The Cinderella Arrangement (7 page)

“Westminster Abbey? Yes. Do you want to go inside?”

I rubbed my hands together and tried to conceal how much I wanted to go. “Well, only if you don’t mind.”

He rolled his eyes at me and pulled my hand. “C’mon.”

Inside the abbey were vaulted ceilings and high arches with so much detail carved into the stone that I could stare at them for hours. Every surface was covered with marble busts and memorials. Even the floor had them. I squealed in delight when I recognized an author name from my English classes.

“Look—Charles Dickens!”

Luke leaned over and nodded. “Cool,” he said in a tone of voice that suggested boredom instead of fascination. Decorated chapels dedicated to members of royalty were tucked into the corners of the abbey.

“You don’t like this stuff, do you?”

He shrugged as we walked around the choir. “It’s all right. I’ve seen it all before—many times on school trips. Thrill-seeking is more my thing, like hang-gliding, parasailing, white-water rafting, steeplechase.”

I did none of those things. “What if we went to a soccer match?”

Luke’s face lit up. “Now, you’re talking.”

I used to spend my summers with Natalie on the same recreational soccer team. Her parents paid for the annual fee because there was no way in hell my foster parents would have. “I used to play when I was younger. I miss it.”

“Well, we should see a match, then. I’ll ask my friend if he would like to join us.” He had already opened his phone and was searching.

Wow. I guess we have one thing in common.
I praised myself for bringing it up.

I watched as his fingers moved over his smart phone.

“There’s a match today at Boleyn Ground. It’s West Ham versus Tottenham Hotspur. Oh my God, we have to see it.”

“Can you get tickets?”

He looked at me and smiled as if I had made a joke.

Well, that answers that.

As we walked out of Westminster Abbey, Luke drummed his fingers over the black screen. “Damn. More meetings this afternoon. I’m sure I’ll be able to make it."

"We don't have to go."

"No way. I’ll leave early if I have to. I haven’t been to a football match in ages.”

Luke rubbed his hands together with a manic grin on his face. It was nice to see a gleam of excitement in his eyes instead of his mask of polite amusement. I didn’t argue as Luke called a cab to bring him to work, giving the driver explicit directions to take me wherever I wanted.

“The game starts at three o’clock. Best to be there at two-thirty. I’ll call and send a car wherever you are.”

He leaned across the seats and his lips brushed my cheek. When he pulled away, his smile was full of so much warmth that my breath caught in my throat.

“Have a good day, Jessica.”

Luke slid out of the car and gave me a small wave through the window. As soon as he had left the car, I felt his absence like a hole in my stomach. I was still looking out when the driver cleared his throat. He was staring at me through the rear-view mirror.

“Uh—can you take me to the Tower of London?”

* * *

B
reathless
, I stepped out of the cab and searched the throng of people for Luke. Hundreds wore the West Ham colors of deep red-purple and blue stood in several security lines outside the stadium. The driver had assured me that Luke would be nearby. At last, I looked through a group of red and blue-clad men with rosettes attached to their shirts and recognized his profile. Luke’s dark hard tilted back with laughter. A good-looking man in his twenties stood beside him, his shoulders bent forward and shaking with mirth.

This must be the friend who he was talking about.
As if he had heard my thoughts, the man’s eyes rested on me and he gave me a slight nod. Luke turned on the spot and gave me a brilliant smile. I hitched a grin and walked toward him.

“There you are, darling.”

Darling?
I laughed despite myself as Luke swept me in his arms and his mouth sealed my lips in a brief but heated kiss. For a moment, it made me feel like he missed me. He pulled away and slid his arm over my shoulders.

Oh right, he’s acting again.

I gathered up my resolve and prepared myself to talk in a high-pitched voice that most girls seemed to have when reunited with their boyfriends.

“Did you enjoy the tower?” he asked as he brought me closer to his friend.

“Yes, it was good."

"Just good?"

I was disappointed. It was stripped bare of its original furnishings and the replacements didn’t look very authentic. It was like visiting Disneyland, but I had a nice walk along London Bridge.

“Jessica, this is my friend Brandon I was talking to you about. Brandon this is my girlfriend, Jessica.”

Brandon made a muddled first impression. Like Luke, the trappings of great wealth weren’t lost on him: the Prada glasses, the gleaming watch on his wrist, his Italian leather shoes. He wasn’t as handsome or poised, but he had an air of polished dignity that intimidated me. His eyes met mine in a cool, unflinching gaze. From the way he looked at me, it was almost as if he didn’t care for me. No, it wasn’t that. Maybe it was a lack of trust.

“It’s a pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Are you a big football fan?”

I gave him a small shrug. “A little. I used to play when I was younger.” I retreated into Luke’s comforting embrace and smiled at Brandon. “You can’t go to England without seeing a football match, right?”

He nodded, his eyes still refusing to let go of me. “Too right,” he said in a thick accent. Glancing at his watch, he made a comical sound. “Ah! Kick off is in ten minutes. Let’s get to our seats.”

I could feel Luke’s excitement through my body as he stood behind me in the line, his hands ever so slightly moving up the curve of my hips. It was so much more electrifying than a kiss. He rubbed into my flesh in small, hard circles. The paparazzi stood nearby, clicking away at us as I turned around in his arms to lay my head over his chest. I didn’t do it because I wanted to give them a show; I wanted to quiet the desire stirring in my core.

As we walked through security and made our way through the stadium buzzing from thousands of horns, it was apparent that Luke arranged for front row seats. A sprinkling of navy-blue Tottenham supporters were scattered among the hundreds of West Ham rosettes, flags, and checkered banners. I reeled back from the fevered energy flowing from the West Ham fans, taken aback by their intense, almost violent screaming. After a few minutes, the yelling stopped, and I felt their cheers soaring through me when we took out seats and looked across the green field.

“Would you like a drink, Jessica?” Brandon asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’ll get us a few pints.”

“Thanks mate.”

I looked at Luke. His accent changed from American to British. He raised his eyebrow at me. “What?”

“Nothing,
mate
” I ribbed, smiling.

He smirked back.

Brandon returned with three sopping mugs of dark beer and set one down in front of me.

I curled my fingers around the cold plastic and brought the frothy rim to my mouth. The beer was thick and full of complex flavors. I smacked my lips in appreciation and wished I had something sweet to contrast the bitterness.

“The crowd seems crazy.”

A group of West Ham supporters behind our row slurred a song about bubbles.

“West Ham and Tottenham Hotspur have a huge rivalry. It will be mad.” Brandon smiled at Luke. “Remember that time in Liverpool? They kicked you out of the stadium.”

Luke flushed a bright magenta as he took a sip from his beer. “Yeah.”

I leaned in closer, enjoying the embarrassment shining on his face. “What did you do?”

Brandon spoke before Luke could get a word in. “He beat up a couple people.”

“They deserved it.”

How interesting.
“I never would have guessed you could be such a hooligan.”

Luke gave me a roguish wink.

The fans behind me continued to sing. “
Forever blowing bubbles, pretty bubbles in the air.
”

One of them kicked the back of my seat and my beer slopped all over my hands. Luke turned around in his seat to glare at them but I took his hand and squeezed it.

“Sorry, love.” The man who had kicked my seat gave me a toothy grin, his cheeks ruddy from alcohol.

“It’s cool,” I said as I wiped my hand on the wall.

His red-rimmed eyes scanned my clothes and narrowed in suspicion. “Who are you supporting?”

I suddenly knew that they were drunk enough to fight anyone who wasn’t rooting for their team. “West Ham,” I said before others could intervene.

“Good.” The fan leaned back into his seat and they resumed the team song.

Brandon’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Like we’d say anything different surrounded by this lot.”

At last, the players spilled over the field, and the red and blue fans stood up in unison, letting out earsplitting shrieks and cheers. I clapped my hands over my ears as the fan behind me screamed encouragement to West Man and shouted filthy obscenities to the black and white Tottenham players.

“Sod off, you fucking cunts!”

The man who had kicked my chair was standing on his seat, gesticulating as he bellowed insults. Taken aback, I looked at Luke and Brandon, who didn’t seemed perturbed by the filth streaming out of his mouth.

Maybe it’s a British thing.

West Ham kicked off and the fast-paced game began. Within the first five minutes, the Tottenham forwards had passed the ball through West Ham’s defense. The right defense sprinted back toward the forward—he was inside the goalie box and everyone around me was screaming, even Luke was bellowing something intelligible. And then the Tottenham forward stumbled forward and tripped over the West Ham defense’s leg, foiling what could have been a goal.

The stands were in an uproar as the referee blasted his whistle and ripped out a bright red card, which he held up high. The reaction from the stands was downright frightening. Thousands of them stood up to hurl insults at the referee as the player argued with him. I was close enough to see the veins popping out from his neck.

“I don’t understand—what happened?”

Luke’s face pinched with worry. “Well, the defense tripped the Tottenham forward within the goal box, so that’s an automatic red card. They must play one man short the whole game.”

I pitched forward and the rest of my beer spilled on the floor as the fan behind me jostled my seat in his haste to stand up.

“HE TRIPPED! IT WAS A BLOODY ACCIDENT, YOU FUCKING TWAT!”

His voice stabbed my ears with every syllable. He hurled his empty cup onto the field; I saw it sail over my head, sprinkling my hair with drops of beer.

“Fuck’s sake.” Now I was drenched in booze.

Within moments, a pair of neon green police officers swarmed over him. I turned around in my seat to watch, feeling a grim satisfaction.
Serves him right
.

“Sir, you need to leave the stadium.”

He ripped his elbow out of their grasp and sneered at them. “Piss off.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Each of them grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back, but now his friends had noticed what was happening and they stood up, shouting at the police.

I grabbed Luke’s arm and squeezed; he was still focused on the game.

“What?” he said as he turned around. “Oh.”

I don’t know what it was. Maybe the years of living in violent homes had prepared me to spot a volatile event before it happened, but all the hairs on the back of my neck raised and a voice told me to get out of the stadium as soon as possible.

“Luke, we need to leave,” I said, my grip on him was vice-like.

“What? Are you all right?”

He sounded insulted. I could almost hear his thoughts:
Leave in the beginning of the match? Are you crazy?
He tried to pull his arm out of my grasp but my fingers bit harder into his flesh.

“No, I’m not all right.”

Brandon wheeled around to join our conversion, his face pulled in a slight frown.

My heart raced like a bird beating its wings against a cage. More and more purple-red fans converged together, ignoring the game on the stadium, infused with alcohol and rage.

The West Ham fans in our section stood up in unison, some of them making threatening gestures toward the police. The policemen jostled to the side, and they yelled into their radios, fear written all over their faces. Then one fan grabbed an officer, and another one sank his fist into his stomach. The policeman crumpled to his feet and submerged under a wave of furious fans.

“Oh, shit.”

Luke climbed over our seats with a determined look on his face. “I’m going to help him.”

Brandon looked stunned. “Where is he going?”

Is he nuts?
“Luke!” I lunged forward and caught his sleeve. “This is no time for bravado!”

“I need to help him,” he roared at me.

Brandon leapt over the seats and grabbed Luke’s arm. “Mate, listen. You can’t help him. You’ll get the piss beaten out of you.”

“Luke,” I screamed when he turned back toward the cop. “Don’t be stupid. You’ll get killed.”