Trust (London Love #5)

“Gray!” I warned. “Stop it.”

“I mean it. There was this nanny flat downstairs. Self-contained. You could have your own place. Renting. With me.”

“Could never afford it.” Truth. Gray was living in a dream world. I had to survive on minimum wage and tips. Okay, I got a shitload of tips. Still didn’t mean I could afford to live in Marylebone or wherever.

“Well. Since you don’t believe a word I’m saying anyway, I actually wanted to say, you could live there with me. And sleep in our bed. We could have kids. And dogs. And like…have a family.”

I laughed. He must have hit his head in that cubicle. Hard.

“My dad lives here.”

“Yes, he does.” He wriggled again. Let his leg fall over mine. “But your dad could have the nanny flat, have his own place. There’s…you know. Parking.”

“Parking, eh? Gosh!” I laughed sarcastically, but it was funny. “You’re deluded,” I said.

“I know.” He tapped my nose with his finger. “But it’s a nice dream. I’m allowed to dream, aren’t I?”

“I suppose.” I smiled. “As long as you stay away from public transport and keep yourself safe. For me. I can’t be rescuing you from fast food places all the time. Leave the food gathering to me. You can do all the swanning around being a pop star thing, and I’ll deal with the rest. Life. Food. A bed to sleep in.”

He held me. Like I held him.

“I liked that house. I liked how it made me feel.”

“Good,” I said, my lips in his hair.

I liked how he made me feel. I couldn’t explain it, but he’d scared the shit out of me today, and I was glad he was here with me. Safe.

Fuck him. And all his stupid ideas.

Agnes

GRAHAM

The estate agent was called Agnes. She was thirty-two and lived with her boyfriend in a flat in Stanwell Moor.

How I’d found that out was by chatting like a stupid person as she showed me around houses I would never in a million years want to live in. We moved on to flats the next day. More places I honestly didn’t like. A penthouse…I’d almost had a panic attack looking over the balcony railing somewhere in Canada Water. Too high. Too much glass. No thank you.

I still liked the family house in Marylebone. The one with the nanny flat. Perhaps my parents would venture down for a visit if they had a place like that where they could stay.

My dad would turn his nose up. He liked his garden. The peace and quiet. Bleating sheep in the background. The sound of a tractor.

Agnes let me view the family house again. I even got my driver to come in and give me his opinion. He agreed on the barbecue being a great asset.

Agnes reminded me again that the actual barbecue was not included in the purchase but maybe she could ask the vendors if they were willing to sell. I didn’t care one way or the other.

I liked the cosy rooms. The light from the back coming into the kitchen. The movement of the trees against the walls.

I could live here. It was warm. Not too big. No dark, imposing spaces, no magnolia walls or cold marble. No security guards and railings and, best of all, no bars on the windows. The ones in my old house had been installed after the last break-in—another small detail to add to the feel of living in a prison. All I needed was a boiler suit and a straitjacket and my incarceration would’ve been complete.

I was packed and moved out anyway. One of our runners had collected my bags, and they were now neatly deposited in Reuben’s kitchen. Like I’d moved in when I honestly hadn’t.

But then everything was up in the air. Mostly with work. The studio was a hive of weirdness, we hadn’t seen Lee in days, and nobody told us anything. Musa kept walking off talking on his phone, Bash seemed to have left the planet, and Josh had gone down and visited Cork wherever he was instead of turning up when he’d been scheduled to lay down more vocals.

Lauren just shook her head whenever I tried to talk to her, dismissing me with a wave of her hand.

Things were falling apart, and we all knew it.

“I’ve seen something,” Musa said quietly when we were finally left alone, the remaining four of us bunched in a corner outside the back doors of the studio, trying to eat the grainy shite they provided for our lunches.