Someone Like You (The Ever After Agency #4)

Chapter 22

22

GABY

When I wake, I’m so groggy, it takes me a moment to remember where I am. As it starts to crystalise – I’m in Seattle in my old bedroom – there’s a jolt of panic as I sense someone else in my bed.

I crack my eyelids and Raff’s lying on his side facing me, fast asleep, his lips parted.

Oh, yeah, we’re sleeping together now.

Well, not sleeping together sleeping together but after twenty minutes listening to Raff’s restless – and valiant – attempt to fall asleep on that shitty, farty air mattress, I sat up and said, ‘Just sleep up here with me.’

He objected, like he did when I offered him the front seat of Dad’s SUV, but I insisted harder than him. Eventually, exhaustion won the fight and he climbed into my bed. He was asleep in seconds.

I, however, lay awake for another half-hour, listening to him breathing and wondering how the hell I’m supposed to get through the next week. The man is now in my bed. All I want to do is snuggle up close to him and nestle into the crook of his arm.

It also hit me in the middle of the night as I tossed and turned for the umpteenth time that the last man who slept in this bed with me was Eric.

Raff inhales deeply and scrubs a hand over his face. Slowly opening his eyes, he says, ‘Morning, Gabs.’ Then he frowns at me. ‘Wait, is it morning? I feel like I’ve slept for two days.’

I reach for my phone, which is charging on the bedside table. ‘It’s a little after seven, so yeah, it’s morning. And fair warning, Gina and Roland will already be up, showered, dressed, and raring to go.’

He protests the arrival of the new day with a dramatic moan and I giggle. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be a morning person?’ I tease.

‘After flying long haul, it turns out I am a nothing person. I feel like I’ve been hit by a steam train.’

‘How very nineteenth century of you. Come on,’ I say, jostling him. ‘Don’t forget, there’s an action-packed itinerary today – Christmas tree shopping, decorating the tree – and the house.’

‘Right. How much of that can be done from here?’

‘From bed?’

‘Mm-hmm. I could stay here all day.’

You and me both , I think – super unhelpful. I need to get up before I accidentally throw myself at my best friend. Because it turns out that sleep-rumpled and jetlagged Raff is sexy – right down to the gravelly voice.

His phone chimes with an incoming text and he reaches for it, navigating with his thumb. He smiles as he reads.

‘Julia,’ he says, his eyes transfixed by whatever Julia has typed.

He doesn’t tell me anything else and although part of me wants to know what level of texting they’re at – friendly, flirty, sexy, explicit??? – the rest of me knows better than to torture myself trying to guess.

‘I’ll be quick,’ I say, heading into the bathroom and locking the door .

I gaze at myself in the mirror – unlike Seattle, it isn’t pretty. Raff may feel like he’s been hit by a train, but I look like it.

Still, what’s the point of looking good for a guy who is currently texting another woman – a woman who is talented and renowned and (by any measure) really frigging gorgeous?

I open my mouth and silently scream, my hands clenched into fists and my eyes scrunched closed. It feels good to embrace the tension, taking it to the brink and releasing it, but the panacea is temporary and when I step out of the shower, my stomach is tied in knots again.

‘Hello? Anyone home?’

Mom and I are in the living room, sorting through Christmas decorations, and we exchange a look. There’s a beat of stillness while recognition dawns.

‘That’s Issy,’ I say, leaping up.

I rush to the entry and Issy is standing next to a huge suitcase, her face red and blotchy. She holds it together for no more than three seconds, then bursts into tears, falling into my arms. Mom comes up behind me and envelops both of us in a hug.

When Issy’s sobs subside, Mom and I draw back and glance at each other.

‘Isabella, what’s going on?’ Mom asks gently. She takes Issy by the elbow and leads her into the living room, scooping up a tissue box from an end table as she passes. She sits Issy on the sofa and hands her the tissues.

Issy grabs a handful and wipes her cheeks then noisily blows her nose. Mom and I make wide eyes at each other as we wait for my sister to compose herself. Issy sniffles a few times and does her best to sit up straight .

She looks at Mom, then at me. ‘I’ve left Jon,’ she says.

‘At home?’ I ask.

‘Well, yes, but no, I mean I’ve left him. I’ve left our marriage.’

Inside, I’m rejoicing and I can imagine Mom is too, but Issy is clearly hurting. I figure it’ll be a long time before she’s able to rejoice at no longer being married to the world’s biggest douchebag.

‘Oh, hun,’ says Mom, going to her and wrapping her in another hug. ‘Tell me everything.’

Issy glances at me, then bites her lip before burying her face in Mom’s arm. I signal that I’ll leave them to it and Mom nods over Issy’s shoulder. My sister and I are close, but she also knows how I feel about Jon, the one bone of contention between us. I don’t blame her for wanting to talk to Mom alone.

I head into the kitchen and find Monica sitting at the counter on a stool, earbuds in and scrolling on her phone. ‘Hey,’ I say.

She lifts her head and takes out the earbuds. ‘Hey.’

‘So, heads up: Issy’s just arrived. She’s left Jon.’ I make the ‘eek’ face.

‘Holy shit. Really ?’

‘I hope so.’

‘Well, yeah, he’s a total dick. He once told Mom she was attractive for a woman her age.’

‘ What? ’

‘Yep.’

‘Ignoring that it’s a back-handed compliment, what was he implying by that?’

‘Probably something inappropriate – so gross.’

‘Yeah,’ I reply, shuddering with disgust.

‘Oh!’ says Monica excitedly. ‘Does this mean Issy will be here for the wedding?’

‘I guess so. Although, your mom totally lost her shit over Raff coming – and that was with two weeks’ notice. This is only five days!’

‘Aunt Gina can tell Mom,’ she replies matter-of-factly.

I agree it’s the most logical solution. I’m certainly not going to do it.

‘So, do you have much on today?’ I ask, wanting to change the subject.

‘A facial and a mani-pedi at two, then a hair treatment. Just chilling till then.’

‘Enjoying your Mom-free zone,’ I say with a grin.

She rolls her eyes, looking more like a teen than a twenty-six-year-old who’s about to get married.

‘Seriously. You know I love her…’ she starts. ‘But, Gaby, you have no idea.’

I have some idea but say nothing, letting her unload.

‘I’ve lost count of how many times Brian’s asked if we can elope.’

‘You still could,’ I suggest, my brows raised.

We lock eyes for a beat and burst out laughing.

‘Can you imagine? I’d be the only bride in history to have my wedding and my funeral on the same day.’ She lowers her voice and looks towards the kitchen door. When she’s sure of the all-clear, she says, ‘I overheard your mom tell mine that $100,000 was a lot of money to spend on a wedding.’

‘Wait, what ?’

She nods solemnly. ‘And you know me – I’d be happy getting married at Bayview Park, looking out at Puget Sound, then having a barbecue in the backyard.’

‘Kinda hard to have a barbecue in December,’ I say.

‘Mm-hmm. I’m sure you’ll be shocked to hear that a Christmas wedding was Mom’s idea.’

‘Oh, I— Actually, I am shocked. Isn’t Christmas your favourite holiday? ’

‘Uh-uh. It’s Mom’s. My favourite holiday is Halloween.’

‘Ha-ha! Now that would have been a cool wedding theme.’

‘Tell me about it. Anyway, I’m beyond caring now. I just want to be married already.’

‘Brian’s a good guy,’ I say – and I mean it. I’ve only met him a few times but he’s a total sweetheart.

‘Yeah,’ she says with a grin. ‘Even Dad likes him – despite the whole Oakland As thing.’

‘I warned Raff – I told him if he hears any mention of baseball when Uncle Marv’s around, he should take cover.’

‘I like him,’ she says cryptically.

‘Your dad? I should hope so if he’s paying for a $100,000 wedding.’

‘No, you dork – Raff . You two are so sweet together.’

‘Togeth— We’re not a couple, Mon.’

She shakes her head at me, then breaks into a grin. ‘Not yet .’

‘No, I’m serious. Raff’s just…’ The man I am falling for more and more each day . ‘We’re friends – that’s all .’

‘Mm-hmm. That’s what I used to say about Brian before I finally admitted I’d fallen in love with him.’

She regards me intently. How is she the little girl who used to choreograph dance routines to Beyoncé in her PJs?

I check to make sure Raff hasn’t snuck up on us while we’ve been talking. ‘Is it that obvious?’ I ask her quietly.

‘I wouldn’t say obvious . I doubt your parents know. They wouldn’t have made you bunk together if they knew you had feelings for him. And Raff certainly hasn’t cottoned on yet.’

‘He can’t find out, Mon. He’s just started seeing someone.’

‘I don’t get it. If he’s dating someone, then how come he’s here with you?’

‘It’s a long story – and he’s not here with me,’ I insist. ‘Like I said, we’re friends . ’

‘So, what happens when he figures it out?’

‘That I have feelings for him? I have no frigging idea. Hopefully, I can keep everything under wraps – at least till we get back to London. Much easier to deal with when we’re not sharing a bed.’

‘That’s not what I meant. I mean, what happens when Raff figures out he has feelings for you ?’

‘What?’ I shriek, waving away her nonsense with a wry laugh. ‘That’s nuts. There’s no way.’

She looks at me as if she’s the older wiser cousin and says, ‘We’ll see,’ right as Dad announces that he and Raff are back with the tree.

‘It doesn’t completely suck,’ I say, regarding our lopsided, misshapen Christmas tree, now adorned with every ornament my parents own – even the ugly ones people have gifted them over the years.

Typically, Mom only puts those at the very back of the tree, facing the wall. Or she makes up some feeble excuse about there not being enough room and they stay in the box.

Though, she drew the line at my macaroni masterpieces. I’m either going to have toss them or pack them up and take them back to London.

Issy, who has only just stopped crying, sniggers at my evaluation of our tree. At least I’ve made her laugh on one of the worst days of her life.

Mom tuts at me. ‘Bite your tongue, young lady,’ she chides playfully. ‘It’s a beautiful tree.’

‘Is that like when people say all newborns are beautiful when some of them look like those dried-apple dolls?’ quips Dad.

Issy, Raff, Monica, and I erupt into laughter and Mom rounds on Dad, wagging a finger at him. ‘Roland Gabriel Rivera, all babies are beautiful. They are little miracles, each and every one.’

‘Come on, Mom,’ says Issy, ‘you’ve said more than once that you’ve delivered an ugly baby.’

Mom stifles laughter. ‘That does not leave this house,’ she says, narrowing her eyes and pointing at us in turn.

‘Understood,’ says Dad, setting his phone on the mantle place. ‘Okay, time for the family photo in front of the butt-ugly tree.’

‘Roland!’

Dad howls with laughter while he shepherds us into place. He puts Raff at the back in the centre and me directly in front of him. Like he’s done a hundred times before, Raff drapes one long arm around my shoulders in a half hug. Following Dad’s directions, Issy stands next to me on one side and Monica on the other. Monica catches my eye, and a flicker of ‘I told you so’ crosses her face. I frown at her.

‘Gaby, smile!’ calls Dad. He presses the button on his phone, then slots into the photo next to Mom. ‘Say cheese!’ he calls out.

‘Cheese!’

‘How long do we need to stand here?’ asks Mom through her teeth.

Dad rushes over and checks his phone. ‘ Perfecto ,’ he declares.

Raff squeezes my shoulders, momentarily dropping his chin onto the top of my head, then steps away. It’s jarring how intensely I feel his absence. Monica surreptitiously flicks me on the leg, and I want to shout at her, ‘We’re just friends!’

But who would I be trying to convince?

With Issy showing up unexpectedly, we are now an extra full house. She’s sharing with Monica, but her old bedroom only has a king single, so she been relegated to the air mattress. Monica offered to take it, but Issy insisted that the bride should have a proper bed for the week.

I’m ignoring that everyone now knows Raff and I are sleeping together.

After dinner – a giant pot of Dad’s chili that we’ll all be regretting by midnight (me especially, considering my sleeping arrangements) – we move to the living room to play the Christmas edition of Win, Lose or Draw.

My parents love games nights, so they have the whole set up – easel, flipchart, and a set of coloured markers. We’re playing in pairs and, Raff and I are winning. Monica has accused us of cheating three times.

‘We’re not cheating!’ I insist after a round in which I drew six clues and Raff guessed each one correctly.

‘Even these two can’t compete with you,’ she says, pointing to my parents, ‘and they’ve have been married nearly forty years.’

Issy yelps at the word ‘married’ and fresh tears spring to her eyes.

‘Sorry, Issy,’ says Monica, plonking down next to her on the floor. She grabs Issy’s hand and squeezes. ‘But no crying, okay? We’re getting creamed and I need you to focus. I can’t lose Win, Lose or Draw – it’s my wedding week. And it’s Christmas.’

I hold my breath. This could go either way. My sister has a decent sense of humour, but even though Monica’s joking, is this really the right time for cajoling Issy with humour? She’s just walked out on a ten-year marriage.

Issy hiccups, her fingers flying to her mouth. ‘Sorry. No crying, got it. But I’m going to need more of this,’ she says, reaching for her empty wine glass.

Dad half-stands and tops her up from a bottle of Californian Zin .

Issy drinks a big glug, then gets to her feet. ‘Give it,’ she says, reaching for the fat black marker I’m holding. I hand it over and Mom gets up with the stack of clues to hold out for Issy to draw.

‘Ready?’ asks Dad.

‘Let’s do this!’ shouts Issy as if she’s about to bungee jump.

Sixty seconds later, she and Monica have added nine points to their tally.

‘Wowser, brilliant job,’ says Raff, clapping.

‘Hey! No fraternising with the enemy,’ I chide.

‘But we’re still winning by a country mile, Gabs,’ he whispers loud enough for everyone to hear. He adds an open-mouthed exaggerated wink, then grins at me.

And my heartstrings ping as Monica’s words echo through my mind.

What happens when Raff figures out he has feelings for you?

Is that what’s happening? Because it’s starting to feel like it. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.