The True Love Travels Series Box Set

by Poppy Pennington-Smith

  “I’ll take it if you like,” offered Sam. “While you get Lottie another.” He emphasised Lottie’s name as he spoke, causing Dale to blink-squint even harder.

  “Yes. Good idea. Right. I’ll be back.” He was already walking away when he turned and said, “And what would you like?”

  As soon as Dale was out of sight, Sam handed the champagne glass back to Lottie. “The Lottie I remember would never have turned down champagne.”

  Lottie took it gratefully and downed it in one, relieved to feel her muscles instantly start to untense. “Please can we go and hide somewhere? Sophie’s trying to set me up with that guy and I just…” She expected Sam to remain stony-faced, to say, Okay then, be seeing you, and stride off into the distance. But instead, he said, “Follow me.”

  Being half a foot taller than everyone else, Sam was an easy person to follow and Lottie weaved her way through Sophie’s laughing, already on the way to intoxicated, acquaintances until they emerged on deck. From inside, the dull thud of the band Sophie had hired was barely audible and the ink-black water below them was as still as ice.

  The air had turned drastically colder, the way it did in winter as soon as the sun had disappeared, and Lottie shivered. Beside her, Sam shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Definitely an upgrade from the leather.”

  Sam’s mouth twitched and he smiled. “I was hoping you’d forgotten that. What can I say? I was a big fan of The Matrix.”

  “At least you didn’t do the sunglasses too,” she replied, leaning forwards and watching the reflection of the boat’s strings of fairy lights dance on the surface of the river.

  For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Sam said, “You’re funny. You were always funny.”

  “Really?” She was genuinely surprised. “I didn’t think you found me funny. I thought you–” She stopped. It was a nice moment. She didn’t want to ruin it.

  “Thought I…?”

  Lottie turned so that she was angled towards him. Her feet were hurting already and she lifted up her right foot to take the pressure off it before alternating to her left. “I was pretty sure you hated me.”

  Sam swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “I didn’t hate you.”

  “Really? You avoided me pretty much the whole of the first year and then…” She paused because she didn’t want to mention Richard, but it was unavoidable. “When Richard and I got together, I used to dread being alone with you because you were so frosty towards me.” She tried to hide the hurt in her voice but didn’t do a very good job. Then she shook her head. “Look, it doesn’t matter. There’s no rule that says housemates have to get on. I’m just a people-pleaser. I like people to like me.”

  Sam looked down at his feet and shuffled his shiny black shoes. His dress sense might have changed but his hair was the same – as if it was styled by a member of a 90s boyband. “I–”

  Whatever Sam was about to say was cut short by someone shouting, “Lottie?!” and Sophie emerged from the stairwell, teetering precariously with her long sparkly train in one hand and a cocktail in the other. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.” Her eyes brightened as she noticed Sam. “Well would you look what the cat dragged in – Sam Burrows?” She had tweaked her smile into something flirtatious and was pouting her cleavage at him.

  Sam returned her hug and blushed. “Happy Birthday Sophie. I had no idea it was your party when Dan invited me or I’d…”

  “Or you wouldn’t have come?”

  Sam laughed politely and tweaked his head nervously to one side. Lottie was beginning to feel like a third wheel and her feet were now burning with the discomfort of being squeezed into six-inch heels.

  “Well, it’s actually perfect that you’re here because I have a surprise for you both! I mean, it was really for Lottie, but I think you’ll like it too.”

  Sam glanced at Lottie but she shrugged. She had no idea what Sophie was talking about.

  “Ta-dah!” Sophie exclaimed, waving her arms and calling towards the stairwell, “You can come out now!”

  Lottie was adjusting the strap on her shoe, half bent down, half standing up, when she realised who Sophie had been hiding. She stumbled a little and righted herself. Beside her, Sam’s entire body had stiffened.

  “Hello, you two.” It was Richard. Her ex, Richard. Square-jawed, sparkly-eyed, designer-stubbled Richard. His voice made her quiver. She couldn’t speak. Not a single word would allow itself to escape from her mouth.

  Richard reached out and embraced her. Pulling her to his chest and squeezing as if this was something they did every day. The scent of his cologne made Lottie’s stomach tighten. Instantly, she was back in their apartment. The one they’d moved into straight after graduation. She was walking in, clasping a bunch of flowers from the market, buzzing with excitement to be in their own home, wondering what she’d make for dinner. And then she was dropping the flowers, trying not to see the bundle of arms and legs in the middle of the bed…

  “Sam. Mate. What the hell happened to you? You dropped off the face of the planet.” Richard shook Sam’s hand enthusiastically, but Lottie was certain she noticed Sam’s jaw clench as he returned the gesture. Something must have happened between the two of them. The boys had been practically inseparable at Durham; they’d taken the same business course, played on the same football team, and Richard had spent more nights on their couch than at his own flat. Lottie vaguely remembered that Sam had stopped returning Richard’s calls after graduation, but if they’d fallen out over something specific Richard had never mentioned it.

  “Isn’t this marvellous?! The old gang back together again!” Sophie was grinning as if their friendship had taken the form of a 90’s sitcom, but she clearly didn’t remember things quite the same way Lottie did. In Lottie’s recollection, Sam had burrowed himself away in his room pretty much from the first day they moved into the flat, only venturing out if Richard was around and the two of them were drinking, and Sophie had been so used to having Lottie’s undivided attention that when Lottie and Richard got together she’d refused to be in the same room as them for well over a month.

  From the stairwell, a waiter in a black tuxedo and white gloves appeared. He was balancing a tray filled with champagne glasses and as Sophie took one, Lottie pulled her to one side leaving Sam and Richard to clink glasses.

  “Sophie. Why would you…?”

  “You’re not pleased?”

  Lottie felt her mouth drop open a little. She exhaled sharply through her nose and turned away from her friend, trying to take some steadying breaths. When she turned back, she spoke slowly and calmly. “No, I’m not pleased. I haven’t seen Richard since we broke up.”

  “But that was ages ago.” Sophie seemed genuinely confused. Lottie had never told her the whole story behind her break up with Richard, but surely common sense should have dictated that inviting someone’s ex to a party without their say-so was a bad move.

  “Exactly. He’s my past, Soph. Why would you want to drag that up?”

  Sophie shook her head and frowned. “Are you mad at me?”

  Lottie sighed, placing her palm on her stomach and wishing her dress wasn’t so tight. “No.”

  “I’m sorry, Lotts, I just thought… You seemed so pleased to have bumped into Sam at Kings Cross. I thought it would be a nice surprise to get us all together again. I know Dan – Sam’s boss – so I asked him to bring Sam along, and Richard’s not exactly hard to track down, so…” Sophie trailed off. Her lower lip was threatening to start quivering and her cheeks were flushed.

  What Lottie really wanted to do was storm off of the yacht, be mad at Sophie for being so thoughtless, and for dressing her up, and for trying to match-make her with someone as sickeningly boring as Dale. But, as always, she swallowed her feelings, took a deep breath, and smiled. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. It was just a shock, seeing Richard, that’s all.”

  “So, you’re not mad?” Sophie placed her hands on
Lottie’s folded forearms and looked at her with big watery eyes.

  “No.”

  Sophie smiled and hugged Lottie tightly. “Good. And, you know, maybe some closure with Richard will help you move on. Get ready to meet someone new. It’s been ten years you know, Lotts. You can’t stay single forever.”

  For almost an hour, Lottie managed to avoid being alone with Richard. The four of them stood together on the deck of the yacht, accepting the champagne that was wafted beneath their noses every few minutes and laughing as Sophie relived stories from their days at Durham. But then, suddenly, Sam excused himself to use the restroom and Sophie was called away by her panic-stricken PA – someone had just vomited on something expensive – and it was just Lottie and Richard. Clutching their half-empty champagne glasses. Staring at one another.

  “Lottie,” Richard breathed, moving closer and resting his fingers on her arm. “It’s good to see you.”

  Lottie sipped her drink and didn’t respond. She wanted to see whether he would bring it up – the last time they’d seen each other, the day she’d packed her bags, left their apartment, and moved home to her parents’. But he didn’t.

  “You look great. How have you been? What are you doing now?”

  “I’m good. Still illustrating. You?”

  Richard shrugged and smiled. He always smiled when he was trying to avoid answering a question – he had the kind of smile that made people forget what they’d asked him in the first place. A disarming smile. A dangerous smile.

  Lottie desperately wanted to take her shoes off. Her feet were throbbing. And she didn’t want any more champagne.

  “You know…” Richard was leaning closer now. “I’ve thought about you so many times – about us–”

  Lottie was struggling to focus. In front of her, Richard’s face was blurry. Suddenly, she felt her legs begin to wobble. As she swayed, a hand reached out and steadied her, but it wasn’t Richard’s. Richard was turning and walking away.

  “Lottie? Are you alright?”

  “Sam?” She felt tears spring to her eyes and she blinked quickly at the fairy lights adorning the deck. “Sorry.” She waved her hands at her face and took a deep breath. “Sorry. This is why I don’t drink. I get…”

  “Here, have some water.” Sam handed her a large plastic tumbler and guided her towards a bench. As they sat, she dipped her head between her knees to stop the deck from spinning. Finally, she sat up, drank, and breathed a long slow breath.

  “Thank you.”

  “Any better?”

  “A bit.”

  Sam cleared his throat and shrugged. “Do you want me to see you back to Sophie’s place?”

  “I should stay,” Lottie said weakly. “It’s Sophie’s birthday. They haven’t even done the fireworks yet.”

  “I don’t think she’ll notice,” Sam replied softly.

  Finally, Lottie tugged off her hideous shoes and sighed. “I really don’t feel too good. But we’re at a hotel and…” She couldn’t remember the name of it. It had totally gone. “It’s near Tower Bridge but I can’t… I can’t remember…” She was about to start crying again. She could feel it. But Sam shook his head and took out his phone.

  “It’s okay, we can go to mine. I’ll call an Uber.”

  “Are you sure? I can wait for Soph…”

  “I’m sure.” He sounded annoyed. But Lottie couldn’t figure out if he was mad at her, or Sophie, or if she was imagining it.

  She was about to ask, when she vomited onto her shoe-less feet.

  4

  The first thing Lottie saw when she opened her eyes was the Gherkin; one of London’s most iconic buildings. Behind it, the city’s skyline was wrapped in a hazy flushed sky that seemed totally out of place for the beginning of November. Pushing her mop of – now frizzy and uncurled – blonde hair from her face, she sat up, nestling back against the most comfortable pillow she’d ever slept on. If her head hadn’t been pulsating and woozy, she would have sighed and snuggled back into it and marvelled at how incredibly soft it was.

  But she didn’t snuggle; through squinting eyes, she looked around the room and slowly realised that she wasn’t in Sophie’s hotel. She was in someone’s bedroom. A large, sparse, pristine bedroom with a panoramic view of London. Beside the bed, she found a glass of water and her mobile.

  With one hand, she forced herself to drink the water while, with the other, she scrolled through her messages.

  Hi Soph, Sam on Lottie’s phone, taken her home with me. She’s a bit worse for wear. What’s your hotel? Will return her in the morning.

  Sam! You two better not be up to anything… nudge nudge. OK take care of my Lotts. Hotel is The Grand near Tower Bridge. Tell her to call me in the morning.

  Lottie’s stomach tightened as she glanced at the vacant spot beside her. The bed was huge – bigger than a king size – and the covers were a tangled mess on both sides. Did that mean she’d shared the bed? Or that she’d simply had a fitful, alcohol crazed, sleep?

  Swinging her legs around and letting her feet rest on the smooth, black, speckled-granite floor, she remembered precisely why she rarely drank. She hated feeling out of control, she hated that it sucked the soul out of her the next day, and the thought of being so far gone that she couldn’t even remember who she’d gone home with quadrupled the nausea that was building in her throat.

  She was taking slow deep breaths and hanging her head down between her knees when she realised she was wearing nothing but a large grey t-shirt. If it was Sam’s, she was surprised that it fitted her; he was so incredibly skinny. It was part of what had always made her feel slightly uncomfortable around him – as if his lack of bulk emphasised her own excess of it.

  “Lottie? Are you decent?” Sam tapped on the door but didn’t enter.

  Quickly, she jumped back under the covers, patting at her hair and wishing she’d checked whether her makeup was smudged halfway across her face. “I’m not sure you’d call it that but you can come in.”

  Sticking his head around the door, he smiled.

  Seeing his face, Lottie felt a slow, prickling heat start to rise from her chest to her cheeks as she tried desperately to remember how she’d ended up undressed, in his bed, wearing his clothes.

  As if he knew precisely what she was thinking, Sam cleared his throat and said, “It’s still early. I, uh, slept on the couch. I didn’t wake you did I?” His hair was wet. He must have showered.

  “No, I think the view did.”

  “Sorry, I should’ve closed the blinds. I sleep with them open.”

  “Don’t apologise – it’s beautiful.”

  Sam nudged the door open a little further then, as if he’d changed his mind about entering, paused and said, “I’ll put some coffee on. There are fresh towels in the en-suite if you’d like a shower and there’s a dressing gown on the back of the door. I’ve asked my PA to drop round some clothes. Your dress – well, it might need to visit the dry-cleaners…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

  Oh God, she’d vomited on it, hadn’t she? She didn’t remember it. But why else would it need dry-cleaning? “Oh. Thank you.”

  “Okay, I’ll, um, see you in a moment.”

  Sam’s en-suite reminded Lottie of the fanciest spa she’d ever visited and, unfortunately, it had a floor-to-ceiling mirror at one end. Standing in front of it, her hands clenched the front of her t-shirt as she took in her dimpled thighs, her squat calves, and her pale skin. Last night’s makeup had migrated from its neatly applied lines around her eyes and morphed into thick panda-smudges that spread half-way down her face. And the hair that had been so carefully styled was now matted and sticking up in tufts. The only thing that remained in place was the last-minute nails Sophie had made her apply.

  As if hot water would wash away the throb of anxiousness that had lodged itself in her stomach, she discarded Sam’s t-shirt and stood under his rainforest shower for at least ten whole minutes.

  When she emerged, she was still
wondering how on earth to ask Sam what had happened last night, but at least she was clean. And, with no makeup and no frills, she felt like herself again. She was about to slip into Sam’s fluffy white dressing gown when she heard a tap-tap-tap on the bedroom door.

  “Hello? Lottie? It’s Beatrice, Sam’s PA. I’ve got some clothes for you.”

  Gingerly, Lottie wrapped herself in one of Sam’s towels and tip-toed out to confront Beatrice. She wasn’t sure why, but she’d been imagining her as a tall, leggy brunette with a plummy accent and a dress sense rather like Sophie’s. In fact, Beatrice was rather like herself; shorter than most women, a little plumper than most women, and wearing not a spot of makeup.

  Beatrice smiled warmly and gestured to some clothes that she’d laid out on Sam’s bed. Her voice was soft and had just the tiniest hint of an Irish lilt in it. “I’m afraid it’s just some spares from my wardrobe. I figured we were about the same size.”

  Lottie frowned a little. She didn’t remember them having met…

  “We met last night.” Beatrice perched on the edge of the bed. “When Sam got back he called me – I live in the flat below with my husband Tom. I came and got you into bed.”

  Before Lottie could stop it, the air literally whooshed from her lungs in an exaggerated sigh of relief and she plonked down into a chair by the window. “Oh, thank God.”

  Beatrice laughed a little and crossed one leg over the other. “You thought you two had…?”

  “Well, no. Sam and I go way back, and he doesn’t think of me like that, and he said he’d slept on the couch, but I just couldn’t figure out how I’d managed to get out of that ridiculous dress and those ridiculous stomach-sucking-in pants Sophie made me wear.” She was speaking quickly, her sentences blurring at the edges, but Beatrice nodded sympathetically.

  “Don’t worry. Sam was a complete gent. You’re right about those pants though… how you survived an evening in those, I’ll never know.”