She points at me. “Not funny. You’re spiralling. I can see it. You have to come with me. I’ll cover any rent that you owe. I’ll cover everything.”
“God, no. I’d feel so uncomfortable accepting something so generous.” Even talking about it makes me fidgety. I lift my pasta bowl from the table, aggressively scrape the half-eaten food into the bin, and put the dish in the sink before turning back to face my friend. “It’s so kind of you, but I really can’t accept it. I need to get this business off the ground—”
“You can’t do that here.”
“Of course I can. People set up businesses in worse places.”
“Okay. But do princesses who were engaged to marry a billionaire last month and who’ve lived off Daddy’s money their entire lives do it in places like this?”
I drop into a chair opposite her. It creaks beneath me. “I’m not a princess.”
She laughs, but it’s soft and indulgent. “You are. I bet you’re missing regular manicures.” She tosses a glance at my unpainted, short-trimmed nails.
I slip my hands into my pockets. “I could totally tough it out here. I’m all good. I’m thriving. I’m—”
“How’s the business going?”
My bravado falters. “The internet is shit—it keeps dropping out—the cracked laptop isn’t working properly, and I keep losing work.” I groan. “It’s a fucking nightmare.”
She reaches across the table and puts her hand over mine. “Come and stay with me. It doesn’t have to be permanent, but it’ll be comfortable. It won’t smell of fried onions. And the internet is fast.”
I pause, narrowing my gaze at her. “How fast?”
“The fastest.” She waggles her eyebrows like she knows she’s close to breaking my resistance. I’ve always been a whore for fast broadband.
“Where do you live?” I ask, realising I have no idea, other than she’s somewhere in Knightsbridge.
“The Emblem.”
I quirk my head to the side. “As in that fancy new building overlooking Hyde Park?”
“Yeah.”
I blow out a low whistle. “Nice.”
“I’m in the penthouse,” she says, giving me a coy smile.
“Wow.” I remember Seb once mentioning that he’d looked at the Emblem, where the average flat sells for fifty million. I knew Lizzie was rich, given her clothes and jewellery, but I didn’t know she wasEmblem-penthouse-rich. “I really couldn’t—”
“Come on. Where else are you going to go? You don’t have to do everything alone. You can ask for help. Accept help. And this will let you save money and give you time to think about how you’re going to get your social media stuff back off the ground. There must be a way to do that without your dad messing it all up again.”
“Maybe,” I say, but it sounds hopeless.
She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Let me help you. It’s not too much, and I don’t mind. I want to help. I want—”
Her phone rings, shrilly playing from her bag, which is still tucked under her arm.
“Shit,” she mutters, pulling her phone out. “It’s my dad. I’m still interning at his office. Told him I was only nipping out for lunch, and then told his driver to whizz me over here instead.” She glances at her watch and stands. “I need to go. You’ll come tomorrow? Drop call me on your new number, and I’ll message you the details.”
For a second, I consider saying no, but Lizzie is staring at me so eagerly, smiling so kindly, that I allow the gratitude to flood in. I’m so lucky to have a friend like this, who won’t take no for an answer until I accept her help. I can’t hide my relief; my upper body sags and my mouth splits into a wide grin. “Yes, I’ll come. Thank you. Thank you so, so much.”
She gives me a one-armed hug, her lips dusting my cheek briefly before she pulls away and answers her father’s call.
“Dad, hey,” she says with what sounds like genuine enthusiasm. My insides cramp at the cheer in her voice, and my smile vanishes.
What must it be like to feel happy when speaking to your father? Not to be filled with such trepidation at the mereideaof hearing his voice on the other end of the line, let alone what he might actually say when he speaks, that you have to change your phone number to avoid it?
I have absolutely no clue.