Mr. Notting Hill, page 12
I started in the kitchen. Parker’s entire one-bedroomed flat looked like it had the contents of a three-bedroom house squashed into it. There was just so much stuff everywhere. Cookery books lined the back of the work surfaces. Overspill crockery was piled up in front of the cookery books, leaving little room for actual food preparation. Even floor space had been commandeered by freestanding storage for more stuff. Even every electrical socket had something plugged into it—three phone chargers, the kettle, the toaster and an abandoned hand whisk. No wonder she liked my kitchen so much. I couldn’t think in here, let alone cook. Maybe because everything was so cramped, Parker had put her sushi on the counter and had inadvertently contaminated the food herself. The place wasn’t dirty but everything was so close that it was possible she used the draining board to unpack the takeaway and had knocked into something.
I continued to survey the kitchen but nothing stood out. I moved into the small hallway. There wasn’t much to see—the coatrack, the skirting. No new marks or holes or anything that would arouse suspicion. The bathroom was more calming than the kitchen. It suggested that if Parker didn’t have so much stuff, this place could be really nice. Three glass shelves above the sink had been carefully displayed with perfume bottles, bath oils, and candles. On the windowsill sat three glass jars containing bath salts, cotton wool, and in the last one, something that smelled of Parker and looked like cold porridge. A small cupboard under the sink had all the usual things: backstock of shampoo, razor blades alongside bleach, cleaning equipment, and a random plastic plant. Nothing stood out to me as suspicious or not belonging to Parker. But poking had given me some more information about the woman in the room next door. It felt like there were two Parkers. Bathroom Parker who enjoyed peaceful, well-organized pretty space who also liked to cook in my house, and Kitchen Parker who seemed to be in a competition to fit as many things as possible in a very tiny space.
Nineteen
Tristan
Standing in my new French blue suit, I tapped on Parker’s bedroom door.
“How are you getting on?”
“You can come in. I could do with a hand getting the last few buttons on this dress done up.”
The first thing that caught my attention were the bright red strappy heels she was wearing. Then I trailed my gaze up to the white dress that emphasized her tiny waist. “You look . . .” Beautiful wasn’t a good enough word. Lots of things were beautiful—women, good gin, the feeling you got when you made your first hack. Parker was so much more than any of those things.
She glanced up at me. “You think it’s bridal enough? My mum told me everyone was going to mistake me for one of the guests.”
“I think it’s the perfect dress for you. And the shoes are . . . They’re the kind of shoes that make a husband very happy.”
I enjoyed her blush a little too much.
“Well, I had to get something to match my lipstick.”
“Lips look great.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thank God I wasn’t hospitalized.”
“I was worried there for a moment. I thought you were going to throw up a major organ at one point.”
She laughed. “Me too.”
“That doctor deserves a mention in the speeches today. Without him, I’m not sure we would have a wedding today. You were not in good shape.”
“Agreed. I don’t think I’ll be eating sushi in a while.”
“You know I told you that I’d sent the remnants of the fish off to a lab.”
She shook her head like she couldn’t believe we were discussing this again. She’d thought I’d been overreacting to think that what had happened was anything more than food poisoning. “You know what the doctor said himself—he’d like to have takeaway sushi places banned.”
“I told you, a mate owed me a favor; it’s not like I went to a lot of trouble. But what’s interesting is that the results from the lab showed traces of detergent.”
“Detergent? Like from the box or something?”
I shook my head. “Nope. It was on the fish. It wasn’t a lethal dose—just enough to cause vomiting and diarrhea. Could have been an accident in the restaurant kitchen, or basic carelessness by one of its employees. Maybe even you knocked the soap at the sink when you were unpacking it.”
“That’s weird that I didn’t taste anything. Probably all the soy sauce.”
“Of course it could be more nefarious. It’s impossible to be sure.”
“Nefarious?” She laughed. “If someone wanted to kill me, there are better ways, I’m sure.”
I didn’t say what I was thinking—that someone might have just wanted her sick so she couldn’t go through with this wedding. Or maybe someone wanted her ill so they could look after her. It was better to drop it. She was on edge today as it was. There was no need to make it worse.
“Will you do one thing for me? Change the locks.”
“On my flat? Why?”
“For me, Parker. I know you think I’m paranoid, and that’s fine. I hope I am. But I’m asking you to change the locks.”
She shrugged. “Why is it such a big deal to you?”
“Better to be safe than sorry. Please promise me?” I asked.
“Fine. I’ll have the locks changed. You’re getting plenty of promises out of me today.” She smiled at me and then her face fell. “Are we crazy to be doing this?”
I stepped forward, turned her around and took over buttoning her dress for her. “Maybe a little.” The skin of her back was as smooth as the silk she was wearing. My fingers lingered a little longer than they should have.
“You getting cold feet?”
I finished the final button and our eyes met in the mirror. “Six months ago, hell, two months ago, if you told me I would be getting married any time before now and the turn of the next century, I would have told you that you were betting on the wrong horse. I’ve had the odd girlfriend here and there but no one who’s made me want to get down on one knee. Not even close. Marrying you? To help as many families as I know you’re going to? I can’t think of a better reason to get married. And getting a hot bride is just a cherry on the cake.”
“Hot bride?”
I shrugged. I hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. “Hot bride who thinks I’ve got good lips. Pucker up, sweetheart, you know I’m using them on you later.”
She spun and pushed me. “You’re ridiculous. I was hallucinating. I mistook you for Val Kilmer in Batman. Now, that’s a man with good lips.”
“I like my dark knights Christian Bale-sized, as you know.”
“Yeah, because you wish you had Val Kilmer’s lips.”
“You want a reminder of just how good my lips are?” I stepped forward and she tipped her head back to look me in the eye. “Our last unmarried kiss before we leave?”
She shook her head. “You wish you got to kiss me again.”
A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “Maybe I do, Cream Puff.”
My phone buzzed, interrupting our little dance. “It’s the car,” I said.
“Then we better go.” She picked up her bag and skipped past me, the skirt of her dress lifting to show off her perfect legs as she did. I had to fight the urge to catch her hand and pull her back toward me, push my hands into her hair and kiss all that cherry red lipstick off her. But as usual, she was two steps ahead of me.
In under an hour, that woman was going to be my wife.
Twenty
Tristan
I took Parker’s hand as we got to the front of the oak-paneled room where we were going to be married.
My parents and all my friends—together with their partners—were gathered to witness my marriage. The irony wasn’t lost on me that Parker and I were going to be married before some of my friends who were desperately in love. It wasn’t love that drove Parker and me. It was need. Although over the last weeks, we’d transitioned from near strangers to partners in crime, housemates, and friends. And now we were about to become husband and wife.
I’d agreed to Parker’s plan before I knew much about her, but now I was about to promise to love, honor, and cherish her. It didn’t feel as alien or uncomfortable as I’d expected it to when she’d first suggested it. I liked Parker. I respected her. I admired her passion for what she did and the way she worked so hard to achieve great things, despite having a father as wealthy and powerful as Arthur Frazer. She could have spent her time making charitable donations and flitting from party to party. But she hadn’t taken the easy route. She’d worked hard to create a legacy as hard won as her father’s had been. He should be so very proud of her and by the look in his eye, he most certainly was.
The registrar cleared her throat and quiet descended on the room.
My heart thudded against my ribcage and unexpectedly, I was a little nervous. Not because I didn’t believe we were doing the right thing. Not because I thought anyone was going to object when the time came. It just hit me that, whatever the motivation, I was about to be married.
I was about to be someone’s husband.
Parker was going to be my wife.
The officiant started to speak and I looked over at Parker. She must have sensed my gaze because she looked over at me and as she did, my heartrate evened out. When we were asked whether or not we knew of a reason we shouldn’t be married, we both answered that we didn’t.
We had chosen the simplest, most straightforward vows. There would be no honoring or obeying. No til-death-us-do-parts.
I agreed to take Parker as my wedded wife.
She agreed to take me as her wedded husband.
We signed the register and just like that, in less time than it took to eat lunch, we were married.
It felt completely natural and unforced, but I swept my thumbs over Parker’s cheekbones and pressed my lips to hers.
I pulled back slightly and whispered, “You have great lips, wife.” I enjoyed her blush at the memory of the night she’d given me the compliment, but before I could tease her about it further, we were surrounded in a circle of handshakes, hugs, and congratulations. My heart swelled in my chest as I felt the love and good wishes from the people around us. I didn’t drop Parker’s hand for a second.
We were in this together.
The next twenty minutes were a blur as we were ushered out of the registry office and walked the five minutes to the restaurant where we were going to break bread with the people most special to us.
The wedding might have been just for show, but it was a truly wonderful feeling to have so many people rooting for our happiness.
“We’re lucky to have so many people who love us,” I whispered to Parker as we took our seats in the private dining room of the restaurant Parker had picked.
“We really are. And I’m lucky I married someone who appreciates it. Thank you.”
I pressed a kiss to her temple.
Arthur took a seat next to Parker at the long table and leaned in to us both. “You’re officially family, Tristan. And I can’t think of a better son-in-law.” He was father of the bride, so I supposed that it was only appropriate that he say something to his future son-in-law. But he knew this was a marriage in name only; he didn’t have to be quite so generous to me.
“I have something for you.” Arthur pulled out a cream envelope from his inside breast pocket. “Your mother and I didn’t have a clue what to get you. Tristan’s got a house and I know it’s impossible to buy my daughter anything without her telling me how my money would be put to better use as a charitable donation. So we decided to get you something money can’t buy—more time together.”
Was he sending us to jail?
He handed the envelope to Parker. “Ten days in Mexico. You leave tomorrow night.”
A holiday? Together? Alone?
Parker’s mother, who was seated the other side of her husband, clasped her hands together, delight radiating from her smile as she leaned forward to see our reactions. “It’s the most beautiful hotel,” she said. “Rumor has it, the Obamas holiday there.”
“That’s so kind, really, but I have to work,” Parker said. “And so does Tristan.”
“Tish tosh,” Parker’s mother said. “You two need a holiday. You just got married, for goodness’ sake.”
“But—” Parker started to protest but I silenced her with a squeeze of her thigh under the table.
“We’ll figure it out,” I said.
“Honeymoon? Are you serious? I’ve seen how hard you work. And I have a thousand things to do at the charity.”
“I know.” I skirted my hands over her back, rubbing circles across the silk of her gown. “Don’t worry about it. I can take my work anywhere and we can find someone to cover you at your job.”
She opened her mouth to protest.
“Parker,” I said, a warning in my tone. “Don’t worry about this now. We can deal with it later. Let’s enjoy lunch with our family and friends.”
Her shoulders dropped beside me and I moved my hand from her back, down to link my fingers with hers. “This is our special day.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“You win.”
Twenty-One
Parker
My mother had taken her interfering to a new level and bought me an entire new wardrobe to take to Mexico with me, which was the only thing to explain the mammoth-sized suitcase being wheeled to our room by the smartly dressed porter. Of course Tristan insisted on carrying his own.
“You think you can stay awake until we make it to the room?” Tristan asked.
I elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re hilarious.” I’d spent the entire ten hours on the plane asleep. “I was tired.”
He grinned at me. “I think we were meant to join the mile-high club, not the passed-out-snoring club. Great start to the honeymoon, wifey.”
“I’m not a good flyer. I think the anxiety sends me to sleep.”
“On the upside, I got more work done than I expected,” he said. “Which means I have more free time now we’re here.”
“You’re not exhausted?” I asked. I could sleep right now in the corridor if I lay down.
“Well now that you mention it, it’s close to midnight and we’re being shown to our hotel room. I’m guessing they’ve got a bed in there somewhere.”
I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me before, but it suddenly struck me that we were about to enter a room—most probably the honeymoon suite—which meant we were going to be faced with just one bed.
“Tristan,” I said, “there’ll be a bed. One bed.”
We came to a stop and the porter let us into the room. “Welcome to the honeymoon suite. You can’t see the view at the moment, but you’re on the beach and you have one hundred eighty-degree views of the ocean.”
I smiled, hoping he wouldn’t see me stressing about the fact that one of us wasn’t going to have a good night’s sleep tonight, or for the next nine nights.
“This is your living area,” he said as we came out of the hallway into a large, bright room with a dining table and chairs at one end, a small kitchen at the other, and to my everlasting relief, two sofas—large enough to sleep on—in the middle. “You have a large terrace out of these doors, with a private plunge pool, a spa, and dining area. You also have a terrace outside your bedroom window.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
“Lovely,” Tristan said.
“We have champagne for you,” he said, stopping at the kitchen counter, opening the bottle and then pouring us our second glass since we’d crossed the threshold of the hotel.
We clinked glasses and continued the tour into the bedroom.
“The bed is an Alaskan king-sized,” he said with a glance at Tristan’s tall frame.
“It’s a big bed,” I said, wondering what he was expecting us to say.
“A very big bed,” Tristan agreed, grinning.
“The bathroom has a steam room, a jacuzzi bath as well as a double-headed shower,” the porter said. “You’re going to have a great time.”
After the porter had showed us how to work the air conditioning, told us where the room safe was, and then gave us the number of our personal butler, Tristan assured him that we didn’t need any room service, tipped him, and closed and locked the door.
“I thought he was planning to stay for the week,” Tristan said as he collapsed on the couch. “Why is travelling tiring when you’re doing nothing but sitting?”
“Because you didn’t nap on the plane?”
Tristan laughed. “No one can categorize nearly ten hours of sleep as a nap. Whatever the reason, I’m exhausted.”
“You should sleep. You take the bedroom. I’m fine here on the sofa.”
Before I could move to dig out my toiletries from my case, Tristan scooped me up in his arms and padded into the bedroom. “This is what people do on honeymoon, isn’t it? The groom carries the bride over the threshold?”
“I think that last happened in 1947, but okay.”
He threw me on the bed like I was five years old and playing aeroplanes with my dad.
“Unless there’s a good reason, we can share a bed. We won’t even be able to see each other from our respective sides.”
The idea of ten days on the sofa wasn’t massively appealing. It didn’t take much to sell me on the idea. “I suppose we are married now.”
“You better have packed those cow pajamas, or I won’t forgive you,” Tristan said as he pulled his case open.
“Isn’t this insane?” I asked as I watched Tristan unpack from where I was lying on the bed and definitely not wondering how long it would be until I saw him in a towel.
“The room? It’s nice.”
I propped my head on my hand. “The fact that we’re on honeymoon. Together. We’ve only known each other a little over a month.”
“I’m not sure ‘insane’ is the right adjective. ‘Unusual’ maybe. We should just make the most of it. I know you didn’t want to come, but we’re here. We have this beautiful room. In this beautiful hotel, in this amazing country. Let’s just enjoy it.”
