Chapter 13

Thirteen

LUCY

The sound of my text message alert pulls me from my peaceful slumber. Without looking I roll onto my opposite side and pull the covers over my head. If it is that important, a real emergency, they would have called and not text. It can’t be anything urgent.

After hours of tossing and turning, sometime after looking at the clock at 4:00 a.m., I must have finally fallen asleep. I don’t know what time it is now, but I do know I need more sleep. Flipping over without checking my phone, I attempt to get more rest.

But then, the text alert sounds twice more.

With a loud ugh , I roll over to check it.

The Parasite

Hey, how’s things going across the pond?

I laugh as I remember Ellie changing John’s contact name in my phone to her nickname for him.

The Parasite

I was just wondering if you’re coming home for the holidays.

Maybe we could catch up, spend some time together…I miss you.

Hell no. I’m not answering. I can’t believe I woke up for that. I roll over and pull the covers back over my head. If only John knew his competition here.

No, not competition, because there is no situation where John would have a chance, and I would have to be seriously interested in Henry, which I’m definitely not. He’s not fictional and will certainly break my heart.

And more so, he is certainly not interested in me.

To top it all off, neither of us is interested in any kind of relationship. Well, I suppose Henry is interested in similar types of relationships John has.

No, that’s not fair. I shouldn’t compare the two. Henry is upfront with his partners that he is not looking for anything serious. According to everyone in our friend groups, John promises hearts and flowers to the girls he dates in secret. Whenever I ask if he’s dating someone, he denies it and never brings dates out when we hang out with our mutual friends.

I need to get my mind off of the two of them. It was difficult enough to stop thinking about Henry last night after admitting to myself that I’m starting to enjoy his company. He whispered in my ear again, only because the music was too loud to hear him otherwise. The volume of our conversation was not enhanced when I put my hand on his leg, but that didn’t stop me. He didn’t seem affected by it anyway. And I should not be affected by it either. But I am… a little.

Enough, I’ll count sheep until I fall back to sleep to keep myself from thinking of him.

A few hours later, I hear my text alert go off again. Looking over at the clock, I notice I’ve slept until the early afternoon. Picking up the phone, I find the text that woke me this time.

Henry

Coffee?

I smile. I much prefer waking up to a text from Henry than…well, anyone else. He apologized so many times last night after we left the bar. I’m sure he’s offering coffee to make up for it, but it didn’t bother me as much as he thinks. I certainly didn’t enjoy it and didn’t want to deal with the paparazzi again, but it was not his fault. I’m not angry or upset, what he was noticing was my reaction to the confusing feelings I can no longer ignore. There were moments when the evening did feel as if we were on a date. A very good date, probably the best I’ve ever had. Which makes it even more sad that it wasn’t a date at all.

I need some distance to process the events of last night and decide to decline his invitation.

Lucy

Hey, I’m sorry, but I can’t today. I’m staying in to grade papers .

I hate lying to anyone. It gives me a pit in my stomach but I can’t very well tell him the real reason I want to stay home.

Dressed in lounge pants and an oversized sweatshirt, I make my way to the kitchen and grab a glass of water before heading to my final destination for the day, my couch. An uneventful Sunday is just what I need. Maybe I’ll order takeout later so I don’t have to run to the grocery store.

When I queue up my favorite streaming service, the first movie in my Watch Again category is Persuasion , which Henry directed. I have seen the movie so many times before and this might be the longest I have gone between views.

I push the play button and tell myself this has nothing to do with Henry.

Sure.

Just as I’m watching Mary tell Anne that Captain Wentworth said Anne looked so old since he last saw her, he barely recognized her, the doorbell buzzer rings. It must be a takeout delivery for one of the neighbors—they always ring the wrong apartment.

Not wanting to leave the warmth of my soft blanket, I keep it wrapped around my body as I wobble to the intercom.

“Hello?” I say, waiting for the delivery person to reply.

“Lucy, it’s Henry. I have coffee.” I freeze in place, still clutching the blanket around me. He continues, “I would like to come up and speak with you.”

“Okay,” I say as I push the button to unlock the main door then I bolt to my bedroom to change as quickly as possible. Thankfully, I never got around to putting away my clean laundry and am able to frantically pull on a pair of jeans and decide to leave the sweatshirt on. In front of my mirror, I quickly pull the bun out of my hair and race against time to brush it out. I have just enough time to put makeup under my eyes to conceal my dark circles from the night before and a little mascara before he knocks on my door.

Two quick spritzes of perfume and a last check in the mirror, “Good enough.”

I open the door and immediately realize my appearance is not good enough. Henry looks like a model. All black from head to toe with a fitted winter jacket over his athletic pants and a solid black ball cap. It’s as if each time I see him now, he looks like he just walked off a magazine photoshoot. In his right hand, he has a carrier with three drinks, and on the left, some newspapers and magazines are folded under his arm.

“Hi, welcome,” I say as I move out of the doorway for him to enter my apartment. He looks around with a soft smile on his lips until his eyes land on my TV.

I forgot to turn off the movie. Great, as if I wasn’t flustered enough by his unexpected visit, now I can add embarrassment to the list.

Henry’s smile grows slowly as he turns to me. I can feel the heat rising from my neck into my cheeks. I walk over to find the remote that was hidden well under my blanket when I threw it in haste earlier and immediately turned it off.

Desperate to change the subject. I ask, “Is everything all right?” It is extremely odd that he is showing up at my apartment.

“You don’t know yet?” he asks, still holding everything in his hands.

“Don’t know what?” I move toward him and extend my arm. “Would you like to put the drinks down? Or perhaps help carrying your reading materials?”

“Yes, of course. My apologies.” He lets me grab the drink holder out of his hands but holds the folded papers close to his chest.

“Are we expecting someone else?” I ask, pointing to the three drinks.

“Oh, no. I didn’t know what you would want so I asked Beth to make your typical order. She handed me a hot chocolate and a cold brew coffee and said to trust her.”

Before I can stop myself, an awkward joke leaves my mouth. “In Beth, we trust!”

He smiles. Butterflies start to dance in my stomach, but thankfully, my brain quickly shuts them down. He must be bringing bad news to bring me drinks to my apartment. I put my iced coffee in the fridge for later and then carry our drinks into the living room.

“Would you like to sit, and then you can give me the bad news.” I move to my couch, expecting him to sit on the larger one next to it, but he sits next to me instead.

Before he can say anything, both of our phones buzz with text messages. We pull them out to check, and we have a new message in the group chat.

Finn

Lucy, are YOU our new mom???

Multiple photos of Henry and me from last night pop up under Finn’s text. One with the title “Who is Henry Brooks’s newest leading lady?” above the photos.

Since our encounter with the photographers last night, it never crossed my mind that the pictures would be printed anywhere. I’ve been too consumed with thoughts of Henry and our evening. When I look up at Henry, his brows are creased with concern.

“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say. We have been working so hard to paint an image of a family man who spends his weekends with his kids or at home reading. Now, I’ve ruined it for him, and people or, more importantly, the production company will think he is back to his playboy ways.

“You’re sorry?” He looks from the papers back up to me. “Why are you sorry? I put you in this position. I know how much you value your private life.”

I hadn’t thought of that. I look at the picture again. There are a few photos where my full face is visible and others where I’m looking at Henry with more emotion than I want to admit at this moment. In every single picture, Henry has his arm around me, some I’m holding onto his jacket looking forward. But the most incriminating are the ones when we are speaking to one another or making eye contact, “gazing into each other’s eyes,” as the caption states.

Henry continues while I am lost in the photos. “I am very sorry. I hope you can forgive me. ”

No need for him to apologize. I needed this slap of reality more than I realized. “It’s fine. I’m just sorry if this jeopardizes your chance with the movie.”

“Quite the opposite actually…” he says quietly, as if to himself more than me.

I allow my hands to loosen from their grip on the papers, dropping them on the table in front of me. I take a few sips of my hot chocolate before turning to Henry. “How so?”

“Well, I was with my family. It wasn’t the typical night in town for me. Every publication includes photos of Oliver, Finn, and the girls.”

Relief settles in me. I’m glad I didn’t cause too much damage. “Well, that’s a relief.” Looking back at the papers, I ask, “Do you think these will be published in the States? How famous are you?”

“Apparently not that famous—you didn’t know me before we met. Just my work.” He leans back on the sofa, coffee in hand, while the other arm takes its place on the back of the loveseat.

“Good point.” I risk another glance at the photos but don’t let my eyes linger.

“My agent called this morning—he was the one who alerted me to all this.” He waves his hand in the direction of the papers and magazines. “He feels we could expedite the studio’s decision if I, we, were to…lean into it.”

“I don’t follow.”

Henry adjusts his position as he places his coffee back on the table. Then begins running his hands down his thighs. I’m briefly distracted by the action but am pulled out of it when he blurts out, “What if we didn’t deny this.”

“Denying would imply that people are even asking.” Could this be a bigger ordeal than I realize? “Are people asking?”

“Well, Mark, my agent…”

“Yes, I remember. Keep going.” I shouldn’t be so short with him. He rubs the back of his neck, and the view of his muscular arm makes my stomach twist.

“Yes, the publicist Mark recently employed for me since our social media plan began said that this is getting a lot of traction from my recent rise in popularity.” He stands and begins to pace behind the chair that separates my living room from the kitchen. “Mark asked if you were…if we were…together.”

“And what did you tell him?” His answer doesn’t mean anything. He must have told him the truth. Surely the cocky Henry Brooks didn’t date women like me. Why would Mark even question it? He must not know his client very well.

“Mark suggested a solid, committed relationship, broadcasted on social media, of course, could be the final push we need to get Viewmont Productions to give me the role.” More like the final nail in my coffin.

“Did you tell him we are together?” He avoided the answer once—I will not let him do it again.

He stops and leans over the back of the chair. I begin to assume the worst as he is putting a large piece of furniture between us before answering. “I told him that it’s still new.”

“What’s still new? ”

“Our relationship.”

Standing but not making the move to be any closer to him, I say, “Our relationship? Funny, I wasn’t aware we were in a relationship.” I can barely contain the emotions at odds within me. The less intelligent half gets delighted at the idea of us being in a relationship , lying about being in a relationship, but the far more rational side is furious over the fact that he feels he can say such things about me for his own selfish needs. Without my knowledge!

Henry stands up straight, readying himself for this argument. “It’s not a bad idea. You have to admit that.”

“Sure, I suppose if you were to get into a relationship and post endless romantic dates, it would gain the attention of your target audience, but you don’t want a relationship.”

“Correct. It would be unfair and unkind of me to find someone to date just to use them for my own personal gain. Which is why this might be the perfect solution. You would be the perfect solution. You are aware of how I feel about love, and you are the creator of this persona that has been so successful and most of all, you aren’t looking for a relationship either.”

He’s right. I don’t want a relationship, but do I necessarily want to pretend to be in one with him, either? It could have some perks but also can turn into a disaster. “What are you suggesting?”

“We let people think we are in a relationship.” He watches my face closely, slowly moving from behind the chair toward me. “You can plan romantic posts for the social media accounts, dates we can be sure paparazzi will photograph, and…” he pauses with a smile on his face, “yo u get to tell people you are dating one of London’s most eligible bachelors.”

Arrogant asshole.

“What more could a girl want…” I take a few steps away from him and move to the window.

Do I really want to be known as Henry Brooks’s girlfriend until he fake dumps me, and then I have to go back to my normal life?

Could this affect my job?

How would I explain this to my mom, or worse, my friends? But more than that, I can’t help but think back to how I felt this morning. When my day started out so crummy, I did the same thing I’ve done for years, put on comfortable clothes and watched my favorite Jane Austen adaptation. Within minutes, I began to feel better, and Henry had a hand in that.

“It was a joke, Lucy. Well, the last part. I know this is a selfish request. What can I do for you? How can I get you to agree?”

“I want time to think through all of this before I answer.”

“Of course. Thank you for even entertaining the idea. I know I’m not the most tolerable person to be around, but you’ll only have to pretend to date me for small amounts of time. The rest of the time, you can go back to barely enduring my presence.” He smiles at me as he moves to the door. “Thank you again.”

“Sure.” That is all I can say as he closes the door behind him.