by Lee Winter
Dropping a kiss on her lips, Elizabeth said, “No, she’s not. She just wants you happy. And I love that your family is anything but boring. Just like you. Come on. Let’s go endure Finola’s doubtlessly atrocious teasing. And I’ll thank you in advance for whatever gift I’m claiming credit for.”
“A Nerf Zombie Blaster.” Summer grinned.
Elizabeth snorted. “That’s so me.” She leaned in and snagged Summer closer. “Hey?”
“Yeah?” Summer wrapped her arms around her, enjoying the sensation of holding her tight.
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You’re beautiful. Inside and out.” Elizabeth kissed her.
Summer was too dazed to reply. Then again, she often forgot how to form sentences around this woman.
“Okay,” Elizabeth straightened. “Let’s go face the maddening Scot.”
Epilogue
“Where are you going?” Elizabeth’s dissatisfied voice demanded from under a pile of sheets, as she felt the bed dip.
“Shower.”
“Time is it?” They hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, something that was entirely Summer’s fault. Summer and her delicious wandering lips. “Never mind. Too early.”
“Go back to sleep then.”
“Well, I can’t now. Too many distractions.” Elizabeth cracked an eye as Summer disappeared into the en suite, leaving the door open.
A few minutes later, the hiss of water began, and Summer stepped into the shower, becoming a pink shimmer behind the glass.
“My favorite view.”
“Liar,” Summer called back. “It’s the one out your window. I’m sure that’s what you told me.”
“Nonsense.” Elizabeth sat up. “It’s definitely you.”
It was true. Even after six months, she never tired of this. Summer—bare, warm, beautiful, hers. No matter how busy Summer had been with work, how crazy the publicity for Choosing Hope and Eight Little Pieces had been lately, she always found time for Elizabeth.
The chief’s farewell episode had been nominated for two Emmys—outstanding directing and outstanding supporting actress in a drama. Summer’s first nomination.
For weeks, the network had blitzed the airwaves with clips from that episode, milking the nominations for publicity. As much as Elizabeth loved seeing the way Summer looked at her in that tear-jerking, dying Hunt clip they used, Summer always turned off the TV in a huff.
“Too real,” she’d always say, followed by “and I can’t believe I told you I loved you for the first time in front of the whole of America.”
“Whole of the world,” she’d dutifully reply. Choosing Hope aired in thirty-two countries, after all. Summer never found that argument as funny as Elizabeth did.
She hadn’t won the Emmy. Ravitz had, though. He’d even remembered to thank Summer and Elizabeth in his speech, before taking full credit for Hunter. “Our bold vision”, he’d called it. “Diversity really matters to us.”
Sure it did.
Elizabeth had found commiserating with Summer through kisses and passionate sex to be of mutual benefit. Even though Summer hadn’t seemed surprised or bothered by her loss.
As the shower ran, Elizabeth reached for her phone and scrolled through Variety’s entertainment alerts. Her eye was drawn to a familiar photo.
Grace. Her heart lurched, but not in the way it used to. She felt only a tinge of sadness at the reminder of their contentious parting.
The story announced she’d left Loving Under Palms due to “creative differences” and was returning home to the UK to pursue projects there. So she’d taken Elizabeth’s advice after all. Grace already had an historical miniseries lined up called Queens and Legends. First up was a story about the warrior queen Boudicca which they were filming on some remote map smudge of an island off Wales.
Well, Grace always said she wanted to travel.
Of course she’d nail it. It didn’t matter her age or that she didn’t have a warriorly bone in her lissome body. Grace would own it. And by the time she came up for air and returned to civilization, she’d be an adored star once more. Exactly what she needed to thrive.
Elizabeth skipped the Read More button and moved on. She bore Grace no ill will, but she was in the past now.
Flicking over to her inbox, Elizabeth snorted softly at the first email. The Hunter fans were on protest number fifty or something, trying to get Chief Hunt resurrected. Good luck with that. They were also organizing their own Hunter convention. She and Summer had been invited to make a star appearance.
Hell, maybe they’d do it—if she could feed Rachel enough heart medication before telling her. Actually, given her agent’s secret love of Hunter, she’d probably attend in disguise.
It was so surreal. Elizabeth’s eyes drifted to the naked shimmer of her lover in the shower. If only fans knew she spent her days and nights doing delightfully unspeakable things to Summer Hayes.
Jean-Claude, of all people, was the most in love with Hunter devotees. He might be artsy, elitist, and hate American television with a passion, but the Choosing Hope fans had made his film a glorious hit by indie standards. Somehow Elizabeth doubted they were seeing it for the intricate layered storyline, or Lucas the linesman’s take on regret.
Even Jean-Claude hadn’t deluded himself into believing that either. He’d taken to tagging his Eight Little Pieces film plugs with #Hunter.
The shower’s hiss stopped. Summer toweled off and returned to the bedroom, nude and glorious.
Adorable.
“I love you,” Elizabeth said. Oh! She hadn’t intended to say that at all. Well, not yet. She’d had it all planned for dinner on Saturday. There’d even be Marcus’s chocolate lava cake. She’d wheedled the recipe out of him. As she’d planned the evening, Elizabeth had been astonished to realize how much this meant to her. She craved Summer constantly now, and not just physically. She was a warm, kind soul who reminded Elizabeth of what was important. Summer made life worth getting out of—and into—bed for.
Summer froze. “You do?”
“Of course I love you. You’re you, after all. And I’m only human.” She smiled.
Summer bounced on the bed beside her. “You ‘Joey’ me,” she teased.
“I’m rethinking it rapidly if you call it that.” Elizabeth attempted to look arch, but knew her amused tone gave her away.
“When did you know?”
Trust Summer to demand all the details. She thought back. Since you flung me down in my trailer and I couldn’t remember my own name afterwards? Since you thrashed my friends at Shakespeare? Since you told Jean-Claude I loved Thriller house architecture?
“Who can say?” Elizabeth side-eyed her. “Are we going to have a big discussion about it, because I might point out I’m British. We don’t do that.”
“Ha. Okay.” Summer slung her arms around Elizabeth’s neck. “It was my green fingers, wasn’t it?” she joked.
“Sure. Nothing says love like gangrene.” Elizabeth laughed.
Summer joined in. “I adore you. But you already knew that.” She covered her with kisses and lazily traced her fingers over Elizabeth’s skin.
“I should move,” Elizabeth said, after the teasing stretched on for long minutes. “Do something. I’ve got that Jane Campion film coming up. I have to learn my lines.”
“That English film? You’ll be so good in it. My highly-placed sources tell me Campion loved you in Eight Little Pieces.”
“Sources? Who?”
“Mom. She knows people who know people who know Campion’s dog walker.”
“Well, that sounds credible. But I love your confidence.”
“Hey, that’s what I’m here for. I’ll miss you though.”
There was that. Four months off in England, away from Summer, who was still sifting through offers now that her Choosing Hope run had finished
. Four. Months.
“About that…” Elizabeth pursed her lips, not sure quite which way this would go. “Remember how your dream was to do Shakespeare in England?”
“Was being the operative word. I grew up, moved on.” Summer plucked at the sheet pooled around her.
“What if you didn’t have to?”
Summer looked at her in confusion.
“It’s just that after your story of acerbic Margaret at the Royal Bard Theatre Troupe, I suspected I knew her. Margaret Kent was the artistic director at the Royal Shakespeare Company when I interned there, before she moved to RBTT.”
“You know her?”
“I suspected I did. I contacted her to see if she was the same Margaret. She remembers you, by the way.”
“Oh God.” Summer covered her face.
“Fondly.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The ‘impertinent, oblivious American’. From her, that’s almost an enthusiastic interest.”
“Sure it is.”
“I asked if she had any internships going. The six-month ones.”
Nervous tension snapped Summer’s body straight. “What?” she whispered.
“She explained how impossible they are to get. Thousands apply—eminently suitable candidates who’ve been immersed in British culture and Shakespeare from childhood. ‘And they don’t sound like brassy American foghorns’. Her words, not mine.”
“This again?” Summer sagged. “That’s why I gave up. You don’t have to tell me all the ways she said no. I’ve heard them all.”
“Actually, Margaret said she’d have said yes to you at least auditioning for her if you’d just said the one thing she was waiting to hear.”
Summer’s eyes flew wide open.
“She was waiting for you to say ‘I love the bard more than breathing’. When you didn’t say you adored him, she wondered if you merely saw this as a challenge; something to be checked off before returning home.”
“Shit.” Summer looked appalled.
“So I took it upon myself to fill her in about your passion. I added that you rendered both myself and Grace Christie-Oberon speechless during a private Shakespearean performance.”
Summer had stopped breathing.
“She said she’d seen you act. The direct quote was, ‘thank God you both left that hideous hospital show. Waste of talent. Oh, and Miss Hayes was robbed of that Emmy’.”
“Margaret said that?”
“Dame Margaret now. And she did. Along with a comment that the internship’s yours if you want it, plus a spiel about how she’d enjoy whipping you into shape, training you properly, torturing you a little, and making sure you understand that theater is about teamwork, not divas.”
“She’s…offering me an internship?”
“Six months. You’d be doing wenches, handmaids, and mistresses like any other newcomer. If you’re lucky, she says she might let you loose on Emilia in Othello later.”
“I…need a minute.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. It had been no small favor she’d called in, putting herself on the line for Summer. Mercifully, Margaret hadn’t been too obnoxious about it, despite having the disposition for it. They’d never been friends, but shared a mutual respect. The sharp-eyed veteran had also worked out a few things on her own.
“Is it because you’re soft on her, Elizabeth?”
“Our TV show was amping up the drama,” she’d said with a soft snort. “It’s acting.”
“Elizabeth Thornton.” Margaret’s tone had contained so much censure that Elizabeth had felt like an intern again. “I saw Eight Little Pieces. That was eye-opening. Clever man, Badour. He strips away the layers of his cast as much as his characters. As soon as I saw the film I understood.”
“Understood what?”
“It’s addictive, isn’t it? Being so close to talent? When I saw the Frenchman’s film I realized that’s what attracted you to her. Her skill was so raw. Real. Impossible to deny. Her talent seeps from the screen like watercolor. More than that—you came alive together. I couldn’t just see the way you reacted to each other. I felt it. Deny it all you like, but it’s there. So forgive me if I don’t buy your dismissal of affection for Miss Hayes as something manufactured. Do me the courtesy of honesty.”
So Elizabeth had done something she never did: bared herself to someone who had no right to her truth. Difficult as that had been, she didn’t regret it. Now Summer could have her dream. It meant they wouldn’t be apart for endless months. Assuming Summer still wanted this. Nervously, she studied Summer’s thoughtful gaze.
“This is incredible,” Summer said. “But I’ll have to do some fast-talking with Autumn. She’ll kill me if I’m gone from LA for six months.”
“Actually, she seemed to think it’d be good for your acting development to take the internship. Although she expects you back in LA straight after it’s finished.”
“You colluded with my sister! And she agreed?”
“I did. Besides, Autumn has some Punky cons for you in London and an ex-boyfriend she wants to visit.”
“You two sneaks!” Summer slapped Elizabeth’s arm. “Oh my God, this is amazing!”
“You’re really quite violent. To think you were so sweet when we first met.”
“Sweet? I squirted fake blood all over you and you were furious.”
“Do you know some of it went up my nose? In my eyes? Down my bra. I even swallowed it. Tastes foul.”
Summer winced. “I’m so sorry.”
“And then you looked at me with those big, innocent eyes, as though you could just die from the sheer horror of it all, and it was a struggle to stay enraged. That was when I most wanted to quit, but I never wanted you gone. Maybe part of me knew even then.”
“Knew what?”
“That you weren’t safe to be around.” She pulled Summer closer. “That my lungs might find it harder to breathe, that my lips would desire yours, that my eyes would wander to you, and that you were simply far too adorable to let go.”
“Oh,” Summer breathed.
“And here we are, over a year later, and I still really don’t want to let you go. Be it England or LA, where you go, I go. Let’s just…be together. Live together. All of it.”
“Bess…” Summer wrapped herself tightly around Elizabeth. “Yes.”
“Yes?” Elizabeth’s heart felt ready to pound out of her chest.
“It’s hard enough going home some nights when all I want is to be with you. I miss you all the time. It’s not even a question. I’d love that!”
“Okay. That’s…that’s good then. Excellent.” Elizabeth kissed her, relief swamping her. “It’s settled.” She slid onto her side, resting her head on her hand, and eyed her lover. “So what do you plan to do today?” she asked, twirling her fingers over Summer’s bare belly, enjoying the way she squirmed under her touch. “What has you up so early?”
“I have a hot date.”
“Oh?” Elizabeth’s eyebrows lifted.
“I’m going to check out some sexy ladies.”
“I confess undying love, ask you to move in, and already you’re stepping out on me?”
Summer laughed. “There are pair of unusual old buildings down by the pier that will photograph beautifully in the early light. Want to come too? It’ll be fun.”
That did sound interesting. “Why not? Sexy ladies are my favorite things to admire.”
“Yup. Damn.” She looked down at herself. “I suppose I have to get some clothes on.” Summer made to move.
“No.” Elizabeth’s arm flashed out to stop her.
“No?”
“No. First I want to play with one particular sexy lady.”
“Which one?” Summer asked innocently.
“I think you know.” Elizabeth tugged her closer. “Summer,” she said, her
voice low and throaty, “I’m going to kiss you now. And just so you know? I’m going to mean it.”
Summer’s lips curled.
About Lee Winter
Lee Winter is an award-winning veteran newspaper journalist who has lived in almost every Australian state, covering courts, crime, news, features and humour writing. Now a full-time author and part-time editor, Lee is also a 2015 and 2016 Lambda Literary Award finalist and has won several Golden Crown Literary Awards. She lives in Western Australia with her long-time girlfriend, where she spends much time ruminating on her garden, US politics, and shiny, new gadgets.
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