There are a few chuckles and a handful of wolf whistles, but they die down as I turn to face Alastair and say, “Some of you may know Alastair Wells? How many Wellsies are there in the room tonight?”
More applause and Greyson shouts out a hell yeah from the bar, which gets another round of applause. Alastair gives a wave with his free hand and I say, “We’ve got a special treat for you tonight. The exclusive world premiere of Alastair Wells’ new music video!”
There’s about three seconds of silence while my words settle, then the applause and cheering start in earnest. I know better than to intrude on the moment. This crowd is primed. So I simply open the file and hit play, moving away from the podium and dragging Alastair with me.
We’re at the part of the video where he’s sitting on the couch with Sarah when he leans over and whispers, “You’re good at this. I knew you would be, but I didn’t know how good.”
It would be easy to make a flippant remark or to throw his words from yesterday back at him, but I don’t. Instead, I lean into his shoulder and say, “Thank you. That means a lot.”
We watch the rest of the video in silence and when the applause starts before the video ends, I nudge Alastair back towards the podium. “Go on.”
He tries to bring me with him, but I slip my hand from his and say, “This is your moment. Go revel in it.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The rest of the party is a blur. In a good way. I get my fair share of kudos for my part in Alastair’s video – and lots of questions about our relationship status that I skillfully sidestep – but he’s mobbed the rest of the night. I stay out of the fray, but every so often I try to catch his eye to gauge how he’s coping. This crowd is a long way from the Crooked Fish. This whole night is.
Which has obviously been on his mind, too, because when I open the door of my Highgate house he follows me inside with a low whistle. “Wow, we’re not in Fenchurch anymore. This is gorgeous, Remi.”
“Thank you.” Seeing it through his eyes, I’m reminded how gorgeous it really is. And how much I’ll miss it if everything with my job goes belly up. Bleh. Tonight’s not the night to think about that. I turn and wind my arms around Alastair’s neck. “Are you hungry? Do you want another drink? Anything?”
“Oh, I want something, all right.” Alastair’s lips brush mine.
I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of something?”
His expression turns serious. “The most important thing I want right now is to finish apologizing to you about how I acted yesterday. I was a dick.”
I bark out a laugh. “No arguments there, but I do get it.”
He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have to get it. You were up in Fenchurch to work with me, but the minute your attention turned to one of your other clients, I threw my toys out of the pram.”
“We don’t have a great track record where my work is concerned.” Understatement, but I don’t want to argue, and I think Alastair’s genuinely trying to apologize.
“I know, but then I started thinking about what happens if I actually get this tour and what a hypocrite I’m being.”
“What do you mean, if you get this tour?” I smile a little. “You realize we practically guaranteed that tonight?”
“I think you could be right, which makes me feel even worse.” Alastair shoves his fingers through his hair. “I want you to be everything and anything you want to be, Remi. I mean it. If that means you work like crazy seventy-five percent of the time, we’ll deal with it. But I’m sure as hell claiming the other twenty-five percent.”
“Aaah.” I hang my head back and then tug him by the hand towards the stairs. “It’s funny you should bring that up.”
“Bring up what?”
“I’m taking a leave of absence from my job.” The words are loud in my quiet house. Louder than I meant for them to be anyway.
Alastair stops mid-step. “What? Why?”
I stop, too, and look at him. Really, truly look at him, drinking in the bowtie hanging around his neck, his wavy hair that’s a little less perfect than it was earlier, but somehow a lot hotter, those green eyes I could drown in. I sink down on the step and pat the wood beside me. It’s only once we’re thigh to thigh that I say softly, “I’m not happy there. Busy, yes, but I haven’t been happy in a long time. Jed and Rex asked me to move to Los Angeles and it’s brought it all to a head for me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Alastair rests a warm hand on my knee. “And, Christ, I said all of those things to you yesterday like a complete knobhead.”
“You didn’t know. At the time, I didn’t either.” Although maybe I suspected it would come to that when I fled London for Fenchurch earlier this week. “I spoke to Jed yesterday when I got home and told him I’m taking the next four weeks to reevaluate.”
“What does that mean for you?”
“I need to figure out who I am and what I want.” I make myself meet his eyes. “I’m not sure I have an identity outside of work and I need one. For the first time in years, I want one.”
“Selfishly, I’m glad about that.” Alastair grins, but it fades as he says, “But you know the media is calling you my girlfriend as we speak.”
“Does that mean you’re my boyfriend?” I smile because the word doesn’t feel nearly big enough for what Alastair is.
“If you’ll have me, hell yes.”
“As if I could resist.” I squeeze his hand and then add, “But.”
Alastair stiffens. “That’s never a good thing when you add a but.”
“I don’t know how to do this, so I’m just going to say it. I’ve been this driven professional woman for so long, and it would be easy to trade that identity for one as Alastair Wells’ girlfriend and end up in the same place six months from now, six years from now, whenever. That wouldn’t be fair to either one of us. I need some time.”
“Okay. And?” Alastair says the words slowly, like he’s waiting for the catch.
“Part of me wants to take the next four weeks and spend as much time with you as possible, but I don’t think it will help with the whole figuring-out-what-I-need-to-be-happy thing. I already know you make me happy when we’re not driving each other crazy.” I smile to add a little levity, but I’m not totally kidding.
Alastair nods because he knows I’m not totally kidding as well. “So basically, you need me to stay out of your hair for the next month and give you space?”
“I want to talk and text and maybe see you, but I don’t want to use you as my escape route when figuring out my life actually gets hard.” I squeeze his hand.
“This isn’t something you have to do alone, you know.” Alastair squeezes back. “Not if you don’t want to.”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll have you.” I wait until he meets my eyes. “Won’t I?”
Emotions flicker across Alastair’s face so fast I can’t possibly name them all, but then he leans over to kiss me and says, “Hell yes, you will. Whatever you need, Remi.”
My heart swells and I’m half afraid that if we continue this conversation much longer it will actually burst it’s so full. So I stand up and grab Alastair’s hand, leading him up the rest of the stairs to my bedroom. Before we cross the threshold into the room, I hold his gaze and say, “What I need right now is to feel your skin on mine and you inside of me.”
He grins. “I need that, too. So much.”
He reaches for the zipper on my dress and as it puddles on the floor around my feet, I can’t help hearing that little voice in my head saying, Make this count. Just in case.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Alastair’s phone wakes us with a text from his agent about the video – complete with the heart-eyes emoji - asking him to meet her for coffee to talk about Luanna Parker.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I have to go.” The excitement in his voice is unmistakable.
“Yes, you do.” I smile and pull the sheet up a little. Last night was incredible and I was hoping for at least on
e morning encore, but I’m pretty sure that’s off the table now.
“For all the grief I’ve given you, and now I’m doing the same thing.” Alastair shakes his head. “I’m an idiot.”
“We talked about this. It’s called being an adult. Besides, I can’t very well embark on my voyage of self-discovery if the only thing I’m discovering are your abs.” I trace my fingernail over them again, letting my hand drift ever lower. “Which, for the record, I will never tire of because they are seriously impressive.”
Alastair grabs my wrist. “If I’m going to meet Moira and catch my train, I need to leave in ten minutes, which isn’t nearly enough time for what you’ve got in mind.”
“You always were good at reading my intentions.” I grin. “Get up and get dressed before I make you late.”
Alastair doesn’t need to be told twice. He springs out of bed so fast it’s hard not to take it personally until I remind myself that I did almost the exact same thing to him two days ago. I watch him move easily around my room, slipping on his shirt and tucking it into his trousers after a liberal douse of deodorant. He looks sheepish when he turns around and says, “Hopefully Moira doesn’t mind Lynx.”
“It’s the people on the train I feel sorry for.” I wrinkle my nose. “And you know it’s going to be packed on a Saturday afternoon.”
“It is, but I promised Sarah I’d be back for dinner. She and my mum are taking a cooking class today and we’re eating the fruits of their labor.” Alastair raises a brow. “It’s going to either be really good or really bad.”
“I’m sure it will be great.” I can picture all of them eating and talking in Alastair’s kitchen and I feel an unexpected lump in my throat that I make myself swallow down. I was the one who put the brakes on here; I can’t have it both ways. “Send me a picture, yes?”
“I will.” Alastair looks up from shoving his clothes back in his case. “If you think you’re not going to hear from me, you’re wrong. You realize that, right?”
“Of course. You’re going to let me know how things go with Moira and when you’re leaving for Luanna Parker’s tour. Also, I’m going to need to give you the particulars for Bea’s wedding. I’m counting on you to dance with my mother.” I roll my eyes because I can easily imagine Alastair dancing with my mother and her grand inquisition about how, exactly, this came to be.
“I’m not coming to dance with your mother. I’m coming to dance with you, Remi.” Alastair comes and kneels beside the bed, taking one of my hands in his. “Take this time, do what you need to do, but know that I’m here for you if you want me. I made a lot of mistakes back then, but I’m smarter now than I was twelve years ago.”
And you’re about to get a taste of what it feels like to work like crazy yourself.
Aloud, I say, “And just as likely to be running late. Moira’s not going to wait for you forever. There are only so many coffees a person can drink in a day. I should know.”
Alastair glances at his wrist and grimaces. “Bloody hell. I do have to run. I’m sorry.”
“I know. It’s okay.” I make my eyes wide so they won’t suddenly tear up, a trick I learned when I was working with the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society on a volunteer publicity campaign back when I was still earning my stripes. The chapter head actually took me aside after a meeting and gently suggested I might not be the best fit if I couldn’t get through a meeting without turning on the waterworks because, yes, it was very emotional, but at the end of the day there was a job to be done. I swore up and down that I’d work it out and I did. Even if I looked startled most of the time.
I haven’t resorted to this trick in a long time and I’m pretty sure Alastair sees it for what it is, but he squeezes my hand and says, “I’ll text you later.”
He doesn’t let me respond, leaning over and crushing my mouth to his for a short but intense kiss. Then he turns and grabs his bag, swinging it over his shoulder. At my bedroom door, he turns briefly and says, “I’ll talk to you soon. Don’t forget, I l–”
His eyes go wide and I laugh. But that means I’ve let down my guard and I feel a tear lurking at the edge of my eye, so I force my own eyes wide again and say, “Me too. Let me know how it goes, okay? I want to know everything.”
Then he’s gone and I sink back into my bed, pulling the sheet up around my shoulders. I listen as Alastair runs down the stairs, hitting the squeaky one halfway down. His feet pound on the wooden floors in the hallway and the door beeps as he opens it, then again as he pulls it shut. I listen for another minute to make sure he’s really gone and pull the sheet tight around me.
The house is cold. It’s always cold, even on a warm day, but today it feels downright icy. Maybe I won’t get up. I’ll stay here cocooned in my sheets that still smell of Alastair’s cologne and think about what he was about to say. And what I was about to say back.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The first two days of my self-imposed exile, I spend completely alone on purpose, save for a string of texts with Alastair that are frequent enough to keep me company as I binge episodes of Friends on Sky TV, but not frequent enough that it feels like he’s imposing. It feels kind of like a work detox because not going out on the weekend is nothing new. Not working through the weekend, on the other hand? Strange at first, but by the time Monica and Chandler become more than friends, I’m getting into the swing of the whole thing. Until I’m sipping my first cup of coffee on Monday morning and realize it’s the first Monday in, well, forever that I haven’t woken up with a task list and an inbox full of emails.
Not that I’m checking my work emails. I logged out on Saturday afternoon and the only email I have on my phone is my personal email, which includes a message from my mom that I really need to answer one of these days and a message from Bea. I scan Bea’s message – it’s an itinerary for the wedding weekend – and shoot off a quick reply before bringing up a browser window.
My thumbs hover over the keys because I can’t believe I’m going to Google ‘how to find friends in London.’ I’m thirty-four years old – for two more days – and I have zero idea how to meet new people. Never mind how to actually become friends with them. But the truth is, I’ve never made time for friends. Even the roommates I had in the early days were just that – roommates.
Amy is the closest relationship I’ve had to a friend in forever. Which reminds me. I click over to my messages and type: Have I told you yet today that your video was amazing? I predict your phone will be ringing off the hook in three, two, one. Xx
Amy’s reply comes back immediately. OMG. I’ve had tons of new followers on Vaze! And a few inquiries! Thank you again for the chance. Xx
Me: Anytime. You’re very talented.
Amy: Are you coming up to visit anytime soon? I want to take you to dinner! Xx
Me: I’ll let you know?
Amy: Definitely. Come soon. We miss you! Xx
I stare at Amy’s words and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to ask who misses me, exactly. I’m better off not knowing because if she said Alastair, I’d probably cave and call him. Texting is one thing, but hearing his voice would land me on the next train to Fenchurch.
I flick back over to my browser and before I can second or third guess myself, I type ‘How to Make Friends in London’ into the search bar. Over a million results come back and I click on the third one on the list – an article in the Evening Standard. It suggests social media and a bunch of apps I’ve never heard of, and I’m shaking my head before I finish reading the article. I’ve never signed up for a dating app to meet a man, I’m not going to sign up for an app to meet a friend.
The fifth article in the list – from The Guardian – proclaims London as one of the loneliest cities in the world. Which is where I stop reading. I don’t need that kind of discouragement before I start.
The seventh article – for some reason I’m moving down the list in twos – is from a website called the Londoner and when I click on it, I start nodding. This is what I’m lookin
g for. Links to volunteer organizations. Meetups by post code. A coffee shop with long tables meant for sharing. I bite my lip and my finger hovers over the links, trying to decide what to click. The coffee shop is far – at least a thirty-minute tube ride – so that’s a no. Meetups feel a little bit like walking into a party where I don’t know anyone. Which is okay in a work situation because I’m there for a reason, but when my reason is meeting people? Maybe not. So that leaves volunteering. Is that too much like work? Does it matter?
No, no it does not. I click on the link and scan the organizations looking for people. There are a lot of opportunities that require screening or training and my heart sinks. Training means sitting a room being talked at. I want to do. I continue scrolling and find a post from a week ago. MacMillan Cancer Support is looking for volunteers to stand with collection buckets at every Sainsbury’s in the UK on July 21st.
That’s two days from now! It’s also my birthday, but it’s not like I have grand plans. I click on the link for more information and input my post code. Tottenham Court Road is fully staffed, but the Marble Arch Sainsbury’s Local still needs two volunteers for the afternoon shift, which is perfect. I can do that and with five other volunteers per shift, there’s got to be someone I’ll be able to talk to, right?
I quickly fill in the information on the online form and when I’m done, I text Alastair. I’m going to be a bucket lady on Wednesday for MacMillan.
He replies back: Isn’t Wednesday your birthday?
Maid in England (The I Do Crew Book 1) Page 17
