Lovestruck Forever

by Rachel Schurig

  “I think I’d like to meet with her,” I said slowly, testing out how the words felt to say out loud. “Hear her out. What could it hurt?”

  Thomas’s entire face lit up? “Yeah? That’s fantastic, Lizzie!”

  I put a hand out. “I’m not saying anything will come of it.”

  “A meeting with an agent is a big deal.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, love.”

  I snuggled into his chest, wishing I could feel the same sense of pride. Wishing I could dispel the doubts that this was actually my own accomplishment, and not just because of Thomas.

  “Ask Heidi for her contact information,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. “I’ll call her tomorrow before we head to the airport.

  Chapter Eight

  It was raining in London when we arrived. At Heathrow, Thomas, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, stared morosely out the large windows near baggage claim. “Hey, remember when we lived in Malibu?” he muttered. “Why in the hell did we ever leave?”

  “Oh, come on.” I slipped my hand through the crook of his elbow. “It’s just London’s way of welcoming us home. It would feel weird if we came home to sunshine.”

  “And that doesn’t clue you in that we were fools to ever come back?”

  “You better watch it, mister.” I poked him in the side. “That’s my adopted city you’re talking about.”

  “Pardon me,” a quiet voice asked at Thomas’s other elbow. “Are you…are you Thomas Harper?”

  He turned to smile at the girl, obliging her request for an autograph, before turning back to me. “Sorry.”

  I leaned into him. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed about being famous.”

  “Who said I’m embarrassed?”

  I giggled. “You never know what to say to the fans. You just asked that girl if she was enjoying the weather—not ironically, I should mention.”

  He gave me a wry smile. “You’re right. I’m bad at the small talk. It just always surprises me, that anyone cares enough to ask for my autograph.”

  “I think it’s nice— it shows that you’re not jaded yet.”

  “Yet?” he raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you saying I’m going to get jaded?”

  I slipped my arm around his waist. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  The luggage belt started rotating behind us, and we both turned away from the depressing view of the gray, rainy day to look for our suitcases. “Come on, love,” Thomas said. “Let’s get our bags so we can go outside and get rained on.”

  By the time we found our bags, made it through customs, and hailed a cab, my phone had beeped three times in my pocket. “Someone really wants to get ahold of you,” Thomas said, holding the cab door open for me to slip in ahead of him.

  Now that my hands were finally free to do so, I pulled the phone from my pocket. All three messages were from family members. I opened the first, from my mother. Hello, dear, it read. The caterer just called to let us know they have an opening today. Would you mind terribly if we went without you? Sorry, sweetie, your sister thinks it’d be better not to wait.

  I sighed, not needing to ask which sister that might be. Maria had been absolutely horrified to find out the caterer wouldn’t be able to meet with us for two weeks. “That’s cutting it way too close,” she had told me, on more than one occasion. As if I had some kind of power to change the schedule of a caterer I had never even met.

  The next message, predictably, was from Maria herself. The caterer can see us, we’re going to run over now. No “I’m sorry” from Maria; no asking if I would mind.

  Laura’s message actually made me smile. Mom says we have to meet the caterer today. I promise I won’t let Bridesmaidzilla make any final decisions without asking you.

  “Everything okay?”

  I held the phone up for Thomas. “Apparently the caterer had a sudden opening, so the girls are going to go over and meet with him.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Without you?”

  I shrugged. “We were cutting it kind of close waiting for him to have an opening.”

  “But I thought the food was something you wanted to decide about yourself.”

  I looked out the window at the rainy landscape as the cabbie crept along the motorway toward London. “I trust their judgment,” I finally said, not really wanting to explain to him that the decisions had already been made. This was the caterer the hall worked with. He specialized in Americanized Mexican food, the kind of thing that had been served at every family wedding I’d ever attended. What was there to decide, really? I couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to make a big stink over the choice between chicken or beef enchiladas.

  Thomas looked like he wanted to argue further, but his phone rang. He looked down at it, groaning a little. “Work,” he said apologetically. “Sorry, love.”

  I waved my hands dismissively. “Go for it.” As he answered and began a brisk conversation with Heidi, I took the chance to punch out responses to my family. Maria and my mother got the same one: sure, that’s no problem. Thanks for going. I switched over to Laura’s message to craft a response. Thanks, sis. Just make sure there’s no pescadillas, okay? You know I can’t stand the smell of them.

  Before I could put my phone back, there was another beep, another text. From Maria this time. We’ll probably look at flowers while we’re out. I’ll send pictures.

  I sighed, staring down at the phone. I knew I should tell her that I’d be choosing the flowers on my own, to not even think about stepping in a flower shop without me, but, once again, I just couldn’t muster the energy. My mom would want to go to Ada, a distant relative. Her flowers were pretty, but somewhat generic. I thought about the bouquet of simple hydrangeas I had pinned on my wedding board. There was no way Ada would make me something like that. Or, rather, she would make it but start adding carnations and roses when she found it too plain. Soon the arrangement would look nothing like what I had pictured in the first place.

  “Sorry about that,” Thomas said, pocketing his phone and reaching for my hand.

  “No problem.”

  “Hey.” He nudged my chin with his thumb. “You okay? You look a little down.”

  I knew how he would respond if I shared any of my thoughts right now. He’d be annoyed with my family for their presumptions and disappointed in me for not standing up to them. So instead, I turned to him, forcing a smile on my face, and said, “I think you might have been right about the rain. It’s depressing.”

  Thomas wrapped his arm around me, drawing me closer. “Just imagine how cozy it will be when we’re cuddled up in front of the fire later.”

  My smile turned genuine. There were few places in the world I loved more than Thomas’s flat. It was small and cluttered with bookshelves and comfy furniture. Not exactly the kind of place you would imagine a star of Thomas’s caliber living—but that was part of the appeal for me. It was a reminder of the early days of our relationship, before Hostile took off so unexpectedly, changing his career and both of our lives. A reminder of a simpler time, when we could walk down the street or go to the airport without worrying about fans or photographers recognizing him.

  “It will be weird,” I murmured. “Moving into our own place. The Bayswater flat feels like home to me.”

  “Me, too,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “Obviously. But probably too small for the two of us full time. And it’s not the most secure place.”

  I frowned into his jacket. He’d been mentioning things like security much more than he ever used to. It always made me feel slightly uncomfortable, though I knew it was part of the package when it came to his job.

  “Besides,” he went on. “Won’t it be nice to live somewhere new? London is so big, there are loads of neighborhoods we haven’t even explored yet.”

  “That’s true,” I conceded. “It will be nice finding new restaurants and stores.”

  “And pubs,” he added. “The most important thing.”r />
  “As if you’d ever move on from your pub,” I snorted. Thomas and Charlie had been fiercely loyal to their local in Hackney, down the street from the flat they had first shared in London years ago. Even after they had both moved into their own places in completely different neighborhoods, they still visited The Arms Public House in Hackney at least once a month when they were both in London.

  “There’s no better place than The Arms,” he said loyally. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun sampling the wares at other establishments in search of my second favorite pub.”

  I turned my attention back to the window, determined to make the most of our time together here and not let any family or wedding stress get in the way. We only had a week to enjoy London together before returning home. And once we were back in Detroit, Thomas would have less than two weeks before he had to be on location for the movie. I closed my eyes. Don’t think about that, now.

  We’d been separated for brief periods several times during our relationship. I had long ago accepted that it was just something I would have to deal with in dating him. As an actor, travel was always going to be a big part of his life. I would go with him when possible, but it was inevitable that there would be times we’d be in different locations. I didn’t like it—I was sure I would never like it, but I had accepted it.

  Besides, this upcoming separation already felt different from the others. I was planning on coming to London as often as possible to see him. We also had plans to meet in San Diego in a few months while Thomas attended Comic-Con. And, when the movie was over, we had the wedding to look forward to. Our whole life together to look forward to.

  I leaned back to look up at his face, as familiar to me now as my own, and smiled. I can deal with a few weeks a part, I told myself, believing every word of it. If it means I get a lifetime with him, I can deal with just about anything.

  ***

  Thomas was busier than I had anticipated while we were in London. His days were filled with meetings, costume fittings, screen tests, a table read, and any number of other actorly things he found too boring to mention to me. He was usually able to get home in the evenings, and we dined at many of our favorite restaurants and visited with friends. We were even able to make it to Wednesday night trivia with Meghan, Cater, Sarra, and Mark; something I had missed terribly while we were in the States.

  There was a slight damper on the night when one of the trivia teams, made up entirely of female administrative assistants from the City, recognized Thomas. They spent a lot of time staring at our table, talking about our table, and taking pictures of our table before they finally got up the courage to come over and ask Thomas for his autograph. I could tell he was annoyed—he’d been looking forward to some normalcy with his friends for weeks. Luckily, Sarra and Meghan salvaged the evening by loudly wondering why on earth anyone would want pictures of a guy who suffered debilitating flatulence until the girls finally got the hint and left us alone.

  “Sorry,” Thomas said tersely, pulling his baseball cap lower on his forehead. I found his hand under the table and could feel the tension radiating from him. His entire body was coiled tightly.

  “It’s not your fault,” I reminded him, but he didn’t relax.

  “Don’t be daft, mate,” Carter said, slapping his back. “You can’t help it if you’re an international sex symbol.” Carter scrunched up his face in seeming confusion. “Though I can’t for the life of me figure out why.”

  I grinned at him gratefully, noting that some of the tension had gone out of Thomas’s face. I knew how much he valued the fact that they teased him—that they, in short, treated him the same way that they always had, regardless of how many magazine covers he had now been featured on.

  On the third day of our visit, I made plans to meet up with Imogen while Thomas worked. We had become close while both working in Heidi’s office, and I hadn’t seen her since my abrupt departure from Los Angeles. After L.A., Heidi had moved offices to a modern skyscraper on the banks of the Thames. Her business had exploded since Thomas’s break-out the previous year, and she had partnered with a large talent agency across town. It felt weird to wait at the marble lobby counter for Imogen to be paged. When we worked together in the West End, we didn’t have anything so high tech as a paging system, let alone a marble lobby.

  “Lizzie!” she squealed the moment the elevator doors opened. In a blur of pale long limbs and perfect hair, she wrapped her arms around me. “I miss you!”

  “I miss you, too!” I hugged her back, realizing how true those words really were. I’d been so busy with my mom since leaving L.A. that I hadn’t really had time to notice that I missed working, missed feeling productive and going out to the office every day. And I missed having a social life at work, instead of the monotony of spending nearly every day in the company of my family. Most of all, I missed Imogen herself. She was a slightly silly girl, totally obsessed with celebrity culture. But she was also very sweet and incredibly loyal. She’d been a great friend to me, particularly in those lonely days in Malibu while Thomas spent so much time working.

  “You look great,” she said, pulling away so she could look me over. “I love that dress.”

  “Thanks, Im,” I said, not bothering to mention that she’d seen the yellow flowered sundress dozens of times. Imogen was not the kind of girl that often repeated outfits, and she had a habit of thinking no one else did, either.

  “Well?” she asked expectantly, her eyes lit up with excitement. “Where is it?”

  “Where’s what?” I asked, puzzled.

  She threw her arms out in exasperation. “The ring, silly!”

  “Oh, right.” I held out my left hand for her to admire the ring.

  “Wow,” she whispered, grabbing my hand and holding the ring up to her face. “It’s lovely, Lizzie.”

  In spite of her words, I couldn’t help but notice that she seemed slightly more subdued than she’d been before seeing the ring. I grinned. “Let me guess—you were hoping for a six-carat pink diamond.”

  She flushed a little. “No! Well, I mean, that is the kind of ring that Ben Affleck bought J-Lo back in the day.” Catching sight of my expression, she went on quickly. “But this suits you much better, Lizzie. It’s really great.”

  “Thank you,” I said, still grinning. Some might have been offended, but I knew Imogen too well. She was constantly fantasizing about what it would be like to date a movie star. A perfectly respectable, lovely ring did not, apparently, live up to her expectations of proper celebrity diamond-buying behavior.

  “So.” I slipped my arm through hers. “Where shall we have lunch? I don’t know this neighborhood at all.”

  She led me through the lobby, waving cheerily at the security guard as we passed, and out into the weak May sunshine. “There’s a nice sushi place right down the street,” she said. “How does that sound?”

  “Perfect.”

  “I’ve gone a few times with some of the girls in the office, but it’s just not the same, Lizzie. They’re all so serious and frumpy.” She paused on the sidewalk to hold out her foot. “Not one of them even noticed my new sandals. Can you believe that?”

  “How dare they?” I asked, faking as much outrage as I could manage.

  “I know! And they weren’t the least bit excited to hear about all the celebrities we saw in L.A.” She sighed a little. “You’d think they’d be a little bit impressed that I once ate in the same restaurant as Bradley Cooper.”

  “Imogen, you do remember that I never really cared too much about your new shoes or your celebrity gossip, either, don’t you?”

  “Well, yeah,” she said. “But that’s different. You’re you, Lizzie.” She squeezed my arm. “My lovely friend who never looked down on me when I was excited about something.”

  I squeezed back. “I do miss you.”

  “I wish you would consider coming back to work now that Thomas is in London.”

  “I’m still not ready to be away from my mother for that l
ong,” I told her. “But I’ll be in town quite a bit—I’m going to fly over as often as I can.”

  “What about after the wedding?” she asked. “Where will you live?”

  “Here. We’re going to get a place of our own.”

  She released me to clap her hands together. “That’s so exciting! Oh, I’m so happy. I always hated that pokey little flat in Bayswater. I never could figure out why the two of you would want to be somewhere so…normal. When you had all of London to choose from!”

  “Bayswater was home,” I told her, knowing she wouldn’t understand. To Imogen, if you had the chance to live somewhere glamorous and expensive, you took it.

  We reached the sushi place and found a table. Imogen pointed out her favorite items on the menu, gushing about each in her uniquely enthusiastic way. Only Imogen could make sushi sound like the most exciting thing you’d experience all day. After we placed our order, she turned to me. “Okay, spill. I want to hear every detail about this wedding.”

  I took a moment to respond, sipping my water to buy time. “I don’t think you’re going to be too excited about it,” I finally said.

  She stared at me with wide eyes. “Why ever not?”

  I sighed, playing with straw. “My family has kind of taken over the planning.”

  She made a face. “Are they…not good at planning?”

  “They’re excellent. Totally efficient and in control. But they have certain ideas about how things should be…”

  “And how’s that?”

  “The way things always are.” Even I could hear the bitterness in my voice. “They’re planning exactly the way they’ve planned my sisters’ weddings and my cousins’ weddings before them. Same hall. Same food. Same florist. Same dress designer.”