How to Belong with a Billionaire (Arden St. Ives #3)

by Alexis Hall

“I suppose my entire relationship with Caspian could be characterised as the triumph of hope over experience.” Heh. Mine too. “Dude would take a conference call at his own funeral.”

He threw me a smile, which seemed genuine. And then, in quite a different voice, “Oh, there you are. Hello, sweetness. How’s my darling?” For a brief about-to-throw-up-in-my-mouth moment, I thought Caspian had arrived, but it turned out Nathaniel was talking to a cat which had just come into the kitchen.

“Am I going to get cat AIDS now?” “No, Arden. You’re not going to get cat AIDS.”

Caspian poured Nathaniel some wine—it had been perspiring gently in an ice bucket much like the rest of us.

Caspian had actually covered his face with his hands. “Should I just leave?” I asked. Which was when I realised: He was laughing. Quietly. Then not so quietly. In that beautiful, helpless way he did so very rarely. “Arden, my Arden,” he said, his voice still full of mirth, and this infinite gentleness, “what has happened to you? Have you forgotten how to human?”

I hope there’s a special place in hell reserved for people who say “Tell me about yourself.” Maybe not right in Satan’s arsehole with the betrayers, but pretty damn near it. Satan’s taint? Just behind his balls, where it’d be all sweaty with hellfire.

I closed my eyes in case I lost control and stuck a fork in one.

“Reader, she married him, didn’t she?” And actually, I’d always found Caspian easy to talk to—even from that very first, bewildering phone call. “Yes, well.” Nathaniel poured himself another glass of wine, splashing a little as he did so. “In that regard, your story and Jane’s end rather differently.” “And from your perspective, I’m probably the madwoman in the attic.”

Caspian picked at the edge of his nicotine patch. “So, Arden. How are you?” “Since the last two times you asked me that question tonight? Still fine, Caspian.” “‘Fine’ is a rather nonspecific answer.” “Well, I stubbed my toe against the floor when I got out of bed this morning, and I think it’s catching in a hole in my sock. Specific enough for you?”

You’re living with El—Elean—Ellery, is that correct?” “Yep. In a disused biscuit factory we share with a stuffed walrus called Broderick. There are a lot of drugs and we party late into the night like the no-fucks-given twenty-somethings we are.” “I hope my sister isn’t being a bad influence on you.” “She hasn’t broken my heart yet, so I think that puts her well ahead of the family average.”

“like most things in your life, your relationship with Ellery isn’t nearly as irretrievably damaged as you think it is. She’s still your sister and she still loves you. That’s all still there. It’s just hidden. Like the stars in London.” “Stars are dead light.”

“Arden.” That was Caspian, in much the same tone he’d said “Nathaniel” earlier. Guess that put us 1:1 on diners behaving badly.

Caspian attempted to glare at us both simultaneously, which didn’t entirely work. “Arden, be quiet. Nathaniel, apologise.” “I will not,” we said in unison.

“Stop saying that.” Oh fuck me. I was yelling. “I’m not his friend. I loved him. I still do. And I’m going home.” Reader, I got the fuck out.

“I thought you liked Nathaniel.” “He was only interested in me because I’m Caspian’s sister.” Her lip curled into its customary sneer. “Couldn’t drop me fast enough when Caspian dropped him.” “It must have been hard for him when they broke up. He probably didn’t want to be…reminded of everything he’d lost.” Her eyes flicked to mine briefly, their gaze too sharp. “You stuck around.” Why the fuck was I defending Nathaniel anyway? “Good point. Clearly I’m amazing and Nathaniel sucks.”

“You’ve got to be nice to Nik, though.” “Why do I have to be nice to Nik?” “Because he’s got a spinal cord injury. He’s in a wheelchair.” “I’m not going to be nice to someone just because they’re in a wheelchair.” Ellery subjected me to her most withering stare. “That would be ableist.”

“You little princess.” “I’m a death princess of darkness. Which you’ll learn firsthand if you ever call me princess again.”

We go into every shop. We look at every pair of designer sunglasses. Every intensive repair anti-aging pot of moisturiser. We buy a drink or a snack at every eatery.” “And then what?” “We sit around in uncomfortable chairs feeling unspeakably depressed because we are stuck in this glass nowhere for an indefinite period.” Ellery pulled her Audrey Hepburn shades out of her hoodie and settled them on her nose. “Let’s do it.”

“We’re down to our last hope.” “Oh?” “Yep.” I pointed with a shaky hand towards the arcade. “Air hockey.” Ellery had never played before and was, at first, inclined to think she was too good for air hockey. Nobody, trapped at an airport, is too good for air hockey.

I guess insane competitiveness ran in the Hart family. Although to the best of my remembrance, Caspian had never yelled “Mother-fucking-fucker” during Carcassonne.

“Can’t cope flying economy? God, you’re such a princess.” “You’re talking to a queer boy, Ellery. I’ve always wanted to be a princess.”

But it would definitely be therapeutic.” “Punching me?” “It would be a principled punching, not a personal one.” I pulled a face. “I don’t know if that makes it worse or better.”

Now you’re whizzing around and—not to objectify you or anything—your arms are seriously jacked.” His mouth pulled downwards. “Don’t pity-objectify me.”

Well, fuck me sideways with a rusty banana.

We found some untouched snow near a parade of brass ducks in Christmas hats, and tried to make a snowman. Except it ended up looking more like a penis, so we committed to the design, and fashioned a towering, majestic snowdong, complete with scrotum, instead.

So we’ve sent you some direct to your bank account. And also some socks. But these do not count as legal tender, so they are enclosed. We nearly sent pants as well but we have decided you are old enough now that it would be creepy.

“Family leave you. Let you down. Fuck you up.” But then Ellery paused, her lips curling into a smile. “Friends, though. Maybe they’re worth something.”

“To…truly want something,” I heard myself say, “is to make yourself vulnerable.”

I know you say you’ve changed, and probably you have, but when it comes down to the colours of your dreams, and whatever makes your heart fly, and the things that really matter, you always get to choose.” “Choose what?” “What you take with you and what you leave behind.” I let out a shaky breath. “Because that’s all change is.”

“I’ve never actually”—I waved my hands unhelpfully—“used cocaine before.” “Are you sure? Because you’ve got the lingo down.” “Oh, shut up. And also there’s the nose issue.” She gave me one of her slow, contemptuous blinks. “The nose issue?” “Yes. The nose issue. I don’t want to put things up my nose. My nose is a one-way street.” “You know that’s what fundamentalists say about anal sex.”

“You know, it’s okay,” she said, “to want a break from everything being shitty all the time.” “It wouldn’t be real, though.” “No feelings are real.” She caught my eye a moment, one of those scalpel glances. “Or all of them are.”

why did you do it?” Because I want you so badly and it hurts so much I went temporarily insane? “Because I’d taken coke earlier and was out of my fucking mind.” His whole I’m not angry with you, Arden thing cracked like a carnival mask, leaving him pale with fury, and glaring at me with wolfish ferocity. “You. Did. What?” “I. Did. Drugs.”

“Caspian”—I gave him a somewhat bewildered look—“are you, like, cross with Luke Skywalker because he didn’t change the entire galaxy by himself?”

Also, no power on earth was getting me voluntarily through the doors of a straight club. Ew.

“Haven’t I already blown you today?” “Yes.” Her touch became a caress. “And now it’s time to suck my other cock.”

George preferred cuffs. But that day she’d gone for rope—rope in every colour of the rainbow, wound around me as bright as birthday bunting. I was kneeling, legs bound and spread wide, my arms—also bound—braced in front of me so I wasn’t flaunting my wares to the world. Knots crisscrossed my torso, the ropes vanishing over my shoulders and into the shadows between my legs. It was one of the few times I was looking directly into the camera lens and I was grinning like I’d just spotted the loophole in a deal with the devil. Which could have been incongruous with my pose but, somehow, wasn’t—as if the two were not oppositional, but connected, my triumph and my submission.

I’d got off while bound before but there was something about the position, and having my hands trapped behind me, that made my body feel like a gun someone else had fired. I came, thrashing and shuddering, in a wild jet that George made exactly zero attempt to control for me. My orgasm-wrecked brain helpfully slo-mo’ed the experience: an arc of my own semen pattering gently down on my celluloid self. “For my private collection,” murmured George. I collapsed against her, panting and satisfied. “You are a sick fuck.” “I’ve never claimed otherwise.”

I wasn’t like that at all—being about as aloof as a jam doughnut—but it was cool to pretend.

“Can you at least tell me if, like, it was lots of people or…or not?” Neither of them spoke. But their faces told me everything I needed to know. “Arden…” George made a futile attempt to restrain me. “Oh. My. God.” I was loud enough to turn a few heads, but I wasn’t in any state to care. “Where is he? Is he still here? I’m going to kill him. Actually fucking kill him.”

“He was here a moment ago. I think he stepped out for a cigarette.” “Well, of course he did.” I threw my hands into the air, nearly toppling a tray of drinks. “God fucking damn him to fucking goddamn hell.”

I found Caspian in the propped-open doorway of the fire escape, watching the rumpled indigo of the starless London sky, cigarette between his fingers. I grabbed it, threw it to the ground, and stubbed it out with the toe of my shoe. “Make up your fucking mind,” I told him. “Like, smoke or don’t smoke. But stop pretending you’re not smoking when you are.”

“What are you doing here? Why did you buy all the pictures? What the fuck is wrong with you?” He was silent, the uncertain moonlight rendering him almost monochrome, all stark lines and shadows. “Well?” I might actually have stamped my foot. “Oh, I thought they were hypothetical questions.”

Scalding tears were streaming down my face, making my eyes ache with pressure and my lips burn with salt. “I hate you, that’s what’s the matter. Those pictures are beautiful. I’m proud of them. And you’re locking them away from everyone because even though you don’t want me, you don’t want anyone else to have me either.”

I moved restlessly in his arms, not sure whether I wanted to struggle free, or beat myself against him until we both broke.

I was floating in a cool white calm. Like I’d gone through hurting and come out the other side and found…nothing. “I think,” I heard myself say, my own voice echoing distantly in my ears, “I don’t want to ever see you again.”

He’d said those things to me. Fucked my arse, my head, and my heart in the same damn fire escape.

“Then believe the situation will be taken care of.” He rose, controlled as ever, to his feet. Okay, that sounded great. And also a bit Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest? I swallowed. “By…taken care of…you don’t mean in a murdery way, right?” He looked startled. “I hadn’t planned on it. Although it could be arranged if it became necessary. Or if you—” “No. No. Please don’t.” “If you weren’t clearly distraught”—he gave me the faintest of smiles—“I’d be a little concerned at how casually you assumed I’d resort to assassination.”

“And if you keep talking like this, I really will have him assassinated.”

Am I a sociopath? Am I a sociopath like he is?” “Arden,” said Caspian, very gently. “Of course you’re not.” I turned my head to look at him. “H-how can you be so sure?” “Sociopaths don’t care whether they’re sociopaths.”

“I keep thinking I would like to be grown up,” I admitted. “I mean, maybe not very grown up. But grown up enough not to leave the laundry until I have literally run out of clothes.” He blinked. “That is not a problem I’ve encountered.” “Because you’re a grown-up.” “No, because I have a housekeeper.”