A Cinderella Twist: A Contemporary Royal Romance Page 7

  “Yeah. Because I brought cookies too.” He tosses the paper bag into my lap, grinning.

  Meanwhile, he’s brought more than just the cookies to my attention. “Why though?” I narrow my eyes, glaring at him suspiciously, stare never wavering even as I bring the cup to my lips and have another sip. “Why are you here, bribing me with coffee and cookies?”

  Abbas makes a sound caught between a gasp and a sigh, like he’s outraged but also surrendering. “Fine. I need to talk.”

  “About?” Two guys unloading their deep dark secrets to me in one day. Must be something in the air.

  He shifts around uncomfortably for a few seconds before he gives up on trying to relax and instead scoots to the edge of the cushion, sitting up completely straight. “Has Mal said anything to you?”

  I roll my eyes from side to side. “Mal says a lot of things to me. You’re going to have to narrow it down a bit if you’re looking for a more specific answer, Abbas.”

  “About me. Has Mal said anything to you about me.” He looks nervous. I think. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Abbas look nervous, but if I had, this is what I imagine it would look like.

  I try not to frown, but I still can’t tell where this conversation is going, and I’m a little scared I might say the wrong thing. It’s tricky territory. Mal and Abbas are friends. We all are. Best friends. Hell, some might argue we’re family. But, Mal’s also had a crush on Abbas since the first time she met him. A top secret, never to be uttered in the presence of anyone ever, crush. So, I can’t mention it now. But I also don’t want to say anything to suggest the opposite if he’s about to reveal these secret feelings are mutual. “Again,” I say slowly, “an extremely broad spectrum of possible answers.”

  “So, no.” He sighs. For real this time. And he follows it up with falling dramatically into the couch pillows behind him.

  I’m definitely confused now. “Abbas, what exactly were you hoping she said to me?”

  He closes his eyes, running both hands over his face before letting the tips of his fingers rest on his chin. Then he takes a deep breath and says, “Mal and I have been sleeping together for the last month.”

  I almost spit coffee across the room. Which would have been bad, not just because I don’t believe in wasting coffee so frivolously but also because Nora is a psycho who has five kids and a white sofa. A pristine and stainless white sofa.

  “When you say sleeping?” I say after some prolonged efforts of trying to swallow and not choke on the coffee I managed not to spit.

  “I mean the naked, not sleeping, sleeping together.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Now it’s his turn to frown. “How many people are confused about whether or not they’re having sex with someone?” He shakes his head at my question, which to be fair, was pretty asinine. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “But...how?”

  His face tugs deeper into disbelief. “How?”

  “Maybe I mean when. Like, how have you been sleeping together for the last month without anyone noticing?” Then it occurs to me that I may be the only one who hasn’t noticed. “Wait, does Chase know?”

  “No.” He pulls himself upright again, resting both elbows on his knees and clasping his hands, popping his knuckles. Definitely nervous. “No one knows. First time was this crazy, in the moment, decision the night I helped her go through her great uncle’s storage unit and found all of his old bourbon bottles.” No need to elaborate there. “Last time was yesterday.” His gaze shifts sideways. “I wasn’t really binge-watching TV. Just had the sound system up to drown out any other possible sounds.”

  “Ew.” As much as I want this conversation to stop, I also really want it to continue. Especially after my chat with Lachlan. I can’t waste a juicy secret chat where the possibility to ask questions is so readily available to me. “So, noises aside, are you guys like...seeing each other?”

  He shrugs. “That’s the thing. I don’t really know what the hell we’re doing. We just drop hints that we’re going to be alone and have a cover story in place and then the other shows up. And... you know.”

  “I do now.” My eyes bug out at him. This is big. Really big.

  “But you’re her best friend,” he says, sounding almost defeated. “And she hasn’t told you about it. That can’t be a good sign. I mean, years of hearing my sisters tell each other every little thing about every boy they ever liked, confirms this is not a good thing.”

  I tip my head back and forth between each shoulder, mulling things over. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “How?” His brow is still furrowed, but I can hear the hope returning to his voice and I’m starting to think he has genuine feelings for her.

  “You’re kind of a whore, Abbas,” I remind him of the reputation he’s so thoroughly enjoyed establishing over the last decade or so. “Most best friends tend to talk each other out of sleeping with whores. So, the fact she hasn’t told me about hooking up with you might just mean she doesn’t want to be talked out of it.”

  He grimaces painfully. “Or it means she’s too ashamed to tell you.”

  “Eh.” I shrug. “Given the shameful things she’s told me in the past, I wouldn’t lean in that direction. It’s more likely she doesn’t want to hear all the reasons it’s a bad idea to be sleeping with a slutty guy who’s probably just into casual while she’s had the hots for him for the last seven years or so.”

  “Wait, what?”

  And there it is. The moment I had hoped to avoid coming to, already having slipped straight from my mouth without hesitation or any way to reel it back in. Still, my hand flies to my lips. A futile gesture at this point, which does nothing to stop what’s already happened and only displays the instant regret I’m experiencing now that it has. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

  But it’s too late. Abbas is practically salivating, inching his way to the edge of the couch until he’s sitting there, perched with anticipation, eager to hear more. “Oh, no, you definitely were. And you should tell me more.” He nods, eyes hungry for the insight he’s hoping to hear. “A lot more.”

  “I have a crush on Lachlan,” I blurt out, helpless to undo the betrayal and desperate to return karmic balance to my friendship with Mal.

  “What?” The previous anticipation has turned to bewilderment on Abbas’s face. “Who cares about you and Lachlan? We’re talking about me and Mal.”

  “Not anymore.” I purse my lips tightly, physically sealing off the vault of secrets. Not that there are many left on the topic beyond what I already let slip. Mallory’s secret harboring of feelings for Abbas spanning the length of their relationship kind of covers everything. Any other details I’ve collected in the vault on the subject really only serve to support that one singular truth. She’s totally bananas for him. And he’s totally bananas for the slut-life. Until now, it seems.

  “Listen, Abbas,” I explain calmly, choosing my words carefully in hopes they will lead me out of my current predicament with ease and grace, though it’s rare I manage either in life. “I can’t tell you anything Mal has told me. I am however more than happy to listen to you talk to me about Mal and your feelings, and if you’re interested, I’m even willing to convey said feelings and scout out the situation for you in an honest, up front and all cards on the table sort of way,” I make my good offer, the one I want him to take, before I give him the back up. “Or we can talk about my secret crush and how pointless it is to like a guy who’s going to leave again before the week is over.”

  Abbas considers his options, eyes narrowed and jaw tight with displeasure. Then, slowly, his face softens again. “You’re a good friend, Greer. A weird one. But still, a good one.”

  “That mean we’re going to talk about my feelings for Chase’s hot brother?” I ask, grinning.

  “No.” He shakes his head, fairly adamantly at that. “I don’t need to know the details about your crush on Prince Lachlan.”

  I laugh. “He is pretty regal, isn’t he?
So strange to think him and Chase grew up in the same house, with the same mom.”

  “Yeah.” He sounds like he’s losing interest in my love life already. I notice his eyes start to move around the apartment. Even from the living room, you can see into the kitchen and dining area. “Also, where are all the kids you’re supposed to be watching right now?”

  “Their rooms. The big ones are doing homework and the little ones are sleeping,” I inform him. I have to assume from his curiosity, we’re about to delve into his side of the Mallory and Abbas tale, and it’s not likely to be child appropriate.

  “Isn’t it kind of late in the day for naptime?” Only not strange because he’s an uncle to like a hundred nieces and nephews.

  “Normally, yes. But since evenings are the only real time Nora gets to see the kids during the week, we have late naps so that they’re nice and perky when she gets home,” I explain. “Can we circle back around to you now? You are planning to tell me more about you and Mal, right?”

  A dirty grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. With Abbas, that’s all the answer I need.

  LACHLAN

  I’VE SPENT THE LAST two days avoiding Greer. After unloading all my personal baggage on her at the playground, I just haven’t been able to face her. Not when I know I never finished telling her the whole story. Especially not since the parts I omitted are parts I don’t intend to share. It’s not that I don’t trust her. It’s just...simpler this way. And I could use a little simple in my life right now. Or maybe I just can’t use any more complicated. Either way, the distance between us has been important to maintain even if it hasn’t been easy.

  The concept of boundaries and privacy is lost on all four of them. Chase, Abbas, Mal and definitely Greer, go busting in and out of each other’s apartments at all hours of the day and night. I’m not sure any of them even know how to lock a door. If they do, it’s certainly not a skill they make use of.

  “You don’t look convinced,” Chase says from across the table, his half-eaten oatmeal abandoned for a banana he’s slathered in peanut butter and took a giant bite of right before talking to me.

  “You don’t look like you have basic table manners,” I mutter back.

  “Your kid just shoved a fruit loop up her nostril,” Abbas adds from my left. “You know, if we’re tracking people’s table manners.”

  I hurry to undo the cereal mishap before it gets lodged in there enough to require a pediatrician. “And I’m not convinced,” I grumble, responding to Chase’s initial observation. “But I’m not sure this is the sort of thing anyone can ever be fully convinced of.”

  He sets down his banana and I can’t help but wonder if he’s going to finish any part of his breakfast this morning. “Seems to me, this is the sort of thing one ought to be completely, one hundred and fifty percent, zero doubts whatsoever, convinced of.”

  “You wouldn’t really know, would you,” I remind him. “You don’t have a kid. Or the same responsibilities.”

  “Is this going to get so ugly that I wind up wishing I’d excused myself and left the table while it was still possible without being too awkward?” Abbas asks, coffee in hand but hovering halfway between the table and his mouth, as if his taking a drink of it depends on our answer.

  “We’re not going to scream and throw dishes like your sisters,” Chase tells him.

  “Do they really throw dishes?” I ask, happy to jump on the detour hoping it will distract Chase enough to keep from revisiting this topic. At least through breakfast.

  Abbas nods. “Once, my youngest sister broke a plate over my oldest sister’s head.” He shrugs. “It’s not true what they say. You can’t knock sense into people. At least not in a literal, physical way.”

  “I still might try it though,” Chase mutters, going back to his oatmeal. “Just let me empty this bowl. It’s already chipped, so I won’t mind sacrificing it.”

  I’m torn between responding with a scathing remark to shut him up or trying to defend my choices for the hundredth time to him. Choices feels like the wrong word. Decisions.

  Thankfully, the door swings open, absolving me of having to respond at all.

  “There you are,” Greer says loudly, pointing at me as soon as she comes marching in.

  “Was I missing?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

  “I doubt that.” She pulls out the chair between me and Chase, well, technically Monroe and Chase since her highchair is also at the table, and has a seat. “Hiding might be more like it.”

  “From you?” I’m pushing it. I’m clearly busted.

  “It’s fine. You’re not the first dude to get all raw and vulnerable only to up and disappear on me.” She stares straight at me as she says it, face completely serious. This girl pulls no punches. I haven’t decided yet if it’s my favorite thing about her or the thing I find most terrifying. Might be both.

  “Raw and vulnerable.” Chase takes an eager bite of his banana again, peanut butter sticking to the crease of his mouth. “Do tell.”

  “Or don’t,” I add. “Isn’t there some sort of playground confidentiality agreement?”

  “Like a ‘what happens at the swings, stays at the swings’ policy?” She smiles and for a moment I think she’s going to go easy on me.

  “Exactly like that.”

  Then, the smile drops. “Nope.”

  Abbas laughs just as he’s having another drink of his coffee, causing him to choke on it. “Sorry,” he coughs, obviously still trying to clear his throat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please, go on. It was just getting entertaining.”

  “What’s entertaining?” Mal asks, practically zooming into the room, door slamming shut behind her. “Chase’s need to match his underwear to his socks?”

  All eyes turn toward my brother. “It’s not entertaining. It’s just a sensible fashion choice.”

  “It’s a little weird,” Greer says, taking his spoon and picking over his oatmeal, while Mal nudges him with her hip until he scoots over just enough for her to sit on half of his chair.

  “You match your bra and panties,” he counters.

  Greer stops short of shoving a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth. “No, I don’t.”

  “Mal does,” Abbas chimes in.

  Now all eyes turn toward him.

  He starts choking again. This time, no coffee is involved. “I’ve done laundry with her,” he says, trying to explain, “it was hard not to notice all the matching sets.”

  “I bet,” Greer mumbles. Her mouth is full, but I can’t help but think I detect a hint of a smirk there even as she’s chewing.

  “If it wasn’t Chase’s underwear, what were you all talking about when I walked in?” Mal scans the table for a second before stretching her arm across Greer and helping herself to some of the cereal on Monroe’s highchair. Abbas and I exchange a look, but neither of us mentions the nostril-fruit-loop situation.

  “Apparently, my brother unveiled his rarely seen sensitive side in front of Greer and then avoided her, hoping she’d forget. Or something.” Chase shrugs. “Close, right?”

  “Oh.” Mal looks almost disappointed. “I already heard about that.”

  “Great,” I say loudly, hoping to put an end to the chaotic topic jumping, especially when so many of the topics involve me, “now that everyone is all caught up, maybe we can talk about more relevant things. Like what everyone has on their schedule today.”

  “No one thinks that’s a relevant thing,” Abbas informs me. “We all know each other’s schedules.”

  “We have our calendars linked,” Mal adds, holding up her phone.

  I exhale a long, loud breath, trying hard not to let their insane insistence for completely integrated personal spaces get the best of me. “Okay, well, since I’m not linked with everyone,” I start again, “Greer, what is your availability today?”

  “Depends.” She folds both hands in her lap and just stares at me.

  “On?”

  “Well, I’m not available to go commit any f
elonies today. Schedule’s too tight. But I could fit in a lunch date. Or make myself available to jump on a plane and take the starring role in any major motion picture being filmed today in Hollywood. But I’m definitely not available to take a random drive up to Canada. Also, I don’t have a car. And no time to go purchase one.” She holds her serious expression for another count or two. Then, she grins. “I’m also available to watch Mo, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  The entire table is silent, waiting for my response. I don’t give them the satisfaction of losing my shit though.

  “From, say, one to three? Would that work?”

  She nods, going back for more oatmeal and scooping another hearty serving onto her spoon before leading it straight to her mouth. This time, I can see her grinning even while she chews. “Yup.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  GREER

  “Remember how I said I’d have an extra baby in tow one day this week?” I greet Nora as soon as I let myself in. Having a key to her place is kind of required for the job.

  “Is today that day?” she calls back from the kitchen. Even though three out of five kids have already vacated the premises and boarded their designated buses to school, the place is still buzzing with the chaotic energy of getting everyone out the door in time.

  “It is.”

  She steps out of the kitchen and into the open space making up the dining and living areas, giving her full view of me as I unravel my scarf at the door and kick off my boots to get settled in for a while indoors.

  “You don’t have a baby,” she observes dryly. “Did you lose it on your way here? Because that could make a person with five children in your care a little nervous.”

  “The baby arrives at one.” I shake my head, laughing as I move through the apartment and make my way past her toward the kitchen. I could do with another cup of coffee and Nora always makes extra. “Also, if I were the sort to lose a kid, I think we both know, Aiden would have been gone a long time ago.” I’m not one for microchipping children, but if ever there was a kid who’d make a case for it, Dash-Away-Aiden is it.