For Both Are Infinite (Hearts in London Book 1)

by Stephanie Alba

  While I couldn’t remember the after, I don’t think I could ever forget that early morning image of him peacefully still in our bed, permanently asleep in his dream and gone in my nightmares. Sometimes I still dreamed about it, but I hadn’t in two weeks. That ghost of a moment hadn’t come to haunt me since Rhys.

  ∞

  Our second to last meeting was spent in the park. I’d met him there again, too afraid to have him in the confines of my apartment. I think he believed it was a trust issue, that after he’d hurt me I needed space, but the truth was I was terrified of how much I liked him there. My apartment felt homier with him, and whenever he left it was void of life.

  I dressed casually in shorts and a blue tank and was pleased to see he had finally let loose too. When I found him, he was wearing khaki shorts that showed off his amazing calves, a gray v-neck tee, and a baseball cap that covered his lovely waves. He looked pretty cute with the hat, in everything he wore, really. And he was happy again, joy surrounding him and rubbing off on me. “Good morning,” he said, offering me a quick hug.

  “Morning.”

  I observed how his eyes locked with mine, a confident smile on his face that coveted the open view of his laugh lines. They were deep despite his young thirty-two years, but they only added to his beauty as evidence of the delight he so often wore on his expression. We stared for a moment too long, magnetically hooked onto one another and the energy between us became palpable. The way he studied me back told me I wasn’t imagining it, that he felt something too. I broke the stare and noticing my coyness he looked away as well.

  Staring at the water he said, “I thought we could practice on the pond today.”

  “The rowboats?” I asked, squinting my eyes.

  “Yes, are you afraid?”

  “Kind of,” I admitted, shrugging my shoulders.

  “I’ll take care of you.”

  I believed him, but for how long? How long would he allow me to covetously use him for my own healing?

  We got into the boats and Rhys swiftly rowed us out towards the middle, allowing us to float idly as we practiced lines. After an hour he leaned back into the boat and relaxed for a bit, stretching his arms out behind his head. I looked away for a second to avoid blatantly staring at him, only to quickly succumb to my temptation again. His arms always reminded me of the muscles on an animal, twitching and stretching as he moved, evident enough to look strong, without making his body seem heavy with muscle. He was stunning and with his eyes closed I was able to admire him for a few minutes.

  I looked away again, worried he would open his eyes and catch me, only to spot a couple in another boat making out, and ultimately deciding that staring at him would be less awkward. He saw my reaction, his eyes open and frowning at my clumsy gaze. I would have loved to know what he was thinking, but maybe not. Subconsciously I started playing with my ponytail, having opted out of my usual bun. He began watching as I did it, so I pushed it towards the back of my neck again.

  “Do you ever wear your hair loose?” he asked, breaking the tense silence.

  “Rarely. It’s too much work with the rain here.”

  “You should wear it down more.”

  I laughed it off to shun my nerves. “You would say that, you’re a man and don’t know how annoying it is managing hair this long.”

  Shrugging his shoulders playfully he said, “Nonetheless, it’s still lovely on you.”

  I was completely aware of what he was doing; at least I thought so. Rhys was more comfortable around me each day, and the compliments were starting to multiply. I reveled in it of course; they rushed over me like warmth on a cold London day, but I wasn’t sure if I was the only receiver of his sweet heart. I brushed him off again, forcing him to continue reading lines for another two hours.

  He was amazing, having already memorized the majority of the play, and it would be false to say I wasn’t impressed by his portrayal of the prince. He transformed before me, from the carefree Rhys to the burdened Hamlet, and as he read Hamlet’s monologue, I could see the madness in his eyes, the mind being torn in both directions. It made me bashful, but I became excited to see him on stage, surrounded by cast, costumes and sets.

  There was something uniquely sexy as I watched. He brought breath into my life’s study, exuding it with himself, with culture, masculinity too. If I weren’t already sexually attracted to him, I surely would have been after that moment without a doubt. He finished the famous monologue and sat back again to take a break. I’d still been watching him intently when he laughed, “What, no good?”

  “No, you’re amazing.”

  “Thank you,” he blushed. “That means the world coming from you.”

  “I mean it, sincerely,” I nodded.

  “I know you do.”

  He then became awkward, unsure what to do with my compliment that touched him. Looking at his binder and flipping the pages, he suggested that we practice page thirty-four in the script. I wasn’t sure why he’d picked so specifically, but when I opened, I quickly figured it out.

  “Seriously, Rhys?” He nodded and laughed full of mischief. “Fine, go for it,” I said, knowing full well he wouldn’t make it through the scene.

  Page thirty-four consisted of act three, scene two, with a sexual conversation between Hamlet and Ophelia. It was loaded with innuendos about him laying his head in her lap and then lying between a woman’s legs, basically everything I didn’t want to think about around him. But it seemed Rhys had other plans.

  He blushed through the entire scene, making me laugh internally because I knew he’d been trying to embarrass me, and it had backfired severely. We skipped over parts where other characters spoke, and it became hilarious to watch him try to stay in character. He said a line about taking off the edge to which Ophelia, or myself, called him sharp, and then at his next line he lost it.

  “Yes, point, but you could take the edge off me - though it might make you moan a little.” I avoided his eyes knowing that just from the tone in his voice he was trying to be naughty. I became shy and heated, and when I finally looked up at his juvenile grin he broke character and doubled over in laughter.

  “You know you can’t do that next week!” I shouted. He was laughing so hard the boat rocked and I felt my attraction grow by tenfold. Though it concerned me, I enjoyed the moment and how beautiful he looked.

  “I know,” he said catching his breath. “I never break character, I just saw your face!”

  “Oh, thanks!”

  “No,” he shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. It’s just interesting reading sexually charged lines with you.”

  “Well, you picked them,” I smirked.

  “You’re right, mea culpa.”

  “I do hope you don’t laugh on stage like that. The audience won’t appreciate the humor like I do.”

  “I won’t,” he said, leaning closer to me with his entire body. “Does that mean you’re coming to the opening night? I have a front row seat saved for you. After all our work, I’ll feel better if you’re there….” He looked away and then back, quickly making a mental decision. “I think I rather need you there.”

  I never would have guessed that I could make a celebrity more self-assured, but it touched my heart to know he needed me in his own way, that the yearning wasn’t just mine.

  “Of course. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Brilliant,” he smiled with pleasure. “How about we row around a bit before we return the boat?”

  I nodded complacently and Rhys rowed us in circles around the pond, allowing me to glance at his biceps through my sunglasses. I enjoyed the view of his muscles working to move the boat through the water, and while I was certain he could see me looking, he allowed it, smirking quietly and rowing harder. It was the nicest afternoon and I would’ve stayed there with him forever. My stress fell away as he made me feel burden-less, and most of all, happy.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rhys walked me home, explaining that he would be takin
g me somewhere different for our last meeting. He insisted that Bruce pick me up and that we’d only be practicing for the first half of the day. After our walk on Tuesday his hug had said so many things. In his embrace, there was tenderness as he accidentally touched my hair against my back. I could feel his breath hitch when I moved my own arm across his back, mimicking his motions. I savored every second, hoping that he was genuine when he said Thursday wouldn’t be the last time I saw him, but I was also terrified, because where could it go after? What would come of this closeness and would I continue allowing it?

  Long after Rhys left I thought about who we were together and what we were becoming. I thought about who Aaron and I were and what I’d want for him if our roles were reversed. Hypothetically, I hoped Aaron would have moved on despite his loyalty to me, and knew he’d likely want me to do the same.

  But whenever my thoughts went to Rhys, my stomach panged with guilt. It was as if I was constantly cheating on one with the other, even though I wasn’t in a relationship with either of them. My body betrayed me and Aaron every time Rhys was around, and my heart betrayed Rhys whenever I remembered Aaron. I knew he wouldn’t want me alone forever; he’d even mentioned it once years ago. Whenever my bed felt emptiest, I recalled the night we’d watched P.S. I Love You.

  Aaron looked over half way through the movie. “Don’t do that,” he said abruptly.

  “What?”

  “If I’m not around, don’t stay alone because of me.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “What, you moving on?”

  “No, I won’t have to,” I said, so sure of myself. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “You don’t know that,” he said, nudging my arm. “If I’m not around, promise you’ll keep living, okay?”

  “Okay!” I said, shoving him off my skin. “Stop being so depressing.”

  “I just know how you are, Ellie.”

  I leaned up in the bed and kissed him. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re stuck with me forever.”

  And then he tickled me and said, “Only if I keep you around!”

  We started playing roughly and ended up having sex, not finishing the movie that would eventually turn into my life. That memory had stayed vivid amongst others over the years.

  A few weeks after he died, in some moment of clarity, I remembered his foreshadowing that night and went crazy. I became obsessed that he’d known something was wrong, that his parents, Max and Julie, had kept some imaginary condition from me to assure their son be loved in life. I’d even tried looking through their medical records when they thought I was in the bathroom. Eventually, after two weeks of tender convincing, I understood and settled down. It was just a fluke. I’d been both lucky and unlucky to love someone with an early end in life.

  I glanced at his picture on my desk that night and could still remember the way his big lips felt on mine, the smell of his skin. It sounds gross, but I loved the special scent his skin had after a long day, natural and all him, and I cried whenever I realized one day I wouldn’t remember it as clearly. I kept some of his clothes and threw them in a zip-lock just to preserve the smell, and sometimes when I was really depressed I opened it and gave in to lunacy. The scent would eventually fade, but it was the strangest comfort knowing he was still around in that way.

  I often spoke to Aaron in my head, and that night I stared at him and told him everything racing through my mind.

  I hope you know I’ll always love you.

  I hope you know you’re always in my heart and head.

  You know you aren’t forgotten, right?

  After gazing at him for a while, I looked up flights for home out of curiosity and nostalgia. I was able to find one relatively cheap and Skyped my parents over dinner to see if it was a good time to visit. They both ecstatically agreed, grateful to see me after months, and so I booked my ticket. Once I saw their faces I knew I wanted to hold them and go home, and I became excited at the thought of seeing my friends, Anne and James, too. I hoped to talk to my mother and gain some clarity about Rhys, but I hadn’t decided if I wanted to for certain because she always meant well, but lost control sometimes.

  As soon as I clicked confirm for my ticket, I felt disheartened, knowing it meant I’d be away from Rhys all week. We didn’t have plans anyways since our practices were canceled, but the hopeful prospect was nice to dream about. I packed for my flight the following evening, leaving everything but my feelings in order.

  ∞

  The following morning Bruce picked me up for Rhys’ house. When we drove onto his lawn I could see him outside on his phone. Upon further study I noted something different in his face: nerves, frustration, I couldn’t place it. He hung up and opened my door the moment Bruce parked, sweetly giving me his hand to help me out. His shoulders were tight, as were his lips, and I gave in to temptation, asking, “Is everything all right?”

  “Of course. I’m glad to see you.”

  I didn’t push for more information as Rhys guided me to the living room. Once I was comfortable on the sofa he admitted, “I love seeing you here.” I wasn’t sure if he meant to say it, but I loved that he couldn’t contain himself around me. “I feel more at home in my own house. Is that strange?”

  I shook my head, smiling and knowing exactly what he meant. “Not at all.”

  His eyes lingered on my face longingly with some unrecognizable emotion that he quickly rolled it off his shoulders. “We’d better get started to make our lunch appointment.”

  We practiced for our last time together, and it was bittersweet watching him read his lines. I watched tenaciously, realizing that the next time I’d see him he would be reciting those same words on stage, in costume, and I’d be at a unique distance from the front row. He would be physically close, but emotionally unattainable. We would no longer be working together, but instead hopefully continuing to remain friends as he said. I became irrational, angry at life for giving me guaranteed meetings with him only to take them away early. They always had an end date, but I had tricked myself into hoping it would never come.

  I asked him if he had any specific concerns about dialogue or theme, but he was comfortable with himself. Rhys shook his head and winked, “I’m not worried. I’ve been instructed by the best.”

  My insides melted completely. He exuded constant charm and sex appeal, but that tiny action rendered me useless. I thought I’d maintained outward composure, but his suspicious grin told me I wasn’t entirely successful. He knew full well what he did to me. I remained unraveled for the rest of the afternoon all because that simple wink.

  For lunch Rhys took me on a Thames cruise. During the drive I grew preoccupied over telling him about my plans to go home. I didn’t want him to believe I’d kept them from him, but ultimately I decided to wait until after lunch, unsure if it would ruin the mood. He rented a boat that could easily hold 20 people exclusively for us. It was exquisite standing on the edge with him as we passed through the city. The river itself was brown and grimy, but it was a beautiful way to see London. I’d never done it, and all I could focus on was him, how beautiful he looked in his tailored navy pants and white shirt, the way the sun brought out the copper in his hair. His beard had filled in for the show, and while I preferred him clean shaved, he was still flawless. As he looked out to the monuments, his eyes seemed incredibly blue, reflecting the sky in his irises. Rhys hadn’t spoken since arriving onto the boat, allowing me to enjoy the view before he gestured me towards our table.

  “Surprised?”

  “Yes, thank you. I’ve never been on the river.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, his eyes piercing inexplicably into mine. I felt studied like a butterfly pinned to a wall, as though he was trying to read my thoughts. Sometimes I wished he could, even though I’d die of embarrassment, but at least he’d know my true sentiments. Maybe he would share his own too and that freaked me out even more. I tried waiting to talk about my trip, but quickly saw there would
n’t be a perfect time. Rhys could tell there was something on my mind, and I suspected it was his reason for watching me so closely.

  “I’m going to miss our meetings,” he offered, hoping to bring me out of my shell.

  “Me too.”

  Rhys proceeded to tell me his complicated schedule for the show, which left us with Mondays, Fridays and Sunday nights to see each other.

  Desperation crossed his look when he asked, “You still want to keep in touch, yeah?”

  “Of course,” I agreed a little too enthusiastically.

  “Good.” He paused looking away to the shore. “Would you like to take a picture with the city?”

  Before I could answer he got up and took out his phone, posing next to me to take a photo of the two of us. I’d foolishly assumed he meant of each of us alone. Rhys pulled me in close, enough so that I could smell his cologne as he placed his hand around my waist. It smelled delicious, his typical woodsy and citrus scent, and it left me dizzy. After taking two photos he held the screen before us and said, “We look good like that, huh?”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant in the picture, with the monuments, or the two of us so tightly beside one another. I agreed, hoping it was the latter.

  Once we returned to the table, our waiter brought out our pasta dishes. Mid-bite I said, “I have to tell you something.” I could see him panicking so I continued to subdue him. “I’m going home for a few days.”

  His lips became straight, his smile vanishing, and I could see his mind was thinking everything all at once. “When do you leave and return?” he asked, worried that I would miss the show and it tugged at my heart.

  “Tonight. I return Thursday.”

  “Tonight,” he lowered his head and eyelids. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

  He thought I wasn’t going to tell him. “I booked it last night since our practices were canceled. I haven’t been home in eight months. I need to see my parents. I miss them.”