In Harmony (Fenbrook Academy #2)(12)
Author: Helena Newbury

That meant I couldn’t say “No,” and she knew it.

“Fine,” I told her. “Anything else?”

“Ask Connor.”

I stopped dead by the main doors. “What? We’re not—”

“Not as a date! God, imagine that. No, Darrell’s inviting some of the high society types, and apparently about eighty percent of them are female. It used to be balanced out by the NuclearKillDeathSquad but he’s cut the cord with them now. Natasha’s worried we’ll be short on men.” NuclearKillDeathSquad was Jasmine’s shorthand for the defense industry executives who used to be Darrell’s whole life.

“Why does she want Connor? I thought those society women were all twigs in Prada. Are you sure they’re going to mix well with—”

“With a super-hot, stubbly, penniless Irish guitarist?” Jasmine sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re the same species. Have you never heard of a bit of rough?”

I tried to imagine Connor in a room full of women who spent more on clothes than we did on rent. I wasn’t actually sure who’d be the hunter and who the hunted. He’d no doubt enjoy it, though, and I did need to keep him sweet….

I hesitated. Something inside me didn’t want to be pushing him into a room full of other women.

Stupid. What do I care who he sleeps with?

“Fine. I’ll call him.” I opened the door and shivered as icy air blasted me. “You go ahead. I have to make a phone call.”

Jasmine danced happily off down the street towards Harper’s. I pulled out my phone and stared at my father’s name in the contacts list. I’d been putting off phoning him since the day before, when I’d almost blown everything by telling him about Dan and the recital. What would have happened, if I hadn’t heard the girl talking in Harper’s—or hadn’t heard her in time? My father would be helping me pack to go back to Boston. My future had been saved by pure chance…and it was still hanging by a thread.

I pressed “Call” and tried to control my breathing.

“Are you okay?” my father asked immediately.

“Fine. I’m sorry I didn’t call. There was a last minute hitch with my recital, but it’s all fixed now.”

“What sort of hitch?”

“Dan broke his arm. But he’s fine.”

“How did he break his arm? He wasn’t drinking, was he?”

My father had a thing about alcohol. And parties. And men.

“He was mugged a few nights ago.” I conveniently left out the cocktails at Flicker.

“Shouldn’t have been out on the streets at night. You weren’t with him, were you?”

My throat closed up. “No. Of course not.” Why did everything have to be an accusation? Why did everything always have to be someone’s fault? This was why I knew I couldn’t fail. The very first words out of his mouth would be “What did you do wrong?”

“Good. Who are you partnering with?”

“His name’s Connor. Very talented.” That much, at least, was true.

“Another violinist?”

I caught my breath. I didn’t want to lie, but if I said, “No, actually he plays the electric guitar in bars and he’s probably going to flunk out before the recital,” my father would be in New York that afternoon.

“Mm-hmm,” I said. If I didn’t actually say the word “Yes,” it seemed less like lying. A guitar’s kind of like a violin, I thought desperately.

“Okay. Keep me posted.” His voice softened a little. “Are you okay? No…funny episodes?”

By funny episodes he meant freaking out and finding yourself on a rooftop. He’d never understood my fear of public speaking—I’d tried to explain the terror I felt and he’d just looked at me as if I was mad. In his mind, what happened in Boston had been down to me not managing my time well and not being ready for my presentation. I knew that in a moment, he’d remind me to be prepared and manage things, as if by writing the perfect paper I’d magically be able to present it. This was why I always wrote the assignments, even though I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand up in front of everyone and deliver them. It felt like I was disappointing him a little less if I did that.

“No,” I told him. “I’m fine.”

“Well, you know…just be prepared. Manage things.”

I felt like weeping. “I will. Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

Chapter 6

Saturday morning. I’d been putting off calling Connor, partially because I was nervous about calling and partially because I figured that if I left it late enough, he’d make other plans. It was the day of the party—he’d be busy by now, surely?

“Karen,” he said when he answered, and it threw me for a second because it sounded good, hearing him say it. He has an Irish accent, you idiot. Anything sounds good.

No need to be nervous—I wasn’t asking him out on a date. It was just a party. “You’re busy tonight, I presume?”

I heard him stretch and fabric move. Then a creak.

“Are you in bed?!” I asked, horrified.

“Yeah. So? You sound horrified.”

I felt myself flush. “No, not at all. It’s your life. Just…surprised.”

“What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

He yawned. “I should probably get up. Six hours is enough.”

I winced. Another creak, and then I heard him walking around. “So…am I busy tonight? No. Completely free. Hold on.”

Then I heard, very clearly, the sound of a stream of liquid.

“Oh my God! Are you taking a leak, while you’re on the phone to me?!”

“I’m running water into the sink, so I can clean a mug.” The sound stopped. “You think I’m all class, don’t you?” He sounded a little hurt.

“No! Yes! Sorry.” I was pacing around my apartment now. “Look, do you want to come to a party tonight?”

I heard the rattle of a cereal carton. “Sure.”

“It’s not a date,” I said suddenly. And then froze. Why did I say that?!

“I know,” Connor said patiently. “I didn’t think it was.” He paused. “Unless it is? Is it a date?”

I knew he was playing with me now. “No!”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Karen Montfort?”

“No!” Why did he have to be so infuriating?

He chuckled, and I gave him the address through gritted teeth.

***

That afternoon, I fought valiantly…but I was surrounded. Surrounded by giggling, over-helpful friends.

I was sitting on a stool in the center of my lounge. Natasha was behind me, cooking my hair inch by inch with ceramic tongs so powerful I knew my hair would crumble to ash if she left them in one place. Jasmine was in front of me, doing my makeup. Clarissa was sitting next to me, cradling my hand as she painted my nails.

I almost would have felt glamorous except that firstly, glamour isn’t my thing and secondly, I was in my pink fluffy bunny rabbit dressing gown.

I knew there was something going on. They’d encouraged me to get dressed up and go out before, of course—it’s the bane of all single women with attached friends (or “friends who have no problem getting dates” in the case of Jasmine). But this went way beyond anything they’d done before. I would have much rather been left to practice, but saying “No” wasn’t my strong suit.

“Did you hear from Connor?” Natasha wanted to know. “I’m worried there’ll be too many women.”

I grimaced. “Don’t worry. He’s coming, and he’s a walking testosterone factory. Give him five minutes and he’ll have one of those society girls in a broom cupboard.”

I saw a look pass between Clarissa and Natasha. “What?”

“Nothing,” Clarissa told me in a sing-song voice. “Don’t move your hand. Let it dry.” She wheeled her stool around to my other hand.

Natasha leaned down to my ear. “Last time we had a party at our place, there was some use of the broom cupboard.”

I saw Clarissa flush. “You know you called it our place?” she asked, to cover herself. “I don’t know why you keep renting with me. You could just move into the mansion and have a whole wing to keep your shoes in.”

Natasha went quiet. “Not ready yet,” she said after a moment. “What about you and Neil?”

“Neil always comes to our apartment, and I’m not ready to have him move in.” She paused. “I still haven’t been to his place yet.”

There was utter silence.

“You haven’t been to his place yet?!” Jasmine almost screeched. “It’s been months!”

“That does seem a little…unusual,” I offered quietly. “Do you know where he lives, at least?”

“Of course I do!” Clarissa was gripping my hand a little tighter than was really necessary. “It’s…in….”

We all waited.

“Boston,” she said with a shrug.

“Boston?!” Natasha gaped at her. “The best you can do is the city?!”

“You know Neil—he’s a free spirit. When he’s at MIT, he’s at his place in Boston. When he’s in New York, it’s our place, or sometimes he crashes with the bikers at the clubhouse. He doesn’t attach much importance to it. He says ‘A bed’s a bed, y’know?’”

“But does he know that you think it’s important?” I asked. “That you’d like to see where he lives?”

Clarissa went quiet, and then we all went quiet.

“Done!” yelled Natasha, breaking the tension. Jasmine scrabbled to finish my face. “Purse your lips,” she told me.

I pursed.

“What’s that?” she asked, horrified. “You look like Kermit the Frog. Pucker up, like you’re going to kiss someone.”

I tried to imagine kissing someone—not easy, with no one there and your friends around you. I closed my eyes and imagined Sven, my fantasy masseur. But I’d always focused on his body—I had no idea what his face looked like.

“Purse, damn you!” said Jasmine.

Unbidden, Connor’s face swam into my mind and I felt my mouth change. I assumed my jaw was hanging open at the shock of it.

“Perfect,” announced Jasmine, and I felt her go to work with the lipstick.

I tried to push Connor out of my mind, but he refused to move. It’s just because you’ve been so focused on him, I told myself. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Done!” said Jasmine, and stepped back. Relieved, I opened my eyes. Clarissa was blowing frantically on my nails to dry them.

“Can I have a mirror now?” I asked.

“One more thing. Get the dress!” Jasmine was barely restraining herself from clapping her hands together and jumping up and down.

Clarissa went to fetch it, and Jasmine demanded that I close my eyes.

“Oh, come on,” I said weakly, but closed them. They stood me up and hands removed my dressing gown. Then they were stepping my feet into the thing and wriggling it up my hips. I was bundled through to my bedroom.