Mark stood up straight and met Tarquin’s handshake. “Hi.”
He dropped Tarquin’s hand quickly, his eyes narrowing as they flew to Alex’s waist. They flitted back to her face, questioning. A sharp swoop of his hand swept his hair from his forehead.
A blonde in an ankle-length silver dress slipped around the corner of the photo booth and pounced on him. “Babe, did you see who I was talking—”
Fallon’s hand halted its journey along Mark’s chest, her attention leaping towards the subject of his stare. “Alex…hi. Congrats on your scene.” Her eyes jumped to Tarquin.
“Thanks, Fallon. You…were terrific.” A rehearsed fake smile trespassed across Alex’s cheeks. If it stretched any farther, she worried her foundation might crack. She looked up at Tarquin and squeezed his hand where it held her waist. “I’m ready.”
He nodded.
Her eyes bolted to her ex. “Take care, Mark…Fallon.”
Alex guided Tarquin away from the couple, weaving her way through the crowd to the stairs.
Once in the lobby, out of Mark’s sight, Tarquin stopped, forcing Alex to hit the brakes. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I can’t talk here.”
“Okay, so, Bespoke? Or…home?”
“Not mine. Yours.”
Thirty-Eight
Tarquin didn’t push Alex for answers. Driving across London, he kept his attention on the road, leaving Alex to her texts with Lucy. Once at his building, he carried her high heels and followed her into his private elevator. The floor numbers counted upwards…two, three, four…but nothing seemed to lift the distant look in her eyes.
The door slid open to his four-bedroom penthouse on the tenth floor, and Alex strode in, past Tarquin’s framed medals from the London and New York City marathons and photos snapped atop mountains and inside caves. She turned left into the living room and headed straight for the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Tower Bridge, all lit up and commanding attention like London’s biggest showoff.
“I’ll get you a drink.” Tarquin set down her shoes and kicked off his own before walking into the kitchen. Removing two glasses from a cupboard, he set them on the counter, free of crumbs and dishes. His place resembled one of those impossibly neat apartments showcased in glossy home décor magazines.
Alex rushed past his life-size Stormtrooper and took up residence in front of his London telephone box, filled with biographies and reference books, listening to a message on her phone. A minute in, she slowed down her pacing, lowering the phone from her ear. Oh. My. God.
“Everything all right?” Tarquin handed over a vodka and orange and took a sip from his boulevardier.
“Better than all right…” She set her clutch on a table beside the window and with a smile, downed a large mouthful. “Do you know I made a checklist for tonight?”
“You know I love a good list. Go on, then, what was on it?”
“Number one: get through it, stay calm, don’t panic. Number two: make sure to talk to new people, new theatre contacts.” She grinned. “Not only did I not get overwhelmed, but my phone is stuffed with contacts.”
“I couldn’t have played it better myself.” He laughed and leaned against the window in front of Tower Bridge. “What else was on that list?”
“Only one more: prove that Thirteen wasn’t a fluke. My scene flew by so quickly tonight, but the audience loved it—Pete and Sara bowed four times. I don’t know if my former agent was there, but even if she wasn’t, I felt vindicated, and people at the party kept coming up to me. Tarq, they didn’t forget me or Thirteen.”
“Didn’t I say you would boss it?”
“I had one wobble…” She gulped her drink. “Seeing Mark…it was like the previous three hours didn’t count—the previous six months of healing didn’t count. That broken girl from the Dublin hotel room was stood in front of him again, Mark and his Coen Winkler-approved career makeover, yanking me back down.”
She set her glass beside her clutch. “But then I became so fucking furious that I could barely see straight. It all came flooding back: why I left him, how he’s changed, why I deserve more. At that very moment, everything became clear. I knew what I needed to do. I felt empowered again. And then you arrived—”
Tarquin raised his glass with a grin. “How was my timing, good?”
“Impeccable.” Alex tapped into her voicemail. “I crashed into Mark’s friend because I was distracted by my phone ringing. I let it go to voicemail and forgot all about it until we got here and I had a listen…check this out.” She put her phone on speaker.
Good afternoon, Ms. Sinclair. It’s Peggy Ward calling from the 59E59 Theaters in New York. It’s four fifty P.M. Eastern, nine fifty British time. I’m calling regarding Thirteen. We love it and want to arrange a meeting with you in New York. Please call us at your earliest convenience at 212-555-5959, or just reply to the email I’ll be sending shortly. Okay, look forward to chatting soon. Thank you, bye.
Tarquin’s jaw dropped “You sly fox! You did send it?”
A grin stretched her cheeks. “To an off-Broadway theatre, four months ago—the morning after I fainted.”
“Blimey. Talk about picking yourself up after a fall. Well, I couldn’t be happier for you. Congratulations, Lex!” He raised his glass in her honour.
“Let’s celebrate…” Alex took the glass from his hand, leaving it on the table beside her drink. “…properly.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Now you’re talking! Champagne, it is. Moët or Veuve—”
Alex grabbed his belt, yanking him close and forcing his shoulders to bend towards her. She stretched up on tiptoes, her mouth delivering an unexpected answer.
He leaned forward in shock, but the urgency of her lips woke his senses. His hands rose to her face, cupping her cheeks and pulling her closer.
His kiss was warm and persistent but undemanding, waiting for Alex to decide where it would go next. This restraint was not what she expected, not after his banter with Harry. Tarquin was letting Alex take the lead; it was sexy and respectful and made her want him even more.
To her annoyance, it also made her think of Mark. She thought of their kisses, perfect in their impatience and unforgettable in their desperation, the type of kisses that inspire love songs, the type of kisses against which all kisses were measured—and measure, she did. Comparing Tarquin—available, caring, smitten Tarquin—to Mark, the man who spent more time away from her than with her, who took almost two years to introduce her to his family, who cheated on their anniversary. Who was being cruel and unfair now? What was she doing? Was Tarquin’s only crime that he wasn’t Mark? It didn’t make this kiss wrong or unwanted. Mark had moved on; it was time she did, too.
She threw her arms around Tarquin’s neck and slipped her tongue between his lips, exploring his mouth with abandon. He tasted spicy, the rye from his cocktail lingering on his tongue.
Tarquin responded to her invitation, kissing deeper, urgently, with a passion he could no longer fight. His hands slipped from her face to her waist, his fingers hitching her dress up her thighs.
She widened her legs and pushed closer. Following her cue, Tarquin’s hands roamed to her hips, lifting her off the ground, the subtle shift up against him causing a gasp to escape her lips. His body…felt so damn good.
Tarquin reluctantly tore his mouth away, his breaths coming hard and fast. “Alex…are you sure?”
Pressed against his trousers, Alex could tell Tarquin was very sure.
She opened her eyes, taking him in. His smouldering gaze silently beckoned, like he hoped Alex wanted him as much as he wanted her. Patient, unselfish, empathetic Tarquin—never pressuring her, never living up to his wild, womanizing reputation. How her perception of him had changed since the day they met.
Catching her breath, a naughty smile lit up her face as she wrapped her legs around him. Her hand slipped down his neck and underneath the placket of his shirt. His pecs were firm with a trace of fine hair. Lucy had been
bang on: swipe right. She stroked his chest, desperate to feel him, to break down the final barrier between them. Under her hand, his heart pounded as hard as hers, and in his eyes, she saw lust, but also tenderness…respect. For the first time in months, Alex didn’t care about Mark. She didn’t care if tonight was a one-off or something more. Feeling safe, desired, turned on…paired with tonight’s successes—it was all too heady a cocktail to resist.
“I want you. I only want you—”
She claimed his mouth, kissing him recklessly, her tongue encouraging him, taunting him, rewarding him for waiting…for her.
He pushed her backwards against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Thames. Locked against the glass, she grasped the back of his neck, forcing his kiss deeper, showing him that she had no doubts. She needed him as much as he wanted her.
With each passing minute, their kisses became more bold and urgent. Hands explored, lips travelled, and the couple slipped to the floor, joining Tarquin’s shirt. The hem of her dress flirted precariously high, coming close to giving the tourists snapping photos on Tower Bridge a souvenir worthy of a visit to a Soho peep show.
Tarquin breathlessly broke away, glancing past Alex at the glittering city below. He straightened the skirt of her dress, covering her thighs again. “Lex, snogging in public is totally hot, but…” He squeezed her hip, his eyes flitting over his shoulder.
“You’ve read my mind.” Alex pulled him back to her mouth, their kiss dissolving into a mutual laugh. He picked her up and carried her to his bedroom.
Thirty-Nine
“We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”
– Joseph Campbell
“I told you he’d be good,” Lucy whispered through Alex’s phone. “And sex releases endorphins and happy hormones—it’s way better for you than jogging! So, how do you feel?”
Alex propped herself up in the once-crisp bed sheets. “Okay, but…odd.”
“Odd? You just said last night was totally uninhibited.”
“It was. But…” She yanked her fingers through her tangled hair. “…it’s so real now. I’m naked in his bed, waiting for him to return from the shops to make me breakfast.”
“Ooh, you lucky bitch.”
“What? Breakfast in bed?”
“Yeah. Love. It. Harry makes me brekkie every weekend. Maybe it’s a posh boy thing?” A smile raised Lucy’s voice. “Either that, or I have him perfectly trained.”
Alex giggled. “Tarq insisted on making me Belgian waffles. I’ve never had a guy make me breakfast in bed before.”
“I like that Tarquin didn’t have anything in. Nothing on hand for breakfast proves that he wasn’t expecting to sleep with you.”
“He didn’t have condoms, either.”
“Fuck. Lex, you didn’t—”
“Lucy, chill. I had some in my clutch, left over from New Year’s.” She pulled the duvet tighter. “But that’s why it’s awkward. We’ve crossed that line, and there’s no going back. He’s been inside me—I have intimate knowledge of his knob! That changes a friendship into something else.”
Lucy laughed. “It does! You regretting it?”
“No. I wanted him last night. My God, Lucy…he can kiss. But this morning, it feels like…I don’t know, like there’s something missing.”
“Oh, Lex…”
“I know Tarq cares for me—a lot. I don’t doubt that for a second, and I really like him.” She stared at a skateboard deck, painted with graffiti-style scenes of London, mounted on the wall. Tarquin had been speechless when Alex gave it to him last week. “We always have fun. I feel safe, appreciated, but sleeping together…I miss feeling that magical something.”
“Okay, wait a minute. So, you didn’t orgasm—?”
“I didn’t say that! I mean…being in love with the person. Sex without love, for me, is…strange. It’s like having hot chocolate but there’s no marshmallows. I want marshmallows. I need marshmallows. Hot chocolate goes from good to out of this world.”
Lucy muffled her laugh. “Sorry…don’t want to wake Harry. Sex and love don’t have to be a package deal, you know? Lex, this is all new to you, right? You might fall in love with him. It’s not uncommon, you know, to develop feelings after you’ve shagged someone.”
Alex shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to sleep with him again to figure that one out.”
“Well, it’s only quarter to seven. Have fun figuring that one out before he leaves for work!” Lucy snickered. “I’m glad you’re okay, though. I was worried I pushed you into something you weren’t ready for.”
“I was ready. I wouldn’t have condoms in my purse if I wasn’t…I’m moving on—literally.”
“Literally?”
“New York called last night.”
“No shit!?”
“They want to meet me. Lucy, Thirteen might actually be happening over there.”
“Fucking amazing! Lex on Broadway!” Lucy whooped. “Oh…! Haribo, sorry.” Her voice strayed from her phone. “Lex is headed for Broadway!”
Harry mumbled a raspy congrats in the background.
“Not Broadway, Lucy. Off-Broadway.”
“But hang on…how long will you be gone?” Lucy sounded worried.
“Don’t know yet—depends. If they actually go ahead with it, a few weeks, maybe?”
“But…what about all the buzz from last night, the theatre interest—can everything here wait?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same question. I hope it can. New York is…well, it’s New York! I have to try.”
“That’s true.” Lucy’s voice still carried a hint of sadness.
“Maybe you and Harry could come over? We could finish the graphic novel, get our synopsis and pitch ready. You’re overdue for a holiday—”
“Fuck, yeah! We’re going to New York, Harry…” Lucy’s voice trailed off.
“Hi, Lex.” Harry laughed, stealing Lucy’s phone. “Don’t mind Ms. Hardy. She’s doing a happy dance around the bedroom. Let me call Dad, see if you can stay in his place in the West Village. As far as I know, he’s not heading Stateside this summer.”
“Oh, my God, Harry! That would be amazing! I would be in the middle of everything.”
“No sweat. So…I couldn’t help overhearing…you and Tarq, eh?”
“Yeah…is it weird?”
“No! Tarq hit the jackpot. You, on the other hand…”
“Harry!”
“I jest. I’m happy for you both.”
“I mean, we only decided this morning to start dating…it’s not like we’re professing our love to each other yet…”
“One step at a time, Lex.”
“So, New York…can you come?”
“We could definitely fly over for a week. I could take some meetings while I’m there, and Tarq can show us his favourite haunts. I think we might be in for several all-nighters if his war stories are to be believed.”
Alex laughed. “Prepare yourself, Harry. What happens in New York, stays in New York.”
Tarquin peeked around the doorjamb, a worried expression creasing his brow. “Harry knows?”
“Yep. The secret is out, and he’s fine with it.”
Tarquin’s face warmed up into a wide grin, waking up his dimples. He sauntered into the room and sprawled across the duvet, his lips diving for Alex’s neck.
“Harry, I’ve gotta go.” She bit her lip. “Breakfast is ready. Tell Lucy I’ll call later?”
His voice left the phone. “Lucy, Lex says she’ll speak later.” He chuckled. “Lucy gave me a thumbs-up and…”
Lucy’s voice mumbled something in the background.
“She said ‘good luck with your marshmallow experiment.’ Yeah, I don’t even want to know what that means…” Harry laughed.
Alex stifled a giggle as Tarquin kissed her ear. “Bye, Harry.” She dropped the phone in the covers.
Tarquin skimmed a finger across her cheek. “Fancy
some homemade waffles, real maple syrup, strawberries—” He leaned in for a peck, but Alex tugged him closer, slipping her tongue between his lips. He smiled into their kiss. “Someone’s hungry, but not for waffles…”
“Did you get the whipped cream?”
“I did. Also, condoms.”
“Call your assistant—Mr. Balfour’s going to be late this morning.”
Forty
Two weeks later
The private-hire SUV lurched ahead in the drop-off queue outside the Royal Albert Hall. Alex finished emailing Lucy a revised section of graphic novel copy and grinned at Tarquin, sat beside her on the middle seat.
She clasped his hand, her eyes squinting in the late June sunlight as they skimmed down his tailored dark grey suit. “You look extra handsome tonight.”
He kissed her temple and pulled back, admiring her slim, long white dress. “Just trying to make a good impression.”
“You and me both.” Alex exhaled heavily.
“Sunshine, you already have! You’ve sealed the deal.” Tarquin’s smile squinted his eyes. “Channel Four is in the bag.”
“I hope so. Their TV development scheme is an in, but that’s all it is.” Alex picked at the beading on her new clutch. “There’s no guarantee they’ll take what I write, and as their guest, I need to make sure they see me as a good fit tonight—”
“You’re a great fit: smart, talented…gorgeous.” He nuzzled into her waves, inhaling the beachy scent of jasmine and amber left behind by her shampoo. “Only a showbiz idiot would think otherwise. Honestly, these people…” He huffed and leaned back, his eyes shifting to the window. His dimples slowly evaporated into a pout.
Alex tightened her grip of his hand. “Tarq, I meant it. We’ll stay two hours, tops, okay? Then, I’m all yours until my flight tomorrow morning.”
A sharp exhale left his lips. “What’s this bloody thing called again?” He pulled a ticket from his jacket’s inside pocket. “A Celebration of British Television. God, if that title is any reflection of how boring it’s g—”
London, Can You Wait? Page 29