FIFTY-ONE ROWAN

FIFTY-ONE

Rowan

I’M PACING the kitchen to the annoyingly cheerful Christmas music my mother has playing in the background while she makes cookies, and Willow is helping her. She arrived this morning from college, and they’re having the best time bonding over holiday cookie recipes while I feel like I’m slowly dying inside, waiting for Arabella to text me.

“What’s wrong with you?” Willow asks, her tone vaguely hostile as any older sister’s voice can be.

“He’s waiting for his girlfriend to call him,” Mom answers for me.

“You have a girlfriend?” Willow sounds surprised.

My gaze shifts to Mom. “You didn’t tell her?”

“I figured that’s your personal life. It should be up to you to let her know you have someone you care about.”

“Who is she?” Willow asks.

“Arabella Hartley Thomas.” I start pacing again because just saying her name out loud is enough to send me into a spiral.

“Wait a minute. Isn’t that the girl who used to drive you crazy?” Willow frowns.

“One and the same.” I nod.

“Now she drives him crazy in another way,” Mom says, sounding amused. Willow laughs. “She’s a lovely girl. I think you’d adore her.”

“I probably would. You should invite her over.”

“Can’t. She’s in Paris.”

“Oh.” They share a look but I ignore them. “Hopefully I meet her sometime soon.”

My phone buzzes and I check it to see a notification from Arabella.

Bells: Can you talk?

“I’ll be right back,” I tell them as I sprint out of the kitchen and up to my bedroom. Only once the door is locked do I call her.

“Are you okay?” is how I greet her when she answers.

The shaky exhale I hear is enough to tell me that no. She’s not. “I want to come home.”

“Then come home.”

“I have nowhere to go.” She sniffs and fuck, she’s crying.

“Yeah, you do. Come here.”

“My mother is basically holding my bag hostage so I can’t get a flight out of here. She has my wallet.”

“Book the flight on your phone. You have your account numbers saved in there, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I have apps but I-I never book a flight for myself. She always does it for me.” Arabella is full-blown crying now. “I just want to leave. I told her I don’t want that apprenticeship. I only did it to make her proud of me but she really set that up so she could have an excuse to see her secret lover whenever she wanted. She—she used me.”

“Aw, Bells.” I settle on the edge of my bed, hanging my head as I listen to her sob. “I can come and get you.”

“How?”

“We have a private plane. The family does.”

She actually starts to laugh and though it sounds sad, at least she’s not crying anymore. “Of course, you do. I should’ve known.”

“I can make a call and fly out by tonight—at the latest tomorrow morning.” I put her on speaker and open the text thread between me and my dad, sending him a quick message. “Tell me and I’ll make it happen, Bells.”

“You would do that for me?” She sounds so full of doubt and I fucking hate that. Her parents are the worst.

“I would do anything for you, Arabella. Just say the word and I’ll be there.”

She’s quiet for a moment, most likely absorbing my words, and finally she speaks. “Come get me, Rowan. I need you.”

“Done. I’ll keep you posted.” I pause, reading my dad’s response to my question. “I can leave tonight.”

“Okay. Please do. I’m at The Ritz.”

“That’s a nice hotel.”

“In the Coco Chanel suite, being held prisoner. Doesn’t sound so nice, does it?” A shaky laugh leaves her. “I can’t believe I’m making jokes.”

“Better than crying. Dry your eyes, baby. I’m on my way.” I rise to my feet, contemplate packing a bag but fuck it. “I’ll let you know when we fly out and my estimated time of arrival.”

“Okay.” She pauses. “Row?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

I end the call and decide to gather a few things after all, shoving extra clothes in my backpack before I sling it over my arm and head down the stairs. I make my way to the kitchen where the Christmas songs are now playing at full blast and my sister and mom are singing along, Mom rolling out dough on the counter while Willow is taking a sheet of cookies out of the oven. The moment Mom spots me, she turns down the volume on her phone, causing Willow to turn around and watch me as well.

“Where are you going?” Mom asks.

I grip the strap of my backpack. “I’m flying to Paris to get my girl.”