"Are you asking me to be your girlfriend James Beaufort?" I questioned him, while lying on top of him half naked.
As James Beaufort and Everly Calloway navigate the delicate transition from friendship to romance, they face obstacles that test the st...
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Chapter Five:
- Everly -
The next day, James and I remained in bed. I lacked the energy for anything else, though perhaps there was one exception James could think of. Regardless, we didn't have to leave the bedroom for that. Later that night, he had to leave to prepare for the young Beaufort presentation he was obligated to attend, being the face of the new line.
I suggested accompanying him and lending a hand, but he declined. He was already in hot water with Mortimer because of my scene at Alistair's. I don't think he wanted me to bear witness to the aftermath, that included a reprimand of his behavior from his father. Mortimer felt James wasn't setting a good example for me, his supposed perfect girlfriend. The irony was suffocating; I was anything but perfect, and yet James seemed drawn to my chaos like an uncontrollable wild fire.
I was just about to fall asleep after receiving one of my boyfriend's famous goodnight texts including shirtless photo of himself. James and I had been sending each other good morning and good night texts for years. Sometimes playfully a little more than just friends. And yet it took me this long to take the hint. As I was lusting over the fact that James' chest had now become my new pillow, I heard a loud bang downstairs.
At first I didn't think anything of it, thinking Mimi was cleaning the fine china cabinet and broke one of the cups. I hope she broke them all. They were my mum's after all. Oh that's right she didn't have a daughter anymore. In that case I cared even less if Mimi broke some stranger's fine china. I hit the light off beside my bed and decided to try actually get some sleep for once. Tossing and turning the second my eyes even attempted to close...I knew I was in for a rough night.
I jolted myself awake before I'd even began the rem cycle, catching a glimpse of what seemed like smoke seeping under my bedroom door. Rubbing my eyes to dispel any remnants of sleep, I rose from the bed, clad only in James' oversized t-shirt. Approaching the door, I attempted to turn the handle, but it refused to budge. Panic surged through me—had I somehow managed to lock myself in? Frantically jiggling the handle, I noticed it felt warm to the touch.
