving me a view of her cleavage. Even the glasses she’s wearing tonight are subtle. No flashy frames that draw people’s attention. She looks nothing like the girl I go to school with and see in class every day.

No, Arabella looks like a woman. A beautiful, sophisticated woman, and I’m filled with the sudden urge to beg her to stay here. With me. Fuck Paris.

But I banish the thought because I can’t be selfish. Not when it comes to this girl. She’s accommodated for others—like her shitty parents—her entire life. She doesn’t need me trying to tell her what to do. I refuse to be that guy. I’m greedy, but I’m not a selfish prick.

I’m not.

We come to a stop in the open doorway of the family room, which is living up to its description considering there’s an absolute shit ton of my family clustered in there. I’m shocked by the turnout, and from the look on Bells’s face, I’d say she is too.

“Happy Birthday, Arabella!” they all shout at once, as if they rehearsed it, and I step away from her so she can shine on her own, basking in their adoration.

I’m not lying when I say that either. Those that were with us yesterday for Thanksgiving told me they loved her and thought she was a great match for me—plenty of the women said this, especially my aunt Charlotte, who is a not-so-secret romantic.

“She looks at you like she’s in love with you,” Charlotte had told me yesterday, and my gaze somehow finds her now, where she’s standing next to my uncle Perry, both of them beaming. She raises a brow, as if she’s quietly telling me something, and I get it. I do.

Arabella does look at me like she’s in love with me and the look is reciprocated. Feels like all of her birthday guests are looking at her the same way, and they don’t even really know her that well yet.

“Oh my gosh, you guys! I can’t believe you did all of this for me!” Arabella is absorbed by them as they circle around her, giving me the chance to check out the decorations and everything my mom put together for this party. There are what looks like hundreds of balloons hanging from the ceiling and fresh flower arrangements are set on every available surface. There are servers standing at the ready with silver trays covered with appetizers, and I watch as my mother nods at one of them, launching them all into action as they start circulating through the room. There’s a makeshift bar set up in one corner and a DJ on the opposite side, who’s currently playing gentle background music as everyone mingles and wishes Arabella a happy birthday.

“Your mother went all out.”

I glance to my left to find my dad standing next to me, a proud look on his face. “She really did.”

“She likes Arabella.” His gaze turns sharp when he levels it on me. “Don’t fuck this up.”

If I was drinking something, I’d most certainly choke on it at his warning. “What makes you say I’m going to fuck it up?”

“You’re a male Lancaster. We don’t always make the best decisions.” Dad gestures toward Whit, who’s standing at the bar with his wife. “Just ask him.”

We’ve heard the story of Whit chasing after Summer when she was in Paris—ironic—since we were little kids, though I’m sure the version we know is a more cleaned-up version of the truth.

“And the men who aren’t Lancasters? They never hesitate to go after who they want. Like Spencer.” Dad nods in his direction. He’s with his son Christopher, though I have no idea where Sylvie is. “And Weston. He’s the biggest sap out of all of us.”

“Right, and you’re not?” I turn to face him, the disbelief obvious in my voice. “Come on, Dad. You spent a million bucks on Mom when you guys were my age.”

“She loved that painting.” His tone is wistful and before he can start talking about the infamous A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime , I keep talking.

“And you loved her.”

“You caught me.” He throws his arms up, though he doesn’t look mad. “I would’ve done anything for her. I still feel that way.”

My gaze hones in on Bells, who’s laughing with Iris and Brooks, August approaching them and pulling her in for a hug. I narrow my eyes, ready to cause fucking chaos when I see him put his hands on her, but it’s a brief hug and she disentangles herself quickly.

Beside me, Dad starts chuckling. “If you’re trying to deny how you feel about her, don’t bother. I can see it written all over your face. Pretty sure you were considering murdering August just now.”

A rough exhale leaves me. “I need to stop being so possessive.”

“There’s no point.” Dad slaps me on the shoulder. “It’s what we do in this family.”

“What are you two talking about?” Mom asks, her cheeks flushed, no doubt from the glass of champagne she just emptied. The party is barely getting started and Mom’s already lit.

“Nothing, Birdy.” Dad pulls her in for a hug and a too long kiss. “Just giving junior here some advice.”

“Junior?” I swipe a champagne flute off the tray of one of the servers who walks by. “Seriously?”

“Do you think Arabella likes the party?” Mom’s worried tone almost makes me smile.

“She loves it. Look at her. I don’t think she’s ever had this kind of party before that’s all about her.” I appreciate my mom doing so much for her.

Mom scowls. “And isn’t that awful? Her parents sound like a nightmare.”

“According to Grant, they are,” Dad adds. We both send him questioning looks and he explains himself. “We were talking about her parents last night. He mentioned that first night you guys came home that he sold them an apartment in Manhattan. He says the father is a pretentious asshole and his wife is a first-class snob. Considering Grant could, and I quote, ‘eat them for fucking dinner,’ he thought they were, and I quote again, ‘horribly obnoxious people.’”

Mom and I share a look, anger coursing through my blood. I hate Arabella’s parents and I’ve never even met them.

“When I was her age, my parents were kind of awful,” Mom admits.

“Even Grandma?” I love my grandma. She’s always overindulged all of us and used to come and stay with us during the summer for weeks at a time. Or we’d go to her house. She doesn’t travel as much as she used to but we still see her often, especially during Christmas. She likes to spend Thanksgiving going on a cruise with her friends. It’s been an annual tradition for her the last few years.

“When my parents were still married, they were—awful.” Mom winces. “Wrapped up in their own problems all the time. My father showered me with attention but now I look back and think he did that to make my mother angry.”

I hate hearing that. My grandfather died when I was little, so I don’t have many memories of him.

“I relate to Arabella more than I like to admit. I could’ve been her, or she could’ve been me.” Mom’s smile is small. “But she’s got a lot more strength than I ever did.”

“I don’t know about that, babe.” Dad wraps her up in his arms, kissing her yet again, like he can’t help himself. Mom pats him on the chest, smiling up at him. “You have always been one of the strongest women I’ve known.”

I drain my glass in one massive swallow, setting it on a nearby table.

“I’m going to leave you two alone,” I inform them before I take off, not in the mood to get caught up in their conversation. I’ve heard the majority of their stories before and I’m more in the mood to make my own stories tonight.

With Arabella.

She spots me as I approach her, her expression shifting, a big smile stretching across her pretty face. I smile back, letting all of the emotions I feel toward her shine in my eyes, and she goes still, clutching a champagne flute that’s still full of golden, bubbly liquid, her big brown eyes tracking my every step as I make my way toward her.

I’ll never forget this moment. The way she’s watching me, surrounded by my family, that red dress and those black heels. The lipstick she’s wearing is the same shade as the dress, and I imagine kissing it off her. Right in front of everyone.

Once I’m standing before her, I haul her into my arms and do exactly that, kissing her soundly to the hoots and hollers of everybody in the room. There’s even a smattering of applause, someone whistles loudly, and when we break apart, I reach out, brushing the corner of her mouth, smudging her lipstick.

“Couldn’t resist,” I murmur, and she laughs, wrapping her arms around my neck …

Just before she kisses me again.