Page 116 of Stolen Hearts
“It’s not a no.” A smile rises on his face. “Can you give me a couple of days to talk it through with my wife properly, and then I’ll come back to you?”
“Sure,” I say and get up to leave, reaching for my bag.
I don’t want to say or do anything else that might sway him from saying yes.
But I have one last card to play. I reach into my bag and retrieve John’s Christmas present.
“Oh, I got this for you.”
John takes the present and unwraps it.
It’s a white-gold Cosmograph Daytona Rolex watch that I know he’ll appreciate, given the collection of watches I’ve seen adorn his wrists over the years. It might help push him across the line. Money and gifts often do the talking for me, so I don’t have to.
“You shouldn’t have,” he says, taking off his brown leather Rolex to put the new watch on.
The sparkle in his eyes as he holds his wrist up tells me he’s within my grasp.
Tuesday
A waft of stale ale hits my nose as I enter the Fox & Hounds pub. Two guys throw darts at the dartboard. A few sit on bar stools around the bar holding their pints, watching the highlights of a soccer match on one of the TV screens on the walls. A dozen framed and signed football jerseys hang on the walls around the pub. I work my way through the tables over to Christopher on the far side.
“It’s exactly how I imagined it to be.” I hug him as I sit down at one of the high-rise tables.
“What can I get ya, lads,” asks a short woman with a Scottish accent. She pulls a pen from the pocket of her black polo shirt.
“I’ll take a lime soda, please.” I chuck my green bomber jacket on the stool next to me and roll up the sleeves of my cream sweater before looking toward Christopher, who is eyeing the pints.
“I’ll take the same,” he says, nodding his head.
A pang of guilt, that my sobriety prevents him from having what he wants, hits my chest.
“You can have a beer. Don’t not have a drink because of me.”
“Are you sure?” His attention goes back to the beer pumps along the bar.
“Of course.”
I move my chair round, so I can sit next to him and face the TV screens.
“I’ll take a Foster’s top then. And a basket of sausage rolls, a chip buttie, and a cottage pie.” Christopher smiles at the bartender, handing her the menus before turning back to me. “Did you manage to drop off all of your Christmas presents?”
“Almost. I just need to stop off tomorrow at the label in Santa Monica to give the last of the presents to the team there.” The traffic was so bad along the PCH down to Santa Monica from the recording studio that I’d decided to give up and drive through the Malibu hills and along the 101 freeway inside, not wanting to be later than I already was for dinner. “Maybe I can pick you up from the office and take you to the airport?”
“If that isn’t too much of a problem. My flight is at nine forty.”
My heart melts as his cheeks push up into his hazel eyes with his smile.
Nothing feels like a problem these days when it comes to Christopher.
But I don’t think I’m ready for him to leave me for the next fortnight. He’s heading back to London for Christmas to see his family while I stay behind. Despite everything that’s gone down with Paul and my parents getting divorced, this past month since I left the Meadows has possibly been the happiest and freest I’ve ever felt since becoming famous. And it is largely because of Christopher.
I had hoped he might invite me to join him. But when he mentioned he’d be staying in the nursery room of his sister’s place, I realized it wouldn’t be viable. Lee had also helped me realize my research into buying a property in London was being driven by addictive impulses. It was my need to have Christopher around, rather than the idea of building a future together or expanding my property portfolio.
“Not at all. Actually, that reminds me...”
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out a small box.
“I wanted to give you one of your Christmas presents now.”
