A Brit Unexpected (Castle Calder Book 2)

by Brenda St John Brown

  “One day I’m going to cook for you.” Greyson takes the turkey and rocket from my outstretched hand and sets to making himself a sandwich. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? That sounds heavenly.” I gesture to my two-burner cook top. “I just hope you don’t plan on doing it here.”

  “You’d be surprised at what I can do with the bare necessities.” He grins.

  “Did you just say bare? Or am I being single-minded again?” I laugh.

  But the smile on his face slips into a scowl. “Is that what you’d rather? That we just spend the afternoon in bed?”

  “No, I’m happy to do whatever.” Except this. It makes me antsy and not in a good way. When I continue, my words come out slowly. “I’m really thrilled you’re here, but I feel like you have an agenda and I don’t know what it is.”

  “I told you, I missed you.” Greyson’s movements are jerky as he spreads mustard on the bread.

  “I missed you, too.” I rest a hand on his forearm. “But I think there’s more to it than that.”

  For a long minute, I don’t think Greyson’s going to tell me. The muscles in his forearm are pure steel and the look on his face is nearly as hard. Until it crumples and he says, “Last night after filming, I went out for food with a few members of the cast. It was fun. We went to a great Indian place on Brick Lane and had a lot of laughs. But the whole time I was wishing you were there. Then I went home, back to my apartment, whatever, and I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to call you, but it was three in the morning and I started to think I was losing it, you know? I mean, I’m used to being alone and then to suddenly be lonely? What the fuck?”

  He sounds frustrated, so my smile probably isn’t the best response, but I can’t help it. My grin is all teeth. “So let me understand this. You’re mad because you’ve missed me?”

  “You don’t have to sound so damn happy about it.” Greyson smiles in return. Reluctantly.

  “But I do because it means I’m not the only one.” I wind my arm around his waist and steer him towards the living room, grabbing the plate with his sandwich in my other hand. “Contrary to you thinking it’s the end of the world, this is a great thing.”

  Greyson plops down on the couch next to me, pulling my legs over his lap. I hand him his sandwich and he says, “I’m glad you’re amused, but what do we do about it?”

  “About you missing me? I think we figure out a way for you to un-miss me.” Bloody hell. Just when I think I’m over the whole oh-my-God-he’s-Greyson-Vaughn thing, I have an out-of-body minute like I’m having right now.

  Because, fuck a duck, am I really teasing Greyson Vaughn about missing me?

  “Come to Germany and Rome with me. I know it’s a press tour, but you wouldn’t have to do that part unless you wanted to. We could go sightseeing, hang out, have fun. It would be amazing, and maybe afterwards we could spend a couple of nights in Tuscany. There was this vineyard hotel I found once that’s gorgeous and the wine is probably the best I’ve ever had.” Greyson looks so excited, I can’t believe I’m going to say no.

  “That sounds incredible, but I have class and work. I’m almost done with my program. I can’t just leave.” I keep my voice gentle and stroke his hand. “And I’ve taken a lot time off at Brew Brothers, which is fine, but I can’t keep taking time off if I want to keep my job.”

  “No, I know. It was a shot in the dark. Although I’m in Rome for the weekend, and if you come you can meet my mom.” Greyson raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Um, if that’s you trying to change my mind, it’s the wrong tactic.” I roll my eyes, even though part of me would love to meet his mum. But it’s the part of me that likes him. As in like-likes him. “When do you leave again?”

  “I fly to Berlin on Monday, then Munich on Wednesday. I’m in Rome doing press on Friday, but free for the weekend.”

  “So you’re free this weekend before you go?” Greyson nods and I say, “Why don’t we go back to Castle Calder? You get out of London, I get out of Bath, it’s super private, and I’m sure Hannah would put us up.”

  “I would love that.” The relief on Greyson’s face sends a pang right to my heart.

  “I’ll call Hannah tonight and ask her, but I would love that, too.” I can’t ignore the relief I feel either. Last night I lay in bed rereading Greyson’s texts and wondered how/if to bring up seeing him again. As in, I felt pretty sure we would see each other again, but I wasn’t sure where. Or when. Or how.

  “What about your job? If you can’t get another weekend off, I can always come here.”

  The idea of Greyson in Bath, here in my tiny flat waiting for me to finish work, makes me both cringe and melt. “That’s lovely of you to offer, but I’m sure I can talk Amelia into another weekend off for a good cause.”

  “A good cause, huh?” Greyson puts his plate on my rickety coffee table and leans down to kiss me. And kiss me some more.

  We end up pressed together on my narrow sofa and we spend the next hour kissing, cuddling, and talking a little. It’s easy and comfortable, and when Greyson announces he’s got to start his drive back to London, I full-on pout.

  “Why do you have to film at ten o’clock at night? Who does that?” I ask, my fingers hooked through his belt loops.

  “Lots of people, unfortunately. They’ve closed off a street and it’s cheaper to do it at night and just bring in lights than it is to do it during normal business hours.” Greyson kisses the top of my head. “But at least we got a couple of hours together.”

  “I know.” I give an exaggerated sigh. “And I’ll see you in three days.”

  “I promise to fuck you senseless next time I see you, if it’s any consolation.”

  “It is.” I grin, and though it would be easy to veer down that path, I don’t. “Seriously, though, do you feel better than when you got here? I was a little worried about you, you know.”

  “I know.” Greyson doesn’t try to pretend I shouldn’t have worried. Another arrow right to my heart. “I was feeling out of sorts, I guess. I just needed some grounding.”

  “And did you find it?” My voice squeaks and I cough to cover it.

  Greyson kisses me. It’s soft, a brush of his lips on mine more than an actual kiss. Then he says, “I found exactly what I needed. Right here.”

  He kisses me for real this time, which saves me from replying. It’s just as well because my heart can’t handle another word right now. From either of us. It’s too full.

  Chapter Thirty

  Greyson: What are you wearing?

  Me: My big winter coat, a hat, and gloves. Walking across town. What are you wearing?

  My phone rings in my hand. When I answer, Greyson asks, “Are you on your way to work?”

  “No, post office. I have a registered letter. You didn’t send me something, did you?”

  “No, but I can. What do you want me to send you?”

  I laugh. “Um, I don’t think you’re going to be willing to send me that part of your anatomy.”

  “I might. For you.” Greyson laughs, too. “Please tell me nothing’s come up and you’re still meeting me at Castle Calder tomorrow.”

  “I am, and I talked to Hannah. She’s putting us in the cabin where I stayed last summer with Bea. It’s very private and we don’t have to leave if we don’t want to. She even said she’d stock the kitchen with some essentials.” What she really said was ooh-la-la and she’d ensure we had the utmost privacy. But she also peppered me with questions I wasn’t sure how to answer. Like is it serious between us?”

  “Essentials meaning condoms and whipped cream? I’ve thought of a few things I’d like to do with whipped cream.”

  “Oh, do tell.” I grin.

  “You mean besides writing my name in it and licking it off of you? Slowly and with great pleasure.” Greyson’s voice lowers to a growl. “I swear, the sooner I’m with you, the better. I’m a walking hard-on right now.”

  I lower my voice, too. “Are you going to do something about tha
t?”

  “Maybe later when you’re home and I can FaceTime you and watch you touch yourself. I want to see your face when you come.”

  Holy hell. Heat shoots through my abdomen, landing right between my legs and I slow my stride. “That’s not fair, you know. I’m in public, and now I’m very turned on walking down the street.”

  “How do you know I’m not in public, too?” Greyson’s question is a good one. He called me last night from the set where he was doing outtakes and, in a very low almost-whisper, asked me to make myself come while he listened because, in his words, “I’m sitting here thinking about you and it’s driving me crazy, so I may as well go all in.”

  “Are you in public?” I can’t hear any background noise because of the street sounds on my end.

  “No. I’m in the flat packing for Germany and Rome. You’re sure you’re not coming with me?”

  Greyson’s invited me to join him in Rome at least three times a day since the day he showed up at my flat. “I can’t. If it was over a break, maybe.”

  “I’m warning you right now, my goal this weekend is to change your maybes to yeses.” He’s also said this at least three times. “If you don’t want to meet my mother, that’s fine, but you know I’d love for you to be there.”

  Part of me would love to be there, too. But it’s the part that lives in this bubble of phone calls and private time. I know better than to delve into it right now. “Well, you have three nights to convince me.”

  “Challenge accepted. Hey, did I tell you I talked to Mike?”

  “No.” I make the word two syllables. “How was that?”

  “Fine. He’s gotten some scripts for me to consider for my next project.”

  I know I’m supposed to ask what he’s thinking about, but I hate the thought of it, so instead I say, “That’s great. Are he and my grandmother back in the UK?”

  “They are. Mike’s meeting me in Berlin, so your grandmother will have some downtime. Consider this your warning.”

  I make a face. “Thanks for that.”

  “It’s what I’m here for. Well, that and other more enjoyable pursuits.” I laugh and just as I’m about to respond, I hear the buzz of the doorbell to his flat in the background and Greyson says, “Shoot, I’ve got to get that. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Perfect.” I’m at the post office and I’m paranoid about talking to Greyson in public anyway. After the pictures from the London premiere went online a few people have given me a second or third look, but I look so different in my normal life than I did that night that I’m pretty sure my secret’s still an actual secret.

  I hang up and shove my phone in the pocket of my coat as I pull the door open. The post office is really a counter at the back of a convenience store and I walk down the crisps-and-condiments aisle to queue for my letter. I’m pretty sure it’s the receipt from Grandmother for my bank transfer. She’s old school and even though I got the notification electronically, she’s the type who’d print out the transaction record and send it to me. She’d use registered mail because it was fifteen thousand pounds in the end. It cleared a few days ago and I haven’t let myself think about it, but I have to admit, I like knowing it’s there.

  I tap my foot because the woman in front of me is paying her water bill at the counter and it’s not going well. With the option of online payment, I’m not even sure why paying via the post office is still a thing, but it obviously is and, unless I want to come back later, I’m stuck waiting while the clerk helps her sort it out.

  Someone’s left a copy of Star magazine on top of the Doritos and I pick it up and flip through the pages. It’s odd seeing celebrity shots now after being with Greyson because it makes me wonder how many of them are staged. According to him, it’s a far greater percentage than I’d guess, although he’s been tight-lipped when I’ve asked him which Hollywood relationships are fake. Don’t kiss, don’t tell is his motto, and I can’t complain too much since it extends to me as well.

  On page four is an article about Grace Brines and John Sherman. They’re expecting a baby. She hopes it’s a girl. Page six is about a concert tour that the Sheridans are doing, combining stadiums and smaller venues. And page ten features…Greyson Vaughn.

  I nearly drop the magazine as I read the headline, “Vaughn in Talks to Play Riley Clark in Australian Biopic.”

  The article goes on to say that Greyson’s been talking to producers for a while about playing the iconic musician and talks are progressing. If the deal goes through, the film will start shooting almost immediately in Melbourne, where Clark was born and first broke into the music scene. The film will chronicle Clark’s rise to fame in his home country, including the iconic cross-country “dive bar” concert tour for which he is most well-known, and led to his worldwide debut.

  The article goes on to explain Clark’s concert tour, but I skip ahead, scanning for further mention of Greyson. And there it is at the bottom of the page. Vaughn has tackled serious roles in the past – most notably, his recent appearance in Savannah –but this would be a challenge for the young actor. One which he says he’s looking forward to. “I’m eager to expand my repertoire,” Vaughn said. “I think you get stale if you don’t stretch yourself as an actor, and I’m at the right point in my career for this kind of challenge. I’ve been lucky to do some great films, but this one is more character-driven than anything I’ve ever considered. Plus, it’s shooting in Australia, which is a dream come true.”

  Australia.

  Greyson’s going to Australia?

  He’s not said a word. I haven’t asked, but I thought he’d tell me something like that without me asking. Although, maybe he was trying to broach the subject when we spoke a few minutes ago? I was the one who blew by the topic like it wasn’t worth discussing.

  I glance at the article again. It says Greyson’s been talking to producers “for a while.” And, okay, that could mean anything from two days to two years, but it leads me to think he’s had time to tell me. He showed up at my flat the other night, for fuck’s sake. He had a perfect opportunity to let that little bombshell drop. But maybe that’s why he showed up at my flat in the first place? Grand gestures are easy when there’s no fear of follow up. And then his enthusiasm about meeting up this weekend and I meet him in Rome…

  It makes so much sense. And it makes me feel like an idiot. I stare at Greyson’s photo on the glossy page and my eyes burn. Dammit. I don’t even realize I’ve torn the page of the magazine until the postal woman says, “Excuse me, miss. You’re going to have to pay for that.”

  I look up. The woman paying her water bill is gone and the postal worker glares at me and points to the magazine. She opens her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it. “Of course. I’m sorry.” I place the magazine on the counter and dig in my bag for the slip to claim my letter. “I need to collect a letter, please.”

  The woman purses her lips and takes my slip. I show ID and sign for the letter before she speaks again, pointing to the magazine. “That will be two pounds, please.” Of course it will. I fish the coins out of my pocket and slide them through the partition. The woman takes them and cracks her first smile. “Shame you tore right through the photo there.”

  I look down. Sure enough, I’ve ripped Greyson’s perfect face in two. It’s not the version of Greyson I’ve come to prefer, but it’s still a damn good photo. He’s smiling and he’s got an open-neck shirt exposing his very kissable throat.

  The kissable throat that apparently will be a world away from me soon. My “dammit” comes out soft, but the woman hears me anyway.

  “It’s nothing a little sellotape won’t fix,” she offers.

  Her comment is completely innocuous. It’s not even said in a particularly helpful or sympathetic tone. But my eyes fill and I shake my head. “I don’t think so, actually. I don’t think it will be as easy as that.”

  I clutch the magazine to my chest and run out of the shop, leaving the woman staring after me wondering why sellotape is m
aking me cry.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “You definitely need to go this weekend,” Scarlett says, twirling a piece of hair around her finger.

  Bea nods. “You’ll regret it if you don’t. I think you just need to change your mindset.”

  I shake my head, watching myself in my little square on the screen of my phone. Scarlett, Bea, and I are having a three-way video chat via an app called House Party Scarlett made me download when I texted her an hour ago. Scarlett’s rationale was that Bea’s the only one of us who’s actually been in a successful long-term relationship and we needed a voice of reason. I didn’t argue because by that point my own reason had taken a back seat to emotion. A very distant back seat, possibly not even in the same vehicle.

  I spent the afternoon and early evening after I left the post office doing what I’ve resisted so far. Googling Greyson Vaughn. I’d done it before, but not with intent. Before, looking him up online was for entertainment. Today it was all for information.

  And how informative, it was. I found everything from outtakes of him at his first screen test at seventeen to a fan site dedicated to Star Fleet fan fiction. Some of it was really good and Greyson starred in almost all of it. I’m obviously not the only one whose mind went there after seeing him in action.

  I also made myself pore over photos and articles about him and Alexa Gayle, including one detailing their demise. Both of them maintained that the driving force behind their break-up was career pressure and spending too much time apart. I didn’t believe it when Greyson told me that back at Castle Calder when we first met, but now it makes perfect sense.