"Seven months ago, hm?" I ask Eleanor, in the middle of the studio where we used to spend so much time as kids. "The night of the Academy Awards. It was seven months ago, right?"25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcxAjDtMWua
Eleanor nods, and I sigh in her trail. "I can't believe it was the last time I saw your father. And speaking of him... We wanted to attend his funeral, Els. I really wish we could."25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGOeAXD8Qbs
"Don't worry about that."
"How could I not? We should have been here at your side, and we weren't. We saw it on television. So many people, but us."25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡINXCdfOMBX
"Come on, Becks. Just let it go. You and Ty had both tons of stuff to do, appointments to keep... Don't blame yourself. I don't. Your father," she grimaces at his name, "did it quiet well in your place. Actually, he made damn sure everyone knew his opinion on the matter: that you were too busy to pay respects."
I swallow hard, not expecting those words. Or, maybe, because I did. It's no secret that Eleanor despises my father so much. And honestly? He deserves every bit of it.
"Should I pretend to be shocked?" I ask her, the tone in my voice sour even to my ears. My father and I have been on bad terms since forever, but saying it out loud still makes me feel like an asshole, given my father - as bad as he can be - is still alive, while Lord William was buried and laid to rest two months ago.
But Eleanor smiles nevertheless. She shakes her head and moves closer to the window, averting my eyes.
The evening is descending on Cavendish Estate Manor, now, and I can't help but notice the lamps beginning to glow outside, creating pockets of light along the tree-lined driveway.
"I guess we all know Bob Beckett. I didn't kick his ass right there and then only because it was inappropriate given the circumstances. But I made it more than clear that he is no longer welcome at Cavendish Estate Manor. And that if he ever dares to disrespect you or Tyler again, I'll personally deal with him. Not that it matters, though. Has he ever listened to anyone?"
"To your father? And my mother too, if he was in the right mood. But that time is over," I let out, and Eleanor turns from the window to face me again.
Her eyes soften, filled with understanding. Or pity. "How is she doing?"
"As usual? Some days better. Others worse." I reach down to my throat under the turtleneck jumper, feeling the tightening grip of frustration creeping under my skin. "Lately, it's worse more often than better. She struggles to remember even her name. But she is safe, with all the nurses and doctors around. It's just..."
"That you miss her."
It's not a question. Eleanor's statement is matter-of-fact, but the pain in her voice mirrors my own, and I hasten to change the topic. "Enough of me. How are you? How's the Foundation?"
"Um, let's see... exhausting? Frustrating? I'm the director now, and I should be able to do what I want, but of course I can't. The bureaucracy is a nightmare and the board is even worse. And there's this annoying voice in the back of my head that keeps asking me what the hell I'm doing there."
"Eleanor..."
"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to complain. It's just that running the Foundation was my mother's dream, not mine. I still believe that preserving history through archaeological research and excavation projects is important, but I'd rather be in the field digging myself. Not sitting at a desk, reading reports, and arguing with narrow-minded individuals."
"I suppose it's not polite of me to remember you're a lady now. And that you have a beautiful fiancée, a manor to attend to, horses, servitude, and..."
"Don't, please," she shushes me. "Just don't. Let me dream of the adventure and the thrill of the unknown, if only for another minute. Or two."
"For however long you wish."
"Tonight, for sure! Oh, God, Mr. Pembroke is going to be so boring and stiff, tomorrow. And speaking of it, I didn't know about my father's private will. If I had known, if I had had more time, I would have..."
"Organized everything by yourself?" I cut her short, tilting my head on the side.
"Yeah, well..."
"Then I'm glad you didn't know. You would have stressed yourself over it, without any good reason." I reassure her. "It took us by surprise, that's all. I mean, neither Tyler or I ever had this great relationship with your father, so it's... awkward, I guess."
"I was surprised too, to be honest. Again, I would have preferred there had been more time."
"It's fine, Els. I promise. I've regretted bitterly not being able to rearrange our commitments for your father's funeral. So when you called, the other day, I knew on the spot that I'd do everything in my power to be here, this time. And you know that when I put my mind on something, I can be very…"
"Stubborn," she ends for me, and I can't help but blush. There's something in her tone, in her expression, in the space she has deliberately put between us, that makes me feel like we're still stuck in the past, just a few seconds away from her love confession.
Our gazes remain locked for a moment too long to be convenient, and I see the same memories dancing in her eyes. We're different people now, I keep telling myself, but it's so hard to convince my mind when all I want to do is cover the few steps dividing us, grab that sweater and kiss her lips like the world around us doesn't matter anymore.
Good God, I've spent so long shutting myself off, telling myself that what I felt for Eleanor was simply confusion, the product of grief and youth. And now here I am in deep trouble, if just by standing in this room, back into this house, back into her orbit, frightened to the core at the idea that I'm going to lose her once and forever… if all of it makes me feel like a stupid girl in love all over again.
Eleanor is engaged, and I'm married, for God's sake! We both love our respective partners so much that even thinking about kissing her makes my own skin crawl. This must stop. This must stop now. What I feel isn't real. It's just a small, irrelevant, insignificant ghost from a time long gone. An echo of what we might have been, if only life had given us the opportunity to...
"It's in London, right?" I find myself asking before my mind can finish the sentence, and Eleanor nods.
"At three PM, yes."
"In the presence of this Mr. Pembroke that will surely look like an old owl sitting on top of a pile of documents, in an equally old, decadent place called... Forgive me, I'm American, I'm not sure..."
Eleanor scoffs, and the awkwardness between us fades into our usual banter. "Oxford Historical Inquiry Society."
"Oxford Historical Inquiry Society, of course! How long has it been since it was founded? Fifty years?"
"More or less. More than less, actually," she points out. "My father was very proud to still be a member. Sometimes he would repeat, 'Oxhins once, Oxhins forever,' as if that was the answer to every question. He was so annoying!"
I can't help but grin at the thought of Lord Cavendish and his haughtiness. But in the end, I'm glad the club existed, because the society was indeed the beginning of everything. My father, Tyler's father, and Lord and Lady Cavendish met there when they were all students, and their friendship, born of a shared passion for history and archaeology, lasted long after their studies were over.
Without the Oxford Historical Inquiry Society, I wouldn't be here today. And, most important, I wouldn't have Eleanor and Tyler in my life.
"Okay, let me get this straight. Tomorrow in the afternoon, we're going to attend the opening of your father's late will. And you really have no idea what it is."
Something crosses Eleanor's eyes and I've the feeling she is going to say something on the matter, but before she could ever say a word, someone interrupts us from the doorway.
"She may not, but I do." We both turn, and there she is, Righley Morgan, leaning against the door-frame with that mischievous grin I know so well. My lovable, teasing, confident little pest. Well, not that little anymore, but she'll always be my mentee, for better or worse.
Eleanor's eyes brighten up immediately. "You know what my father's will is?"
"Well, hello to you too, Lady Cavendish," Righley says, placing a dramatic hand over her heart as if she's been mortally offended by the lack of proper greeting from her fiancée. Her oversized black hoodie swamps her slender frame, her tousled blonde waves catching the lamplight as her eyes dance with mischief behind black-rimmed glasses.
Eleanor smirks, clearly used to Righley's theatrics. "Go on then, enlighten us. What do you think it's about?"
"Given Becks's luck? It's a Horcrux, at least!"
"A Horcrux...?"
"Well, it could be worse. Like… Dolores Umbridge's horcrux!"
"Did she create any?" Eleanor asks, horrified, and I shake my head.
"Can't I have Hermione Granger, instead?"
"Oh, you surely wish," Righley grins, finally breaking her stance and striding in my direction, her hazel eyes twinkling with delight as she slowly approaches like a cat with her prey. She stops when we are only inches apart, her dimples in full view, before pulling me into a strong, possessive embrace that leaves me breathless.
"Ouch, Righ!" I pretend to complain. "You're squeezing me to death!"
"Am I now?" she teases, hugging me even tighter.
"Yes, I can't breathe! Okay, okay, I surrender!"
"Nope, your surrender is not enough. I want my revenge. And revenge hurts. Tell me how much you've missed me and maybe, just maybe, I'll consider letting you go!"
"Okay, I've missed you like crazy!"
"Not enough!"
I start to laugh in Righley's arms, my cheek pressed against hers, and she laughs alongside me, holding me captive until I finally give in. "Alright, my gorgeous Slytherin, you won! I've missed you like the moon misses the sun. Happy? Now please let me go! I really can't breathe!"
"Choose carefully: your mentee's vengeance - and her forgiveness if you are lucky enough - or breathing. You can't have both."
"Righley, I'm serious!" I protest, but maybe I'm not very convincing, because behind us Eleanor is trying her best to hide her own chuckles.
"Els, please!" I implore my best friend, but she leans against the wall next the windowsill, arms crossed in front of her. "I'm sorry, Becks, but I can't help you this time. You have to deal with your pupil alone."
I groan, ready to tickle Righley, but she's faster than me - stronger too! - and stops me before I can even act.
"This is for disappearing for months from our radar," she teases, hugging me even tighter. "This is for the quick text replies and the twenty-second voice messages. The 'sorry, I can't talk now,' and the 'I'll call you soon'. This is for all the lame excuses and the one-minute video calls. This is for..."
"I know. I know. I'm sorry!"
I protest, but she is so fucking right. I've been neglecting her and Eleanor for way too long. The music, the success, my mother, my private life. Everything kept spiraling and spiraling down, but in the end all of it was just the perfect excuse. It was easier this way, to keep the distance, to maintain the careful balance I've established between the four of us.
But here they are, Eleanor and Righley, drawing me back to them with their charm and their persistence, reminding me of how much I've missed them both, and how stupid I've been, pretending they were not part of my heart.
"Okay, okay, I get it! I've been an asshole. I swear I won't do it again!"
"Really? Because you don't sound convincing, to me. Is she, El?
"Definitely not," Eleanor agrees, and I give her a death stare over my shoulder, but she's grinning towards the door now, and when I follow her gaze, here's Tyler, biting her lips to keep from laughing out loud.
"You too?"
My wife shrugs, and a lock of curly hair escapes her messy bun, framing her brown face in that way I find incredibly sexy, her piercing, almond-shaped eyes alight with fun. She isn't simply beautiful. She is stunning.
And, right now, also very much amused by my current state.
"Sorry, babe," she says. "I had my own share ten minutes ago. And by the way, buddy," she adds in Righley's direction, "can you add 'leaving your wife alone dealing with the luggage on the stairs' to the list of Becks' crimes? Because you definitely should."
"Tyler!" I protest, but her black eyes sparkle with intensity and I know I'm doomed. She winks, and then laughs, and then Eleanor laughs too, and finally Righley lets me go.
"I'm not done, but killing you would cut the fun too quickly," she declares, looking quite satisfied with herself as I adjust my jacket.
"Well, thank you," I complain, but as Righley reaches Eleanor to kiss her cheek, my own wife moves across the room. And when she hugs me from behind, the world makes sense once again.
She was right from the start, I think, as her warmth envelops me and my hands tighten around her arms. The four of us are perfectly fine, just like an old clock that needed to be oiled.
And yet, when I look back to our best friends across the room, I can't deny the subtle discomfort in the pit of my stomach, that keeps telling me something is still off.
I search for Eleanor's eyes, and she nods in my direction, as if to say: "I see you. And I will never stop loving you. But now, we have to let go. And it's fine too."
And Jesus, it's not fine at all.
There's a tension between us, palpable and powerful, and a forced smile on her lips that makes it all worse.
She is giving up on me, just as I knew she was going to do the summer Alec died. Just as she did, we did, for all our lives. And the problem is that the moment I catch her final surrender, that last retreat that takes her a million miles away from me, my body reacts on its own. And a sudden gasp escapes my lips, a sharp inhale, a painful twist of my chest that makes me tense in Tyler's arms.
It will never be over.
It's written in Eleanor's face. It's written in the way Tyler's muscles react to mine. In the way Righley shifts, suddenly aware, watching us all with a stern mask and eyes full of understanding.
It's as if the entire room has been caught in a moment of painful clarity, the pretense we've all maintained for the last three years gone in the span between downbeats, that suspended moment when everything stops moving before collapsing under its own weight.
The four of us look away at the same time, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that we're all aware - so painfully aware - of the tension beneath the surface, those unspoken truths we've been dancing around for years.
It seems to last forever, but it's only a matter of seconds before Righley clears her throat. "Well," she says, with forced lightness, "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Can we order pizza?"
"No way we are ordering pizza!" Eleanor scoffs, reaching for Righley's arm and squeezing it with unusual intensity. Their eyes meet in a silent communication filled with love, and I don't know how to feel. "Mrs. Holloway has been cooking since dawn. She would start a revolution if we order pizza now"
"Which means we are going to eat some terrible British food, right?"25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfrz8MtrEte
"Exactly, my love," Eleanor smiles softly, already leaving the spot by the window. "Which also means I should choose the wine, first. Would you mind helping me, Ty? To save us from this disgraceful fiancée of mine who couldn't tell a merlot from a cabernet sauvignon?"25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0IaL3vLp17
Righley rolls her eyes, and Tyler gently untangles herself from my back. "Yes, of course. Lead the way," she says. Her eyes, however, remain fixed on me, silently assessing, searching for permission to leave me alone. There's a hidden plea behind her black irises, and I can almost hear her voice whispering in my ear, asking me to follow them.
But I shake my head. I can't go with them now. Not when my heart is beating furiously in my chest, not when every inch of my skin burns with regret, shame, and guilt.
"Go, all of you," I tell her instead. "I'll reach you in a minute. Let me just..." I gesture vaguely toward the piano, the words strangling in my throat. Tyler doesn't need me to elaborate. She takes my hands in hers, her eyes filled with love and worry at the same time.
And then she leaves.
She turns her back, and follows Eleanor across the threshold. And I know, with terrifying certainty, that I can't lose her. Of all the things that could happen in my life, I can't lose Tyler Aldridge.
I simply can't.25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvHQ9gQsGGp
and then Add to home screen.