Cardinal coughs, which brings my attention back. “Do you know which rooms are ours? I want to unpack and find my sister.”
“Yes I do, there's a little reception table out front with everyone's keys. They're all themed! It's so cute.” Lil replies, her blonde strands swaying with her hips as we're led back out into the entrance area. I'm pretty excited to see how the keys turned out, because I helped design them. I also was part of endless nights staying up late, planning themed rooms, hunting for decor and helping them to blend the perfect style of themselves in with the country life. I think Merle recruited me because he realised Phin had no clue about paint names, and seemed mortified that people sold their used furniture on marketplace. He did however know good wines to pair with which meals, so whilst we oversaw the refurbishments, he focused on the entertainment spaces, food and drink areas. We made the perfect team, so it does feel rewarding standing now in their finished efforts.
Nails scratch against the porcelain bowl as she digs for our keys, tearing off a paper tag with my name on as she hands my key over first. I’m bubbling with excitement because I haven’t been informed which room is mine. My fingers graze over thekey as I take it, turning it over to examine the long, brass old fashioned key with moth wings. Carved swirls decorate the wings, a slight shimmer in the marks. I instantly recognise the reference and my heart sores. Growing up I was obsessed with the book series, and each Halloween I would hang moth keys, candles and other crafts from the ceilings, in my Aunt's kitchen.
We make our way upstairs and I look down at the key again, taking in the etched number of my room, just as Lil tells me her room is in the opposite direction. Giving her a departing squeeze, Cardinal bounds ahead of me not speaking to either of us.
“You know, humankind has this handy way of communicating, it's called talking. Hellos, Goodbyes? People would like you more if you said either, more often.” His shoulders tense and his head tilts to the side as he stops. Slowly he turns to me, his expression dripping with annoyance. I really don't know why I love to goad this man so much, but his lack of patience just spurs me on. The moment I saw that tick in his jaw when I laid down my first bad joke, I knew I'd keep pushing him to see what reactions burst free. My determination to crack a smile from him before the weekend is done sends a wild flare through me. “Problem Cardy?”
“Yes, actually. She's a pint sized, cardigan wearing elf that for some reason is giving me a headache.”
I frown. Is my cardigan even that bad? I look down at my attire and thumb one of the bows attached to my knitwear. “How is this not adorable? You meant to say, a pint sized elf who is wearing an adorable cardigan and is blessing me with her attention.” Meeting his unimpressed gaze, I see his jaw tick and my frown turns into the biggest grin I can muster. I’m so close to cracking him.
He turns away and puts his own key into his door, a solid elephant head crowning it. He must be in the room that isdecorated like an adventurer's trove. A classical map wallpaper, sandy coloured sheets upon a four poster canopy. Woven rugs and light honey toned paint. I smile, because I hope he likes it. I hope all the guests love what my friends have done to the house.
Without saying goodbye he shuts himself into his room and I head further down the corridor. We're in the right wing upstairs and my room is next to his, the last door which will be overlooking the back of the house. I can already picture the gorgeous view of the gardens from the tall, arched windows.
Unlocking the thick, walnut door, without hesitation I push inside and almost squeal at the dark academia styled bedroom. The walls are a midnight black, but the more I look, there's a tone of emerald to them. The ceiling is so high, and to either side of a king sized bed, are bookcases full to the brim with novels. I see old leather spines, newer releases and I instantly spot my favourite fantasy book series on the shelves closest to the bed. The sheets have a forest design on them, with a selection of velvet and fluffy throw cushions on top. The floor is dark wood and below my feet is a persian rug of reds and greens, which takes up most of the entire floor space. Directly across from where I am standing, two sets of long arched windows are framed with dark green curtains, mirroring the shade of the walls to make them almost invisible. The only other furniture in the room is two bedside tables, a tall set of drawers for clothing and a vanity desk, which is placed under the windows and I walk straight to it.
My gaze casts out over the gardens and I fall in love all over again with the view. I can see the tops of trees swaying in the August breeze, the sun still creeping upwards on its ascent. I look at the rows of carved flower beds, vibrant colours against the layers of shrubbery. The gardens go on forever and I can see that the doors to the converted barn of the swimming pool are already opening, behind a wall of trees to keep it private.
I don’t know what causes me to look down to the patio below, but movement peaks my interest, at the same time my heart stops. The door to my room flings open as Phin's voice breaks the taut silence.
“Aren't you just obsessed with the room? I knew you'd fucking love it! Tell me you love it Robbie.” Pure excitement laces his words but I don't hear them. All I can hear is my blood pulsing in my eardrums, a slick layer of sweat coating my forehead as I feel nausea rise.
He throws himself down onto the bed as he continues talking, but I hear nothing. I’m looking down upon his brother, sitting at the patio table with a dark haired woman between his spread legs, her head bobbing up and down as his own head lays back, soaking up the sun.
Chapter three
Wren
FORwhat feels like the hundredth time this car ride, I pinch the bridge of my nose and run the tops of my fingers under my eyelids. “Bran, mate. You cannot write a song about the women who gave you a free fucking blueberry muffin.” I push my sunglasses down a fraction to glare at him through the rearview mirror, the guys in the van howling with laughter.
I am not a morning person, period. So when Merle, his brother Bran—our band's drummer and Jay, our guitar tech turned up at god knows what time this morning to collect me, I acted like it was the apocalypse. Dramatic I know, but without coffee and before at least eleven, I can't function like a normal human being. I whined, pleaded to be left in bed, but they practically carried me and my suitcase to the van. I’m a proud man, but this early I am not opposed to begging to get an extra hour in bed. This is why as Bran goes on with stupid suggestions for new material, I sit in the passenger seat with my arms crossed, knees up against my chest, sulking like a teenager.
“I’m telling you, she's a goddess working in a coffee shop. Her blueberry muffins make me drool.” he continues and atthis point, I don't know if he's just trying to wind me up. I don't remind him that his girlfriend Mavis probably wouldn't take kindly to him calling another woman a goddess, so I shoot him another glare before pushing my sunglasses back over my eyes. What a fucking tool. I’m no saint, and my not so gentlemanly ways in the past is precisely why I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve never found that one woman to consume my entire being–surely that is the level of desire that makes someone give themselves solely to just one other person? What is the point of relationships? Yes I've dated, but not half as much as the media makes me out to be the notorious player of the band. Every woman I've been with knows before anything starts that it can't be serious. It's usually a one night thing and we don't even exchange phone numbers. I'm happy with no commitment, and I'll give them the best night of their lives. What can I say? I'm a very giving guy.
There have only been a handful of women I’ve been with more than once, normally due to their relentless appearance in my world for the fame and claim that they slept withTHE Wren Hastings. If my eyes could roll and stick into the back of my skull, they would.
I swear if humans didn’t get the urge to touch one another, I wouldn’t have sex at all. Annoyed it’s even crossing my mind now, I tune Bran out, pulling my tatty small notebook from my back pocket, stretching out my legs. Scribbling some words onto paper as we drive further into the countryside, Merle shifts next to me behind the wheel of the rental van. Every time we hit a bump down the dirt lane my heart sinks, the back filled entirely with our music equipment.
“How long has it been since you did band karaoke? I did tell Phoenix, it could be a big ask.” long fingers tap a repetitive rhyme on the steering wheel, which draws my attention away from scribbling lyrics. The closer we edge towards the hotel,the more nervous energy rolls from his tense shoulders. I find myself matching his stiff posture, because I feel absolute terror over the entire weekend. I think of my best friend and then his piece of shit brother, who is going to screw up everything for us. I’ve never cared about my own reputation—unfortunately for my label and the girls on our PR team—but I won't ever let anything happen to Phin. Since meeting as two lonely boys at boarding school, young and scared, I’ve protected him. Granted, I thought I wouldn't still be doing it now deep into adulthood, but I'm not going anywhere.
Putting aside that I’m on a caffeine withdrawal deathbed, I squeeze Merle's shoulder and make soothing circles with my thumb. “I don't think we’ve done it since he was at university, but don't worry, mate. It's fine. We've got all the equipment and we're slightly more decent at playing since then.” A smirk tugs at the side of my mouth, as I draw out a relieved chuckle from him. “It’s always just been about having fun, so that's what it'll be. I mean you've invited two parts of The Larks, we’ve got you bud.”
Band karaoke is an invention Phin and I came up with, included a bunch of lads from our music studies class, and it became our little party trick. True to its namesake, we get a bunch of instruments together and no matter what song someone decides to sing on karaoke, we give it our best go at playing along. Over time we refined it, learning songs beforehand, rules on a set song list were made and then some of us became professional musicians. Our band had made it into mainstream charts just before he’d headed to university, with whatever his childhood friend's name was. It was actually a gig we played in York, where Merle had come to watch his brother play and I had invited Phoenix along too. I'd never seen a glance be so explosive and from then on they were inseparable. Yes I saw less of him, but we always stayed in touch. How could I complain when my best friend was finally happy? I didn’t knowhis brother well despite being in school with Bran since the age of ten, the same boarding school where I’d met Phin, but surely it meant he was in good hands.
Slapping his brother on the shoulders, Bran leans forward from the back seats, grinning. “Yeah he did! I mean the boys are gutted that we got invited and they didn't, but I’m so stoked for the weekend.” Shaking his broad shoulders, he rubs a hand through his shaggy brown hair and this close up, I can see all their familiar features. The same mousy shade, freckled tan skin, piercing blue eyes and they're both big presences in such a confined space. Merle is soft all over, whilst Bran is untamed and chiselled.
Shooting a glance at me before shifting in his seat, the closer we get to Nightingale house, the more uncomfortable he’s becoming. “Everyone coming was invited by Corbin, we didn’t invite you guys. He's been pretty secretive about the entire thing.”
The flimsy plastic pen in my hand snaps, as I can’t help but splutter, “Come again?”
With everything that’s been going on, I’d been preoccupied to keep tabs on all the fires I was trying to put out. I steal a glance to my right and guilt pits in my stomach, because Merle has absolutely no clue that this boyfriend relapsed again. I took him away to help him get sober, the entire month before they were opening up their hotel. Not only that, but I have no clue how long it had been going on for this time. When I found him off his face, he was so terrified he’d lose Merle if he knew, he begged me to get him sober and not tell anyone. I reluctantly agreed, but I could never deny him of anything and it always had been that way. I’d gotten him better, stayed with him through the cold sweats, feverish nights and sobered him up within four weeks. Yes I’d looked like a total arsehole whisking him away, leaving Merle to pull together the hotel opening alone.
Now I was kicking myself, because I had been so contained in getting him better that I hadn’t questioned the murder mystery party invitation at all. It didn’t seem like their style, I just knew Corbin would be there and we needed to have a morbid conversation.
He wasn’t going to let us get away with what we’d done this time.
