Page 16

Chapter One

Bee

I lie in the tumble of sheets, panting and trying to draw in air. “Fuck,” I finally say.

There’s a chuckle, and then the sheets heave, and Tom’s head pops out. His brown hair is a wild mess, and his cheeks are flushed. “Good?”

“I don’t have any words to describe how good that blowjob was.”

He rolls his eyes. “You lie. You always have thousands of words.”

I snort and tug at him. “Come here. My turn.”

“No need.” He slumps to the side of me and wipes a wet hand very slowly and deliberately down my torso. “I took care of it.”

I start to laugh and shove him. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you still love me.”

I snuggle into him, ignoring the sticky come that is going to have the consistency and durability of wallpaper paste very soon, and kiss him. When I pull away, I whisper, “So much.”

We lie awhile, watching the shadows move across the hotel room. It’s a beautiful space with a huge bed and a view over the canal. Even the duvet and sheets feel expensive.

I wrinkle my nose. “This must have cost a fortune, Tom.”

“You’re worth it.”

“Well, I know that .”

He chuckles. “I’ve got so many points from travelling with work that I thought it would be nice to use them.”

I turn my head on the pillow to study him thoughtfully. He travels with work often, so that statement made perfect sense, but I know Tom Wright — probably better than I know myself — I know he’s concealing something. I’m not extraordinarily perceptive; it’s just that he is incapable of lying. It’s one of his most endearing traits.

I consider whether to entertain myself by questioning him. It always yields amusing results, but I decide against it. He’ll tell me in his own time.

“That was a good idea of yours, babe,” he says sleepily.

“Which one? I have many.”

He pinches my hip, making me squirm and chuckle because I’m ticklish there, and he knows it.

When we settle again, he continues speaking. “Suggesting Jack and Arlo share a room was a good idea. I was worried that Jack would end up in another hotel. He needs to be with us.”

That last bit came out slightly messianic in tone, but I ignore it.

“He gets on well with Arlo,” I say tentatively.

He hums in agreement. “Yeah. They’re practically brothers.”

I blink. The last time I saw a sibling relationship with Jack and Arlo’s vibe, I was watching Game of Thrones . I refrain from mentioning it, though. I’m not sure what he’d think of me matchmaking his brother and his best friend. Although very discerning with most things, I’ve noticed that Tom can be startlingly oblivious to others, namely whatever is going on with Arlo and Jack lately.

I dismiss that as a concern for another day and turn over, feeling him snuggle up behind me. “How long have we got?” I say, giving a huge yawn before I can stop myself. I’m too tired to even reach for my glasses on the table.

“We’ve got time for a nap. We’re meeting for dinner at seven, and then we’re having an early night.”

I yawn again, feeling the stretch in my jaw. “I can’t work out why I’m so tired.”

“Maybe because you’ve been going hell for leather on that uni project, and then we had to travel to Oxford for the early Christmas with your dad.”

“Your dinner was lovely, but I think the least said the better about the dessert.”

He snorts. “I’m sure some people would like mayonnaise with their Christmas pudding. I’m just at a bit of a loss as to who they are.”

“They’re all safely locked away out of harm’s reach of the general public.” I shake my head. “How could my dad possibly mix up cream and mayonnaise? And did you notice he actually ate it?” He makes a retching noise. “He’s the ditsiest person I’ve ever met.”

“Hmm.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing, my love.”

I pinch his arm, chuckling at his theatrical gasp. “Are you sorry you didn’t see your mum and dad before we left?”

There’s a slightly too-long pause. “No,” he finally says. “Of course not. We’ll see them at New Year.”

“You sure? Maybe we should give them a call.”

“ No .”

I jerk. “Bloody hell, Tom. Inside voice, please.”

“Sorry.” He kisses my ear. “You won’t get them anyway. They’re away.”

“Are they? You never told me that. Where have they gone?”

“Oh, erm—” The silence lengthens. “Mexico.”

“Really? We saw them last week, and they never said they were going on a trip.”

“It probably slipped their minds.”

That’s perfectly reasonable. Quite a lot seems to slip Tom’s parents’ minds, but I adore them. They’re warm, funny, and all-round amazing people who’ve welcomed me into the family enthusiastically. Still, I get that sense again of something unsaid with Tom. There are currents swirling around me that I can’t quite put my finger on.

“Okay,” I say, giving up when he stays silent. He’s as stubborn as a mule, and he’ll dig his heels in if I push him.

I reach for his hand and kiss his fingers. Then I settle into the pillows, feeling the expensive sheets on my body and letting my tiredness take me under.

I wake up when he kisses my neck, nuzzling under my hair. “You awake in there?” he says, his voice sexily hoarse.

“I think so,” I mumble.

He falls back into the covers, and I come up on one elbow. “Do you want the first shower?”

He winks. “How about we share? You know how I’m hyper-focused on water waste.”

I smirk at him. “Me too. What a coincidence.”

I climb out of bed, feeling the warmth of the room with pleasure. Our house needs a new boiler, and it’s very chilly, which seems to mostly suit Tom, who has an aversion to being too hot. In my opinion, a polar bear would baulk at walking on our cold floors. I wander to the window instead of the bathroom, drawn by the soft light filtering through the blind. I raise the blind and gasp. “Oh, this is so pretty, Tom.”

He climbs out of bed and pads over, drawing me back against him and resting his chin on my shoulder. “Wow.”

We’re looking out onto the canal, and the water sparkles, reflecting the light from the ornate lampposts that line the canal. A small bridge festooned with fairy lights arches over the water, and strings of beautiful snowflake decorations have been draped along the street. They’re waving in the breeze, making everything twinkle.

“ So pretty,” I breathe again. I turn in his arms, feeling all his hot skin against mine, and clasp my hands around his neck. “Thank you,” I say, smiling up at him. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

He seems to pause. Even his breathing stops, and I look at him in concern. “Tom?”

He jerks as if I just applied electrodes. “Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine. Why?”

“You’re just being a bit weird.”

“I don’t know how you can use that label on me after we hosted your friend from college last month.”

I grimace. “I am sorry about that. I’m sure eating soap is a delicacy for some people.”

“Only if they live in the Dove factory.”

He wanders into the bathroom whistling, and I take a second to admire the sight of his arse. Then I realise he never answered my question.

I shake my head and stoop to pick up our clothes scattered across the floor. We’d barely got two feet into the room before Tom had picked me up and shagged me against the wall. We’d then staggered to the bed for a second round.

I hear the shower start, and he pops his head around the door. “You coming?”

“Yeah.” I grin at him as I put the clothes on the soft chair in the corner of the room. His jeans are heavy when I start to fold them. “What have you got in here?” I laugh. “Did you forget to leave your work phone behind again?” I let out a startled gasp as he leaps across the floor in one bound and snatches them from my hands. “What the fuck , Tom?”

“Sorry,” he says, backing away from me as if I were radioactive.

I stare at him. “What is the matter with you? Have you lost your mind?”

“That happened a long time ago.”

“Well, there’s no need to snatch.”

“Sorry,” he says again.

“I was just going to unpack and pop them in the wardrobe with the other clothes.”

“No need,” he says quickly. He takes another step back, catching his foot in the trailing sheets and falling over with a grunt of surprise.

“What the fuck?” I hurry over and peer down at him. He’s lying on the floor, still clutching those bloody jeans. “Are you okay?” I ask anxiously. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“I’m fine. Absolutely fine. Couldn’t be better.” I blink as he sits up and shoves the jeans behind him. “I’ll wear them tonight.”

“Fine. I wasn’t going to chop them up and make you eat them.”

“Haha.” It’s way too loud.

I stare at him. “Are you quite sure you’re okay, lovey? You’ve been so busy lately. Are you tired?”

His company is very busy at the moment, and he’s had to work away a lot over the last few months. He’s also taken on more overtime for some secret project he won’t tell me about.

He gets to his feet and pats my cheek affectionately. “I’m fine, babe. Thank you, though.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he steps past me, and I notice he’s still clutching those bloody jeans.

“Want me to wash your back?” he asks. He shoots me a naughty wink. “And your front.”

My thoughts drift away, replaced by the knowledge of what he looks like naked in the shower with the water flowing over his fine body. “Definitely,” I say, hearing his husky chuckle.

The bar is lovely. It’s wood-panelled and small, with old pictures on the wall whose colours have faded. It’s full and very loud, but the atmosphere is jolly. In fact, everywhere we’ve been, the atmosphere has been the same. The Dutch are very welcoming people.

The table is already full of empties, and I can tell this holiday is not going to be good for my liver. Even as I think this, Freddy comes back with another tray of shots, placing them carefully on the table with the attention to detail he shows when he’s pissed.

“Drink up,” he shouts.

I turn back to Jack. “So, I tried to get tickets for the Rembrandt exhibition, but it looks like they’re full.”

He draws himself away from his not-very-covert observation of Arlo and winks at me. “That’s sort of your theme at Christmas, isn’t it?”

“Hey, don’t knock it. It got me Tom.”

His smile softens. “And I’m incredibly pleased by that, Bee.”

I smile at him. He’s become one of my favourite people this year. He’s kind and simply wonderful.

He grins back at me, but it fades, and his eyes go wide as Tom says from behind me, “Bee Bannister?”

I spin around, but as I do, I knock Tom’s hand, and something flashes in the air and lands with a tiny splash in my drink.

“Oh my god ,” Arlo shouts.

“What was that?” I ask, craning my neck to see. What feels like a Mexican wave of amusement passes round the table. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Tom mutters, fumbling for my glass.

“What went in my drink?”

“Oh, it was—” Silence falls, and I stare at him. “—just a euro,” he finishes.

I blink as he sticks his finger in my drink, frantically fishing around, his face full of concentration.

“Are you actually getting it out?” I squeak. “It’s just a euro. I’ll buy another drink. You’ll get your finger stuck.”

“Oh my god, that would be truly epic,” Arlo breathes. “Is there a real chance of that happening?”

Tom upends the glass, slamming his hand over the table. “Yes,” he says triumphantly.

I lick my lips. “Have you got the euro?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath. “Yes, I think so,” he says in a slightly high voice, then glares as Arlo breaks into laughter.

I consider questioning him but decide against it. I should expect a little quirkiness from this crowd. My companions smile as they all go back to talking and laughing. I can’t believe this time last year, we were sitting in a bar together but were complete strangers. Now, these people are some of my dearest friends and my favourites to be around. We’re just missing Sal and Ivy, who are away with work, and Theo and Georgina, who are on their honeymoon.

Grabbing my phone at that thought of absent friends, I slide out from under Tom’s arm and step out of the booth. “Where are you going to?” he asks.

“I’m just going to ring Ivy.”

“Really? Do you have to?” For some reason, he looks almost panicked.

“Yeah, I think I do,” I say slowly. “Why?”

“Oh.” He shakes his head. “No reason, babe. Give her my love and tell her to remember .” He says the final bit in the manner of someone who heads a crime family.

“Remember what?” I say in mystification.

He waves a casual hand. “Oh, just something to do with Christmas.”

Realisation dawns. “Ah, is it my present?” I wink at him. “I hope it’s big and long.”

Freddy snorts. “You’ll have to settle for small and temperamental.”

“Hey,” Tom says indignantly. “My dick is not an opera singer.”

Diana starts to laugh, and I gaze at her with affection. I really like her, so I hope Freddy keeps her. Considering how Freddy is with her, I’d say this is it for him, and nothing would make me happier than to see him happy. Arlo and Jack sit close together, as well, I note, feeling pleased. Their awareness of each other is very evident.

And I seem to have become a romantic matchmaker, which is ironic given the previous trajectory of my life. Abandoning that disturbing thought, I head for the door.

I suck in a breath when I get outside. The air is cold, and you can almost feel the snow on the wind. I look around in appreciation. Since I’ve been with Tom, we’ve travelled to all sorts of places together. He’d taken the fact that I’d rarely moved outside of Oxford and London as a challenge and booked weekends away and holidays. I love travelling with him. He’s my best friend and my lover all rolled into one, and I’ve never been with someone where it’s been so easy and natural, as if we’ve been together forever.

After clicking on Ivy’s contact picture, I hear the phone ring.

“Hey,” she says breathlessly when she picks up. The background is noisy, and it sounds like she’s at a bar.

“Hey, lovely. How’s it going?”

“Oh my god. Never mind that . What did you say ?” she squeals.

I blink. “Erm, I said, ‘Hey, lovely. How’s it going?’” I say very slowly.

There’s a long pause, and her voice sounds almost wary when she speaks. “Why are you ringing?”

“Just touching base. I’m not going to see you over Christmas, and I miss you.”

There’s another pause. “Oh, I miss you too,” she says quickly, her tone suspiciously even now.

I narrow my eyes. “Have you been drinking?”

“What? Oh, yes. Yes, I have. So much drinking.”

“Okay, lush. I’ll speak to you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she says fiercely. “I’m so pleased for you.”

“Are you? Why?”

“Oh. Erm, no reason. Because you’re in Amsterdam?”

“You’re such a weirdo,” I say lovingly and then end the call.

A text sounds, and when I look down, I read confirmation that we have tickets for tomorrow. I punch the air and shout, “Yes! Rembrandt.”

“What are you doing?” The amused voice comes from behind me, and I spin to find Tom watching me. His wavy hair is blowing in the breeze, and the colour in his cheeks has made his grey eyes glow.

I must be the luckiest man alive, I think as I move towards him. He opens his arms almost automatically, folding them around me and hugging me tightly.

“I was celebrating,” I say, hissing in satisfaction as he wraps his coat around both of us.

“Oh yes? Any particular reason?”

I look up at him. “I got the tickets for the Rembrandt exhibition.”

His lip twitches. “That’s wonderful .”

“Please don’t even bother—” I start to laugh and can’t finish the sentence.

“What?” he says, trying for indignant and failing miserably. “What did I say?”

“You’re trying to act like the tickets are a good thing.”

“Well, I’m sure they are for other people.”

Over the last year, we’ve learned that Tom is not great in museums and galleries. He dislikes moving at the slow pace I adopt and eventually becomes fidgety. He’d been apologetic at first, but I really couldn’t see why. I don’t need someone with me to appreciate art. I can do it fine all by myself and without Tom catching his arm on a fire alarm in a gallery like last time.

“Maybe I’ll give your ticket to Arlo,” I decide.

His eyes twinkle. “What a wonderful idea.” He stops me as I step out of his arms. “But save a spot in your diary. I still have a couple of things to show you on this holiday. Don’t think you’re getting away from me.”

“I wouldn’t even try,” I say, and at one point in my life, I might’ve thought my voice sounded too soft, too fond, and far too loving. But it’s Tom, and he deserves the vulnerability. I like that he sees this side of me. I’m not afraid anymore because I know he loves me just as fiercely.

“We’ll fit them in over the next few days. I want some alone time with you.”

Every time we’re away, we sneak off, and he shows me something quirky that he’s researched. His choices are always funny or thoughtful, and the fact that he takes such care and time makes something in me feel soft, protected, and cherished.

“It’s a date,” I say, and he kisses me.

“It certainly is,” he mutters against my lips, bringing me back into his arms.

When I open my eyes again, it seems like the whole of Amsterdam is full of twinkling lights.