Page 106 of The Girlfriend Clause
He smiled back at me, and for a second, it looked like he meant it, like he wasn’t just inviting me over to prep for an elaborate lie. Like when he’d waved up at me from the pavement outside my flat.
Like maybe he actually wanted methere.
Talking Heads played over the speakers, and I nodded along. More music I liked—although still not retro enough to fit this car. I could imagine him listening to Van Morrison, though he’d probably tell me he knew him personally, as connected as he seemed to be to all things high-end.
“Into your eighties tunes?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah. I love eighties music. My mum used to watch all those old films with Ben and me when we were growing up. The soundtracks bring back happy memories, I guess—”
His mum again.What had happened there?He sounded nostalgic when he spoke of her, like it was hard for him to think about.
Outside, shopfronts gave way to stucco terraces and discreet mansion blocks with brass plaques and doormen.
We were going to Liam Roth’s flat. Or, no, not his flat. Hispenthouse.
Was that just another name for an expensive top-floorflat?
My stomach gave a little lurch with the bags each time we hit a bump. Must have been the champagne.
*
By the time we reached the top floor of Harcourt House on Carlos Place—ten flights of stairs, because lifts and I still weren’t compatible despite the counseling James had arranged—I was completely out of breath. I tried to cover it up, but it was obvious I wasn’t a big fan of treadmills. Liam hadn’t even broken a sweat.
The stairwell opened onto a quiet corridor with a single huge door at the end. When it swung inward, the apartment beyond was all concrete, chrome, and glass. The furniture was spaced with mathematical precision, and beyond the windows, Mayfair’s rooftops gave way to the London skyline.
Kind of what I’d expected.
I sank into his sofa, the leather cold through my thin cotton skirt.
God, did people really live like this?No half-drunk glasses, no laundry basket full of underpants balancing on top of the fridge. You couldn’t even see where the fridge was. Everything was immaculate and tucked away, so the whole kitchen looked like an expensive filing cabinet.
“Wow,” I said finally. The word bounced up into the high ceiling before dropping back down between us. “Not into upcycling then. Would it clash with your industrial chic?”
He set the shopping bags down neatly by the console, aligning the handles so they stood to attention. “Apologies. If this isn’t to your tastes, we could pop into TK Maxx on the way back to yours and pick up some knickknacks. Add a touch of Andrea’s South London hospitality before Hugo and Miranda show up.”
I snorted. “I don’t think TK Maxx caters to this sort of vibe.”
“Probably not. So embarrassinglyMayfair, isn’t it?” He gave me his wonky smile again.
“So did you design the place yourself? It’s really—it’s incredible, Liam.”
“Oh. No. I don’t have time for that. It came like this. All the furniture and everything. It’s fine. I’m not here often.”
“Right.” It was hard to imagine that Liam lived here. Wilhelm von Roth—yes. But not Liam. There was no evidence of him at all. Not even a rogue sock. It made me feel rather sad.
“My brother used to have a smaller place a couple of floors down,” he said. “Sold it a year ago when he got a dog.”
“Oh. That sounds nice. Do you miss him being nearby?”
“Well.” He paused. “Not really. Maybe a bit. It was nice to be able to see each other more, though.”
Yeah, I got that. As annoying as Eliza could be, I loved living with her.
“The place is pretty sparse, Liam,” I said. “Do you actually cook in here, or what?”
“It has been known.” He laughed. “The bathroom’s through there, by the way. If you need it.” He gestured down a hallway. “Third door on the left.”
His right eye still had a cut above it from where the box of Fortis ErectaGel sachets had attacked him last week. He’d never mentioned the incident again, thank God. Perhaps he’d forgotten about it.
