“But, Katie,” she stammers, and I put my finger on her lips.
“No buts,” I sigh. “Just try to be happy for me.”
Brad strolls over, confidence oozing from every pore. Amy’s glare is hostile—she has been openly hating him all morning. He’s ignored her; she’s inconsequential to him.
“Darling,” he says warmly. “The cases are at the door. The car will be here in an hour. I have some calls to make, so I’m going to go to the café down the road to get some peace.” He looks pointedly at Amy. “I will be back in half an hour. Enjoy your remaining time with your friend.”
“You make that sound like I’ll never see her again,” Amy hisses.
He shrugs his shoulders and walks out the front door.
“You can’t go with him,” she wails. “He’s a bastard. You’ve said as much yourself. Please stay here with me. We can be lonely spinsters together. I’ll even let you get some cats, and I’m allergic. We can be crazy cat ladies. Katie, please just stay, or at least take some more time to think about it.”
I shake my head sadly.
“This is my final chance, Amz. Please don’t let us part ways like this. I love you.”
She’s about to launch into another speech about why I shouldn’t continue down this path. I don’t want to hear it. I have enough doubts myself, never mind adding hers on top.
Every brain cell is screaming that this is the wrong decision. My life is in London, and my career is in London. Brad has assured me that he will support my work—he has a lot of pull in high places in the world of entertainment. Which could be positive or negative for me, and he has the levers to make either come true.
Celia was extremely encouraging of my move to the other side of the pond. She told me that is where I need to be to make it to the big time in the world of publishing. When I started writing, it was an escape. Creating a career was not on my agenda. I feel as though I blinked and suddenly I’m here—with a career, a purpose, and something to lose. And I don’t think I could handle it if I did.
The buzzer rings, announcing someone at the door. It can’t be the car already; Brad has only been gone ten minutes. On auto-pilot, I hit the entry button without checking who it is. Amy’s jaw drops open.
“Did your mother not teach you about strangers? You don’t just buzz someone in without checking who it is first!” she hisses.
I laugh at her dramatics.
“I doubt it’s a serial killer, Amz. It’s probably Brad, back to check I’ve not run off.” She rolls her eyes and grimaces. I wander over to the door, leaving it off the latch before heading to my bedroom to give it one final look for anything I’ve missed.
I feel his presence before I see him. He’s standing in the doorway, blocking the light from the rest of the apartment.
“You wanted to talk?” he drawls, and I spin.
“Lance?” I stutter. “What are you doing here?”
“You wanted to talk. I prefer talking face to face, especially about the kind of subjects we need to cover. So here I am.” He holds his arms out wide to emphasize his point. “Judging by the fact your cases are at the front door, I assume you’re still leaving. When’s your flight?”
My mouth drops open, my jaw bobbing with no words.
“It leaves soon,” Amy calls from behind him. “The American twat is at the café down the road. .”
“So we have some time…” Lance replies.
“I’ll go down there and stall him so you two have more,” she says, then skips out the front door. It slams shut behind her, and I’m left looking at the man in front of me. One who makes my heart beat faster from a single hello. A man who’s made me feel safer than I ever had in my life. One who is too young to be mine.
“You wanted to talk?” he prompts, his voice level with a hint of ice. It’s like he’s hardened himself for today, that he’s keeping the softness I love buried deep.
“Lance, why are you in London?”
He shrugs but remains silent.
“Did you come all this way just to talk to me? We could have spoken on the phone.”
“True,” he agrees. “But then I couldn’t see your reactions properly or tell whether you were telling me the truth. I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not with you, Katie.”
Tears spring to my eyes. His expression stays calm, but the pain becomes clear. I’ve hurt this beautiful man with my untruths. Why couldn’t things have been different? Him, twenty years older, or me, twenty years younger. If I had a magic lamp, I would wish for us to be in the same decade. For us to be possible.