‘We can do whatever you want to do.’
The San Francisco Bay Bridge was far prettier than The Golden Gate Bridge. The Golden Gate scored points for the sheer impressive size and scale of it. It towered over the sea with its orangey red colour and was a truly formidable structure.
But the Bay Bridge was just…sweeter looking with its pretty lights dotted along the cables and roadside. And Cameron promised that the best place to view it was from the water. The lights tumbled onto the inky waves below and from the deck of Cameron’s boat it almost looked like fairies dancing on the sea.
Rosie shook her head. She really had a rose-tinted view of the world. She had read far too many fairy tales as a child and chick lit books as an adult. Marriage, babies and the happy ending was indoctrinated in her now and she couldn’t see past that. She hadn’t really wanted to marry Leon, it had just been the marriage that she wanted more than anything. What had happened to enjoying the journey, the beginning and the middle? When did the end result become so important?
She sensed rather than heard Cameron behind her.
‘When do the fireworks start?’
The fourth of July fireworks were supposed to be spectacular and Cameron had insisted that the best place to see them was from his boat.
‘Soon. We’ll watch them from inside I think, it’s getting cold out here.’
She smiled. ‘So that’s your plan is it? Bring me out on your boat and with the romance of the stars, the sea and the fireworks you planned to seduce me in your epic-sized bed?’
Cameron stood up, smirking. ‘Now as plans go, that’s not a bad one. But as I already said, I’m not going to take advantage of you.’
‘Well that’s just dull.’
His eyes were dark in the moonlight and in reality they both knew what was going to happen that night. The connection between them was electric. She had never felt like this with anyone before, this heady, passionate hum that was a constant buzz across her skin. He felt it too, she knew that.
He led her to the bedroom and she sat down on the bed but when he lay down next to her there was a good metre in between them. The bed really was huge.
Rosie felt like she’d just been given the best Christmas present ever and just had it snatched away from her again.
‘Are you really not going to kiss me?’
He smiled as he propped himself up against the headboard and gestured out of the window that stretched along the entire length of the boat. ‘You’ll miss the fireworks if I do and I wouldn’t want that.’
Rosie was about to argue when the room was lit up with a dazzling blue light and her attention was snatched away from Cameron momentarily. As the sparkling blues faded, red and gold exploded across the sky sending ribbons across the water and Rosie found herself leaning back against the headboard too. It was magical.
She leaned into Cameron and he put his arm round her and kissed her on the forehead. She looked up at him and then leaned up to kiss him but he stalled her with a finger to her lips.
‘Rosie, if I kiss you now I’m not going to be able to stop.’
She kissed his finger softly and then kissed him hard on the mouth. For once there was no plan, no sensible part of her that was going to stop this.
He kissed her back, his hands in her hair, and pulled her tight against him. The kiss was urgent and desperate and needful all at once and the fireworks were soon forgotten.
Rosie woke the next day wrapped tightly in Cameron’s arms, his head resting on her chest, his breathing deep as he slept on unaware of her awakened state. She carefully disentangled herself from his arms, slipped on his shirt and stepped out onto the deck.
It was early morning and the sun was just rising, turning the water a pale pink. The Bay Bridge didn’t look any less pretty without the lights. It was a charming welcome to the city.
She sat down on the edge of the boat, letting her toes just touch the surface of the water. The night before had been incredible; sex had never been like that for her. She liked Cameron, really liked him, and for a split second she allowed herself the fantasy of imagining being married to him. But that was the old her – the new her was going to enjoy the journey, not run hell for leather towards the end.
But it seemed that their little journey was already coming to an end. Tomorrow he was heading out to Alaska and she was either going to stay in San Francisco for a few more days or start her road trip a bit earlier than planned. She tried to ignore the ache in her heart that was trying to tell her she had fallen in love with him and that she should grab him and never let him go. She barely knew him, and the sensible part of her brain was telling her heart there was no such thing as love at first sight.
She felt his touch on her back as he sat down behind her, bracketing her legs with his own. Wow his thighs were big. He swept the hair off her neck and kissed her shoulder.
‘Are you ok?’ He asked, wrapping his arms round her waist.
She nodded as she leaned back into him.
‘Are you regretting what we did last night?’
‘No, not for one second. It was…’ Earth shattering, passionate, hedonistic, incredible sex. No she couldn’t say that. But he knew.
‘For me too. But it wasn’t just sex, you know that?’
She did. There was an incredible connection between them. It was heart-breaking having to let him go.
‘Listen, come over here for a moment. I have something to ask you and I’d rather see your face when I ask it.’
He stood up and her heart thundered against her chest. Marriage? No, that was ridiculous. Where would they get married, here or in England? No, stop thinking like that. She stood up and took his hand as he pulled her over towards one of the benches that lined the deck of the boat.
Without any warning he dropped down onto one knee in front of her.
Panic ripped through her. As much as she liked Cameron, maybe even loved him, she didn’t want that, not yet. She wanted to enjoy getting to know him, to know every little quirk, the good, the bad and the ugly, before they walked down the aisle.
‘What are you doing? We can’t get married. I like you, I like you a lot. OK, maybe I’ve even fallen a little bit in love with you, but this is stupid. We don’t know each other at all. You can’t ask to marry me just because we slept together. Sure, last night was the most amazing, wonderful sex I’ve ever had…’ Oh god, was there no filter on her brain at all. He looked up at her and he was grinning. ‘I mean yes, I want that happy ending, I do, but we’re not there yet and I don’t want to hurt you but…’ She trailed off as she saw a sliver of broken glass in his hand. Now her heart was thundering against her chest for another reason. She swallowed. ‘You weren’t going to propose were you?’
He stood up and shook his head, unable to disguise his amusement. ‘I didn’t want you to step on it.’
She felt her cheeks flame red. ‘You said you had a question for me.’
‘Yes, honey, I do, but it’s not that.’
‘Oh god.’ She turned away from him but he caught her round the waist and pulled her back to him.
‘The most amazing sex you’ve ever had?’
‘No, it was rubbish.’
He laughed loudly as he pulled her chin up to face him. His eyes were soft. ‘And you think you might be in love with me.’
‘I just said that to soften the blow.’
‘Of course, but what if I told you I felt the same?’
‘You do not, you just feel sorry for me that I blabbed my mouth off.’
He sat down and pulled her onto his lap, holding her tight so she couldn’t run away.
‘Listen. My life is pretty messed up. My ex-wife left me for my brother and although I’d be happy not to see them ever again they have a daughter, a three year old. This gorgeous whirlwind of fun and laughter, and for reasons I don’t understand she adores me. I want to be there for her. So that’s just a weird situation you don’t really want to be a part of. I travel a lot with work, I’m often grumpy, an
d I’m also stupidly protective. And so the package I’m offering isn’t exactly an attractive one.’
She didn’t care about any of that. Everyone had baggage. ‘What is it you are offering?’
‘I can’t promise you a happy ending Rosie, but I can offer you a beginning. We have something and I’m not keen to throw it away just yet.’
‘Me neither.’
‘I fly to Alaska tomorrow, and I’d really like it if you came with me. It’s one of the most beautiful places in the world. There would be lots for you to see and do whilst I was at work. You could come with me to the set and watch us film, though it gets quite boring in between takes. You could write. I’d love to see your next book. And yes, there would be more amazing, wonderful sex.’
She blushed at her own words being used against her.
‘Most importantly we could get to know each other better. I’ll be in Alaska for ten days and then I fly to New York. If we’re still enjoying each other’s company I’d like you to come with me there as well.’
‘Will you take me for breakfast at Tiffany’s?’
He laughed. ‘That’s an absolute must, especially if you wear that dress again.’
‘And then?’
He shrugged. ‘This is just the beginning Rosie, who knows where it will end.’
She hesitated for just a moment before she nodded and he broke into the biggest grin.
She held his face and he kissed her on the forehead.
‘The sex really wasn’t that great you know.’ She tried to suppress a smirk.
‘It wasn’t?’ His mouth twitched with amusement.
‘No.’
He stood up with her still in his arms and strode into the bedroom. ‘Then I’ll have to see if I can improve on it.’
She didn’t know if this path would lead to her happy ending but right then she didn’t care. It was going to be a lot of fun finding out.
About the Author
Holly lives in sunny Bedfordshire in a house with round windows. She worked as a teacher for four years before History Off The Page came to her school to do a Tudor day and she now drives round the country in her little white van, dressing up as a Viking one day and an Egyptian High Priestess the next.
Holly has been writing for five years, mainly chick-lit novels. CHANGING CASANOVA and THE CHAINSAW MASQUERADE were shortlisted for the Festival of Romance New Talent Award 2012. Her short story ONE HUNDRED PROPOSALS won the Belinda Jones Travel Club short story competition in 2013 and was published in the first SUNLOUNGER anthology. Her fantasy adventure young-adult book, THE SENTINEL, was published in October and hit three different bestsellers lists within twenty-four hours. She won the Carina Valentine’s competition at the Festival of Romance 2013 and her novel THE GUESTBOOK was released on Valentine’s Day 2014. The book reached #5 in the UK Kindle Chart and #27 in the US.
ONE HUNDRED PROPOSALS is now available as a full-length novel, published by Carina.
Twitter: @hollymartin00
Website: http://hollymartinwriter.wordpress.com/
Visit www.sunloungerstories.com to discover more about the authors and their story destinations.
We have everything you need to make this your Best Summer Ever.
Return to the contents list.
Anything Else
***
Martel Maxwell
DESTINATION: Los Angeles
I love a train journey. I like to imagine who lives in the houses whizzing by – rows of identical semis, cute bungalows with neat gardens and family saloons on the drive.
I wonder what it would be like to walk through a door and into a new life. I wonder if anybody else on the train thinks these things.
My favourite journeys are those when I arrive as a new woman.
I don’t mean metaphorically. I mean I am – in my own mind at least – a wholly changed person.
I go somewhere where nobody knows me. Edinburgh, a spa retreat, Devon, London.
Ah, London.
Stepping onto the platform at King’s Cross, walking outside into a throng of people, craning my neck and blinking in the bright blue sky. A shot of adrenaline to the heart I am yet to match.
I plan carefully, selecting my hotel and itinerary with military precision.
A woman traveling alone is always asked questions if her face is open and her spirit free. I bank on it.
My name is Marley.
I like my name and I like my life.
What keeps me liking it is getting away from it so entirely it is forgotten.
In London, I stayed at Claridge’s hotel because there was a grand dinner being held in its famous ballroom.
Only London’s elite would attend. A-listers, a Prince and his Duchess; rolling-in-it businessmen with their dripping-in-diamonds wives.
I do not want to snare a billionaire. Imagine keeping up the pretence of the woman they think I am…
I simply want to exist as another person for a little while.
Sometimes I just want to be alone. To sip champagne by a pool or bar, a strange feeling of accomplishment as people watch and make up their story of my life.
In Claridge’s, I dined alone the evening before the ball and found slipping into conversation with the manager easy. When he asked if I was enjoying my stay, my smile wavered. I always wanted to be an actress. Did I tell you that? A long time ago, that was the plan.
In our yearbook at school, I was the girl voted most likely to be famous, to have her name in lights. Good grades, bad boys, they all came easily.
Where was I? Ah yes, acting. I think I’d be rather good.
‘Oh, it’s sublime,’ I said to the hotel manager with a sad smile and cut-glass English accent. ‘I was supposed to be here with my husband for our anniversary. We met here, you know. But Jonny has been called to Dubai with work. Terribly last minute – just yesterday. Of course, I understand that when the Sultan calls, you go running, right?’ He laughed with me. ‘But I couldn’t bear to cancel. So,’ I waved my hand in a flourish, the light catching my large diamond ring. ‘Here I am. The first of two nights.’
He smiled.
‘And I’m having a lovely time. Really I am. It’s just,’ I looked around the vast room, searching for the words, ‘dining by oneself, surrounded by all these people chatting, laughing, loving. I just didn’t expect to feel so, well, so lonely.’
I sensed the shift in him, his tall frame softening, some piece of knowledge flickering through his gaze.
The next morning, he found me at breakfast. Of course, I hoped he would ask the question. It was important he believed it was his idea.
Quietly, politely, he said he hoped he wasn’t being presumptuous but after our conversation, he had taken a call from a valued guest who was taking a table at a fundraising ball that evening.
Two of his guests had pulled out and as it was so late in the day he fully understood he would have to pay for his full compliment of ten covers. It’s just that he would prefer a full table on account of it looking better and adding to the atmosphere. Other friends he had asked to step in were busy or abroad. If the manager had a replacement in mind, the guest would be delighted.
‘And so, Mrs de Vere, you would be doing me a great favour. Perhaps it would make your evening pass by rather more quickly than dining alone again. And you would have a wonderful time – it’s one of our most special nights of the year.’
I blushed, thanked him and ten hours later was surrounded by people I recognised from my copies of Hello and Vanity Fair, being introduced to others on my table by its grateful host.
Being someone else is easy. All you need is unshakeable belief.
With every inch of my being I was Finella-but-everyone-calls-me-Fifi, a former model from an aristocratic (of course I never used this word, far too crass) Scottish family, married to businessman John de Vere. Sadly John had been called away on business – he would have loved to be with them.
Marley may have been nervous talking to these beautiful people but ‘
Fifi’ embraced every moment. I am still blonde, tall and slim. That much hasn’t changed. Part of my planning for such occasions is ensuring I look and therefore feel like I belong. From the backless emerald-green Dior gown in velvet (bought at a designer seconds shop) to my effortless chignon and my ring, which is real – but that’s another story.
I loved that evening, alive with excitement and bravery and something else: fear, that I could be discovered at any moment.
Why pour over magazines wondering what it would be like to experience such a dazzling affair? To harbour any thoughts that life for these people is better? Why not know what you are missing?
Do you ever find yourself getting through another day and wondering if this is it? If there is something, anything else?
With this in mind and a confidence redoubled from London, I booked my first trip – at least my first as an alter ego – abroad.
And here I am, sitting on a sunlounger beside the pool at Chateau Marmont in Los Angeles.
The Chateau Marmont, where F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sofia Coppola, Annie Leibovitz and so many more produced work; where American comedian John Belushi was found dead of an overdose.
A piece of Hollywood history and I am inside its walls.
I arrived at the Chateau a few hours ago, jetlagged and empty-stomached and yet all I wanted to do was drink, soak sun into my pallid skin and watch this closeted world from behind my oversized shades.
I am staying in the hotel building, in a room arrived at by lop-sided stairs or lift that is neither grand nor new. Everything is as charming and secretive as I imagined.
To get to the pool, I was given a key to open a hidden door outside, then walked along a winding path past the Chateau’s bungalows.
The pool is oval with blue-green water that somehow keeps me afloat with no effort. As the tension ebbs away from my weightless body, my mind is clear, then suddenly full of the past – chapters of my life that have led me here.
SUNLOUNGER 2: Beach Read Bliss (Sunlounger Stories) Page 46