Beautifully Cruel (Beautifully Cruel #1)(24)

The way she says Liam’s name makes it sound like they’re old friends. Which is odd, because she doesn’t like anyone. I say absently, “Kicked, actually.”

She almost drops the spatula. “Kicked? By who?”

Mug in hand, I lean against the counter and gaze at her. “An idiot who regretted it. Back up a sec. I’m curious. Liam knocks on the door and says to you…what? ‘Hi, I’m a handsome Irishman you’ve never met, your roommate has had a little accident, give me your spare key?’”

She thinks about it. “I mean, in a nutshell, I guess. But in between all that, he put away the groceries.”

“Wait. What?”

“The groceries,” she repeats patiently, as if I didn’t hear her the first time. When I just stare at her, she gestures toward the fridge. “Bags and bags of them. Took forever.”

Frowning in confusion, I go to the fridge and open the door. Packed inside like sardines is a rainbow of produce, cold cuts, dairy products, drinks, snacks, deli salads, and a variety of cut fruit in square plastic containers.

And water, of course. Designer French water in glass bottles nestled in between everything else.

Ellie says, “There’s a bunch of food in the pantry, too. Fancy shmancy stuff. Half of it I’ve never even heard of.”

On a hunch, I open the freezer door.

It’s full to bursting with pints of pistachio ice cream.

I turn to Ellie slowly, feeling like I’m in a dream. “So…I’m confused.”

She makes a face at me. “That your rich boyfriend bought you groceries?”

My heart clenches, and my voice goes high. “He told you he was my boyfriend?”

Ellie rolls her eyes, like I’m being ridiculous with all the unnecessary questions.

“Listen, I know you’re a super private person, and you don’t like talking about your love life, and I don’t blame you after what happened with that douche canoe ex of yours. I get it. But you’ve been living like a nun since we moved in together—”

When my expression sours, she adds quickly, “I’m not judging. My point is that this guy is crazy hot, has impeccable manners, brings you food, and is probably related to the royal family. You should make an effort with him. Try to open up.”

I lift my brows. “The British royal family? You’re aware his accent is Irish, right?”

“Ireland’s a part of Great Britain, duh.”

“Don’t tell that to everyone in the Republic of Ireland, a sovereign nation not part of the UK, which isn’t the same thing as Northern Ireland, which is.”

She shrugs. “Tomato, tomahtoe. They’re on the same island and they both have Ireland in their names. If they wanted people to keep it straight, they should’ve made that shit less complicated. We don’t call Canada North America, do we?”

“Yes, we literally do, because North America is a continent, dummy, which Canada is part of. Are you sure you graduated from college?”

“Geography isn’t my strong suit.”

I muse, “You don’t say?”

She rolls her eyes. “My point is that he’s obviously got aristocratic genes. Plus, he’s crazy hot.”

“You already said that.”

“It bears repeating.”

I shut the fridge and freezer doors and rub my temples. “I’m so confused.”

“And you already said that. What’s to be confused about?”

“First and foremost, you gave him your spare key.”

She frowns, like I’m speaking a foreign language.

“And you’d never met him before? Hello? You’re just handing out keys to our apartment now like candy on Halloween?”

She chuckles, turning back to the eggs. “What, like he’s a home invader? He thought shopping for groceries would be a good way to bribe his way in the door before he tied me to a chair and rummaged through my panty drawers for hidden jewelry? Come on. Besides, home invaders don’t wear Armani suits and Patek Philippe timepieces.”

It figures she’d know what brand of suits he wears. I only knew because Carla told me. And I know nothing about watches except that if they’re called a timepiece, they’re expensive.

“But you’d never met him before.”

She slides the eggs from the frying pan onto a plate, shrugging. “I know how tight-lipped you are. You could be on your honeymoon, and I’d only find out you’d gotten married when I got a postcard in the mail. I figured you just hadn’t told me about him yet.”

Shooting a glance toward her bedroom door, where Ty apparently is still sleeping, she adds, “Honestly, though, if the man had rung the bell and said, ‘Hello, I’m here to ravage you,’ I’d have torn off all my clothes myself. He’s so damn—”

“Hot. I’m aware. So was Ted Bundy.”

I’m not sure why I’m annoyed, because Liam has the same effect on me as he has on her. And Carla. And every other woman with a pair of functioning ovaries, I’m sure. Even police officers are dazzled by him, and they’re trained to be all kinds of suspicious.

There’s just something about him that makes you lower your guard.

“So this asshole who assaulted you,” Ellie says as she shakes hot sauce onto the fried eggs. “What’s his story? Was he on drugs? Was he arrested?”