Maybe that’s why he dedicates his life to ruining yours, arsehole.
I had two rooms booked at a London hotel, close to my family, but not too close that I actually had to see them. The rooms were for Indie and me, though I’d asked Hudson to cancel the extra room so she and I would finally sleep in the same bed. I wasn’t even entirely sure what my feelings toward her were. I just knew she made some of the bullshit go away, and that was enough to pacify me.
I missed Tania.
I felt naked, moving around the world without her on my back. I’d purchased another acoustic guitar, but she didn’t feel the same. She was rough—not soft-wooded like Tania—the strings too tight. She felt weird on my lap, like an average-looking fangirl begging to be fucked. Every time I tried playing it on the plane, Stardust shot me a look of pity, which made everything so much worse somehow.
If there was, indeed, one good thing about the entire Fallon and Will engagement ordeal, it was that now I had fewer restrictions. I wasn’t talking to any of the lads—just to Indie, and not too much—but I could go on the Internet and watch whatever the hell I wanted. I knew Stardust had been privy to the engagement and the dick pics ordeal, but her betrayal wasn’t as soul-crushing. She wasn’t my childhood friend. She owed me nothing. In fact, she hadn’t even asked to be employed by me, which made everything about the revelation that she knew less stinging.
“Ready to go home?” Blake sniffed, staring out the window at the gray London landscape.
I didn’t answer. The constant drizzle reminded me why I loved my city. It was so unapologetically shitty. Rainy with a chance of a very public meltdown. People came here to survive, not to live. But surviving made you feel so much more alive.
“Would I be able to get a day off? I want to check the London Eye and the Dungeon. The House of Parliament, too,” Indie muttered, her eyes glued to the window. I didn’t know why it’d surprised me so much. Like I didn’t expect her to make any plans other than riding my cock and my face. She always seemed like an open book, eager to be stained by ink in different colors. Everywhere we went, she always wanted to bike around the main streets and eat the local food. Other men might find it cute, her lust for life, but I just found it depressing. She was so much happier than I was, and I had so much more than her.
“I’m sure we can sort something out. Right, mate?” Blake elbowed me, his whole body angled toward me. He’d been working hard on being less of a micromanaging cunt since the loss of Tania.
I chose not to answer Blake—again—and flung my arm over Stardust’s shoulder, eyeing Lucas, who was looking at me like I’d stabbed him in the soul.
“Sounds good. Let’s go there together and make some memories,” I gritted out.
Her head popped up, her skeptical gaze sliding along my face, my jaw, my eyes, my lips. An inventory she knew all too well, which was why pink spread over her cheeks and neck, cluing me in that she absolutely thought about all the things we could do while sightseeing. Grinding into her from behind in the London Eye in front of horrified Japanese tourists or cornering her in a dark spot at the London Dungeon sounded like paradise. Half the fun was watching her get flustered and annoyed with the way her body reacted to me in public.
“Whatever happened to you being sexually harassed by people? I thought you didn’t do public appearances,” she teased.
I shrugged. “I might have to punch a teenager or two. It’ll be on your conscience.”
Indie couldn’t help herself. She shook her head and laughed. “You’re so weird.”
“Normal is grossly overrated,” I muttered, hating that I cared if she thought it was good-weird or bad-weird.
And I didn’t want to break her. Not at that moment.
It should have been an alarm bell, but I chose to ignore it.
By the time I figured out how to call it, it was too late.
If you ever wondered how Indie would look if she found out I killed every puppy on her street, let me tell you: I now knew.
All it took for her to make this expression was telling her she was going to share a room with me. She didn’t like the idea. Not. One. Bit. Indie had only found out about our shared accommodation when we were actually in front of our presidential suite’s door. She turned around, asking for her digital key.
“What key?” I asked with a straight face, prolonging our inevitable showdown.
She rubbed her open palm over her nose, which I thought was adorable—another clear warning sign I chose to ignore—and cocked her head sideways.