Chapter Eleven
Jemma
I’ve never seen London before. The energy here is completely different from Paris. It’s hard to explain. Maybe it’s my lack of sleep that gives my brain enough space to wander and let my childhood fantasies out to play but I feel like I should be wearing more than just a pair of flats and jeans as we roll past Buckingham Palace.
But that’s about as far as my thoughts get before Erik is swinging the car door open as we enter yet another hotel lobby. Pristine marble and emasculate flowers welcome us as does a flurry of flashing blubs and shouting reporters.
I throw my hand up in surprise and yelp. The men swoop in before my eyes can adjust after the bright flash and when they do, I have large shoulders blocking me from view.
Warren ushers me into an elevator with Erik and Daemon serving as a unified wall between me and the cameras.
“Sorry about that. We tend to get a little press coverage when we come here. We’ve done a lot for the universities here which has landed us on some invisible bachelor list of some kind.”
My familiar ringtone spills into the tiny elevator, blaring overtop the nice little melody playing over the hidden speakers. Oh crap! Dread fills me instantly. Before now, I never had anything to hide from my best friend so I have my phone programmed to automatically answer her Facetime.
Big mistake. Huge! In my defense, the feature does help when I have my arms full of books and coffee. In hindsight automation isn’t always the best option.
“Brooklyn!” I pump my tone with cheer to hide the fact my heart rate is close to a thousand beats a minute.
I quickly turn so that my phone’s camera is not pointed at Warren but it’s almost useless to hide who I am with. Mirrors cover every inch of the elevator so I hit end and pray she thinks I have bad reception.
“Problem.” Erik slides me a side eye paired with a cheeky smirk.
“Who’s there with you? He sounds sexaaaay.”
Now my heart is dead. Just D.E.A.D.
Eyes glued to the floor, I freeze briefly before yanking the phone back out of my pocket and slamming my hand over the camera second before turning the video call to no cameras.
It never fails. My friend possesses no filter between her thoughts and her mouth on a good day. And she knows damn well I have her on speaker.
We’ve texted a little over the past week. And like every best friend she pestered for answers of where I was. It’s hard to dodge direct questions, but until now the promise of telling her later worked. The hazard of always being predictable—the second you change patterns it’s noticeable and sparks people’s curiosity.
“There’s only one reason you would shove your phone back into your packet, my friend, and that’s if you have a guy with you.” Her voice bounces off the sides of the elevator.
“Are you naked? Oh, better yet, is he hot?”
“Brooklyn, I’ll call you later, okay?”
She doesn’t bite.
“Come on, tell me. You know I have your back.”
I know she does. Not another person on the planet had my back more than Brooklyn. “Well,” I look at Daemon but his scowl isn’t telling me anything. Erik and Warren the same. I don’t want to assume they will be ok with me outing them. “I’ll say this. I haven’t looked at a book or much else since we landed in Paris. That will just have to hold you over for now.”
“Paris?”
“Now London.”
“I come home from work to find the apartment empty. Because you go to Paris! Girl! I need details. Please tell me you’re not there with that surfer dude from my law class. The one who keeps trying to get you to go out with him.”
“No. God, tell me you know me better than that.”
Three dark sets of eyes level my way. I gulp at the possessive tug on my heart. Like they claim me with a simple look.
Fuck.
“Look, you can keep your secret. For now. I’ll let you get home before I hound you again. But wow, girl. When I said live a little on New Year’s, I thought maybe you would dance at the party with some hot guy, get a haircut, skip study group and binge watch rom coms.”