“I wish I knew what to do,” I said, getting off of my bed and going over to my window. “The old Bex would just march up and kiss him, but I can’t seem to find her right now.”
“That’s because you actually care what happens for once,” Lacey said wisely.
“But what if he doesn’t care?” I lamented, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the window.
“I know it’s scary,” Lacey told me. “But you can’t pretend you don’t feel anything, Bex, and you’ll be miserable if you do.”
I hung up the phone and tapped it lightly against my chin, then wrapped myself tighter in my giant woolen cardigan and poured another glass of boxed wine—the official drink of emotionally confused women on a budget. Suddenly, a soft knock came at my door in the cadence Nick usually used. With embarrassing speed, I leapt up and threw open the door, and Clive saw every inch of how far, and fast, my face fell when I realized it was him.
“And there it is,” he said, pained.
“What do you…um,” I stammered, unable to salvage it.
Silently, Clive pushed inside, at which point I noticed he was clutching his laptop. He opened it, tapped a few keys, and turned it so I could see what was on the screen: a grainy still of Nick huddled up with a woman right outside the Pembroke door. You couldn’t see my face, but the intimacy was as screaming as my red scarf.
“I knew that camera was on,” I said. “Where did you even get this?”
“I have sources,” Clive said. “The only people who’ve seen these are in the very innermost circle.”
I stifled the urge to tell him to cram it. Clive did so love being in the know.
“I owe you an apology,” I said instead. “I’ve been a total jerk. I should have talked to you about…well, I should have talked to you. Period.”
“No arguments there,” Clive said, closing his laptop with a click.
“But I swear this was totally innocent. It was pouring and my hair was stuck—”
“Come on, Bex,” Clive interrupted with a reproachful look. “I’m obviously not a prince, but I’m not stupid.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. Clive deserved the honesty I had been too scared to give to myself.
“I care about you, for whatever that’s worth,” I said. “But yeah, there’s something there with me and Nick. At least on my side.”
Clive sat down on the edge of my bed, deflated. He’d known the score, but it didn’t sting any less to hear it.
“Congratulations,” he said. “You just added yourself to a long list of girls who’ve decided Nick is their destiny.”
“I know, it’s predictable as hell. I hate that,” I said, sitting down next to him. “Girl goes to England, girl meets prince…”
“…Girl sleeps with his friend a lot…”
“…Girl fucks up royally. Pun intended, I guess,” I said with a wry but unhappy smile that Clive did not return. “Look, I don’t know if you and I would have worked out even if Nick didn’t exist. But he does. And I guess I kept thinking it would be easier if you and I could just…drift apart. How do you break up with someone you’re not officially dating?”
“But just fading out, Bex?” Clive asked. “You knew I liked you. You knew it wasn’t just sex for me. You had to know.”
I closed my eyes. Clive’s Little White Lie drifted past them. He had told me. In that way and a thousand others.
“I did know.” I felt like a jerk. “And I tried to pretend I didn’t, because I was having fun and I wanted it to be simple. And when it wasn’t anymore, I chickened out. I’m sorry, Clive. I am the worst. I never meant to hurt you. You really are great.”
Clive cleared his throat and blinked hard, then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
“Right. I’m just lovely,” he muttered.
In that instant, I realized the first guy I hooked up with in England was, basically, the man version of my beloved Chicago Cubs: never the big winner, no matter how promising it looked. I was hit with a flood of sympathy for him, and anger at myself. Why hadn’t I sacked up earlier and been honest?
“I’m not in love with you or anything,” he said suddenly.
My lips twitched. “Nor should you be. I snore.”
“Yes, it’s untenable.” He shot me a rueful grin. “Mostly I just thought I’d gotten to a good thing first and might get to see where it went,” he said. “And this is where it went.”
Clive put on his glasses again. “But you’ve got bigger problems than me, anyhow,” he said. “You’re up against at least three other posh, moneyed girls the papers have already latched on to, and they know what they’re doing.”
I didn’t expect Clive to hug me and wish me good luck, but the emotionless speed with which he transitioned into business mode startled me even more than his frankness.
“You’re also too trusting,” he added for good measure. “You got lucky this time, but what if that had been a paparazzi camera?”
“There is nothing going on in that photo,” I reiterated.
Clive rolled his eyes. “If you say so. But it doesn’t matter, anyway. To an outside eye, it’s Nick kissing some random tart in the street.”
“Gosh, ‘random’ seems kind of harsh,” I joked.