London Prep: Book Three, page 16
Harry shows me two more rooms, one themed solely around an African safari.
There are heavy rattan chairs with deep cushions and paintings of game animals. There’s a mixture of timeless and modern pieces, giving off a grand library feel as opposed to what you might think of when you imagine a club.
Before I realize it, we’re back in the bar, and Harry’s pulling me down onto a sofa. He unbuttons his suit jacket and the top button on his shirt, looking relaxed.
“You really feel at home here, don’t you?”
Harry smiles at me as the bartender comes over to us.
“As you requested, Mr. Brooks,” the man says with a formal nod. He sets down a champagne flute and a crystal glass filled with what smells like scotch.
Harry hands me the flute before taking his own glass, leaning back into the sofa.
“I do. Any member can bring guests here to entertain. My father usually graces this place when he’s in town, sometimes before he even makes it home,” Harry says, his jaw tightening. “But it’s probably one of the best investments my family’s made. Everyone who is anyone in society circles comes here. Plus … I don’t know … I like it. It’s sort of a second home.”
I hold out my flute to him. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
Harry smiles, clinking his glass against mine before taking a heavy sip of his drink.
“So, tell me, what do you like about it?” I ask, glancing around.
A couple quietly slips into the room, moving to sit at the bar. The woman has on high heels and a designer dress, the man with her wearing an exquisitely tailored suit.
I can smell expensive perfume wafting toward us as she shifts on the stool.
“I like that everyone here, in some way, is like me. Most of the families or individuals who belong are obviously well off. And you get the international club members who come when they’re in town for business.”
I take a sip of my champagne, trying to absorb Harry’s words. “But I thought you said this sort of stuff feels suffocating. Or is it different from being at your family’s country house?”
Harry nods, understanding. “It’s different. I know a lot of guys here. Though not to the same scale as me, a lot of them feel the pressure to go into the family business. There’s a sense of loyalty and discretion that goes with my name. And I’m not the only one to experience that. I think, here … most people feel like that. They can relate.”
“So, you have friends here?” I grin.
“I have a lot of acquaintances.” Harry smiles back at me, taking another sip of his scotch.
“Have you brought Noah or Mohammad? Or is this another one of your places?”
“I’ve brought Noah. We played billiards and had a few drinks. It was chill, but I don’t know.” Harry shrugs.
“It has to be hard. Feeling like you live in two worlds,” I say, noticing Harry’s knee bounce.
He glances at me, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear and giving me a quick kiss.
But when he pulls back, I can tell he’s thinking about what I said.
“It’s a mixture of things, I suppose. Sometimes, I feel like a scared little schoolboy who gets told off by his professors. I can’t … stand up to my dad. Yet, at the same time, there’s this and my family and my expected duty to them.”
“It’s kind of strange.” I laugh, bringing the champagne back to my lips. “The fact that we’re in high school. That we deal with professors and mean girls and pass notes and can’t kiss after class. But then, like you said, here we are, at a place like this. There is your family and their expectations. Do you ever feel like you just want to scream at your parents and force them to pick one?”
“Pick what?” Harry says, tilting his head at me.
“Adult or child,” I clarify. “If they treat you like a child, at least then they have a right to check if you’ve done your homework or give you a curfew. But then they say you’re becoming an adult and you need to act like one, and they want you to talk a certain way and expect you to fulfill these duties. So, which do they want? It’s like, right now, either way with your parents, you lose.”
“That’s the way it is,” Harry replies, looking around the room. “I’m a child of … a bad man who happens to be successful. And my future depends on maintaining his legacy.”
Harry downs the rest of his drink before watching as I take another sip. His eyes stay on my lips, even after I put my glass on the table, and I instantly wish we were alone.
“Come on,” Harry says, extending his hand. “I want to show you my favorite room.”
Harry leads us down a long hallway, slipping into a room with oversized windows and a high ceiling. “This is one of my favorite spots. The East Asian room.”
I glance around, taking in the statues and artwork lining the walls. Red and black embroidered fabric covers a group of couches clustered together. There’s a large mural hanging on one wall. Candles are lit on every table, giving the room a warm glow.
In the midst of everything, there’s a dining table, set for two.
“Harry …” I start.
He did this for us?
For me?
I look over at him with disbelief, but he just smiles, escorting me further into the room. He pulls out the chair for me, waiting for me to sit down.
“You planned all of this?” I stutter, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed.
By the size of this room.
By the enormity of his gesture.
“Don’t get too flustered. I just put in the request,” Harry says, sitting down across from me.
There’s a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket next to the table, and I see Harry glance up at the doorway over my shoulder and nod at someone.
I turn around, seeing a waiter enter the room. He pours us two glasses of sparkling water before popping open the champagne and filling our flutes. I stay silent as he serves us.
“Harry, how are we allowed to be drinking here?” I question, leaning across the table as the waiter leaves.
“It’s just how things are here.” Harry shrugs. “Besides, I requested it. And after all, this is my family’s contribution to the club.”
“Wait, what is?” I ask.
“This room,” Harry replies, gesturing around us.
“This room?” I question.
“Yes, my father had it curated for the club to enjoy. It’s his personal collection, shipped straight from our home in Shanghai.”
“That’s …”
“Cool? Mad? Extravagant?” Harry says, attempting to finish my sentence. “It’s all of the above. But I like it regardless. Despite my father being an ass, he’s always had an eye for these sorts of things.”
“Which explains your house,” I reply, thinking about Harry’s beautiful home. “Have you talked to your dad since … everything?”
“A bit. Here and there. Quite sporadically really,” Harry says quickly. “Usually, he’s upset over something, so I prefer that we don’t talk.”
“Nice of him to just check in,” I state, shaking my head.
The thought of Harry’s dad makes my blood boil. I glance around the room, wondering how someone who could see and curate so much beauty could be so cruel.
“Let’s not talk about my dad,” Harry says, spinning the ring on his pinkie finger around in a circle.
I nod, taking a sip of the champagne, trying to calm my insides when the waiter is back, setting down a plate in front of us. I look at the plate, confused, before bringing my eyes up to Harry.
“It’s pizza?” I question, looking at the small, beautifully cut square.
“It’s flatbread à la margherita actually,” Harry replies with a straight face.
I narrow my eyes at him, waiting for him to crack.
“Fine”—he smiles—“it’s pizza. But it’s just an appetizer. We’ve got a whole night filled with delicious courses to come.”
“Some things never change.” I laugh, biting my lip. “Let me guess … the second course will be something accompanied by homemade crisps?”
“I’m still a secondary schoolboy, Mallory. What did you expect? Caviar? A simple, gently cooked white asparagus atop a delicate quail egg, sprinkled with Parmesan? We aren’t that fancy, are we?” he banters, his blue eyes sending butterflies into my stomach.
I raise my eyebrows. “Of course not.” I grin.
The second course is actually fancier than the first. It’s a lovely roasted squash soup, topped with chili oil and toasted pumpkin seeds.
“You know, it’s kind of weird. I sort of feel at home here,” I say, taking the first sip of my soup. “This reminds me of New York.”
“What, private clubs?” Harry asks.
“No. I mean, I’m used to getting dressed up. Going out for nice dinners. All of today made me feel sort of nostalgic. Going for brunch, exploring the city. Shopping and having a coffee. I felt so much like myself. And now, here, tonight … you just … you make me really happy. You’re always surprising me. I think I underestimate you sometimes.”
Harry picks up his champagne, bringing it to his lips. “Maybe you do it so that way, if I fall short, you won’t be disappointed,” he offers.
“I think I forget sometimes that we have a lot in common. We’re different, obviously, but we’re kind of the same. We come from the same world. I know yours is a bit beyond mine. But we have families who are in the center of things. With business. Socially,” I reply.
“Is it weird, staying at a warm home like Noah’s?” Harry asks, catching me off guard.
“No.” I shake my head. “I love it. I think I want that for myself, honestly. And that’s not to say my home isn’t warm. It’s just …”
“Not like that,” Harry finishes.
“No, it’s not,” I say, thinking about Noah’s house. About Gene and Helen.
“I want that too, you know,” he says, shifting in his seat.
“You have that with them, Harry.”
He grins at me. “I guess I do. They are quite taken with me. Well, at least they haven’t thrown me out yet.”
“You know they never would.”
“I’m not their son, Mallory.”
“You’re close enough.”
Harry thinks about it for a moment. “I guess Noah and I are like brothers.”
“But?” I ask, noticing his hesitation.
“But nothing. I guess I just … I am close to them. But it’s good to have distance too,” he offers, pushing his soup away.
I set down my spoon, thinking about his words. “That distance is a defense mechanism, isn’t it?”
His eyes flick up to mine. I can feel the intensity in his gaze, but his face remains soft, his jaw not setting.
“Maybe I push people away because I’m terrified.”
“You’re scared?” I ask, my conversation with Noah coming into my head.
“I’m scared all the time,” Harry says, not flinching or looking away. “You seem surprised by that.”
“I am a little surprised.”
“I have the courage to admit it,” Harry replies with ease. “It’s easy to get hurt by the people who aren’t supposed to hurt you. It’s easy to get let down. So, if you don’t care, what’s it matter?”
My gaze flicks across Harry’s relaxed face, my stomach twisting. Not because what he thinks is wrong, but because I’ve felt that way before. “I was sort of talking to Noah about that today.”
“About what?”
“About you.” I flush. “About how things are changing between us. I think that they’re getting more serious. It makes me nervous. For the same reasons.”
Harry’s lips pull at the corners as his eyes soften. “I swear, Noah would make a fine shrink.”
I can’t help but laugh at his response. “He does have a way of helping you sort through things, doesn’t he?”
“He does,” Harry agrees. “Do you think things are getting more serious?”
My stomach rolls with his question. “I think they could be,” I reply, trying to avoid the subject. Because admitting it would mean that we’d both have to finally recognize it. It would mean that I couldn’t push the seriousness away anymore.
It’s here, staring across the table at me.
“I’m not scared of you leaving, Mallory.”
“Shouldn’t you be?”
Harry shakes his head.
I blink a few times, looking down at my bowl of soup.
“I guess we can sort of see each other anytime we want. It’s not like we can’t visit. But how are we supposed to have a relationship, being apart?”
“I don’t have the answers. But I do know that I like you,” Harry says, extending his hand out across the table.
“I like you too.” I take his hand, my fingers running across his palm.
“We have something, Mallory.”
I glance up to Harry, finding his gaze on our hands. He’s watching my fingers dance across his palm with a smile on his face.
“That sounds serious.”
“You’re meant to be in my life. I’ve never believed in … anything really. But I believe in you.”
“Harry,” I push. Because his words are just going to make this harder.
We’re going to fall.
And we’re going to get hurt.
“No, I think you need to hear this.” Harry pulls his hand away from mine. He gets up from his chair and moves around the table until he’s hunched down next to me. He turns my chair to face him, taking both of my hands into his.
“This isn’t necessary,” I say, tensing up. I have so many emotions flowing through me.
“It is. Mallory, we have a cracking time together, and you’ve been there for me, as a friend. I do take notice of it. I know I laugh things off, but it’s important to me. You’re important to me.”
I know he’s right. I have been there for him. And even though he laughs most things off, I know that he appreciates it. And in so many ways, he’s been there for me. Which is what makes this so hard.
He’s looking up at me through his delicate blond lashes.
“Harry, why did you bring me here tonight?”
“To impress you,” he replies smugly.
“That’s not the truth.” I smile down at him, tilting my head with question.
“No, it’s not. I brought you here to see what you’d make of it. I wanted to let you in more. To show you everything that goes along with being a Brooks.”
“Well, if being a Brooks gets you this delicious champagne, it can’t be that bad,” I tease with a wink.
I pick up my glass, taking a small sip. Harry’s looking back at me with surprise. But then his eyes start to sparkle as his mouth sets into a pleased smile.
“Maybe you should give me a taste.” His gaze falls down to my lips.
I bring my mouth to his, my hands instantly finding their way into his hair. Harry tilts his chin up, opening his mouth to me.
I kiss him, letting him taste my lips.
The champagne.
He breaks his lips from mine, rising back up and moving into his seat again.
I smile across the table at him, but my lips straighten as I switch my tone. “Do you think we’re the same, you and me?”
“I think you have a lot more on your mind than just being a girlfriend or getting good marks,” Harry replies and then takes another spoonful of soup from his bowl.
“Are you trying to say most girls are boring?” I question, wondering where he’s going with this.
Harry shakes his head. “What I’m trying to say is that I’ve never met anyone like you, Mallory. Not to bring up my ex, but with Olivia, I knew she would love this place because of the status. She wanted a boyfriend; it was all she cared about. Looking good. Being seen out. Which, at the time, I didn’t mind. But it never crossed my mind to take her to Marco’s. It was too … personal. Too low key for her.”
My stomach tightens at his comment.
“I think you underestimate Olivia,” I reply, for some reason defending her. Because even though I don’t know their history, I know that Olivia cares for Harry.
“I used to wonder what it would be like if I had a girlfriend who was a part of the club. Someone who didn’t care about it the way that Olivia did. But then I figured that even if we fit together here, it would be weird with my mates. I never thought I’d meet someone who fit in both places. Bringing you here, I wasn’t nervous. I knew we’d have fun. But we also have fun in class and on tour buses, at diners and at Marco’s.”
Harry’s words pour out of his mouth like one long thought, and it takes me by surprise. How calmly he came to those conclusions. How he thinks that he has to choose one or the other. His gaze slips to the doorway as the waiter comes back in.
He picks up our soup, setting down a clean white plate with a beautifully arranged pile of food—a circular base of rice with drops of sauce scattered around it, vegetables layered across the top.
“I think I’d have fun with you just about anywhere,” I reply when the waiter leaves us alone again.
“I know. The car ride here proved that.” He grins, shooting me a wink.
“I didn’t mean that kind of fun,” I say, my mouth falling open.
I watch Harry across the table, digging into his meal.
“So, I know you always have things on your mind. Tell me what you think about.”
“Will you tell me too then?”
“Always,” Harry replies quickly, his eyes flicking up to me.
“Well … I do like the idea of living in a city. At least for a while once I graduate.”
“To build your name.” Harry nods, understanding.
“Mmhmm.” I smile. “And I want to travel. But not to the annoying touristy places. Sorry, that sounded bad. What I meant is that I want to go to places and actually experience them.”
“Like?” Harry prompts.
“Like I want to see reindeer. I want to cook outside in Peru. Did you know that they make these little ovens out of dirt, cook the potatoes in them, and eat them right there, on the side of the mountain?” I reply, thinking about everything I’d like to do. Everything I want to see.
“Really?” Harry says, cocking his head to the side with interest.
I nod, picturing myself there. Overlooking the endless hills. Eating something straight from the earth. It’s one of the most foreign ideas to me, but that’s what makes it sound so amazing.
