“You’re here with traveling companions? A Jeremy Pearce and Mrs. Marie Cole. Your mother?”
I give up, deflating with a sigh. “There’s no emergency. And the bad experience here is personal. I just wanted to go home, but I forgot my passport back at … the hotel, and that … that woman out there wouldn’t put me on the standby list, and I just lost it. I’m sorry. I caused a scene, and I know you guys hate that. I’m very, very sorry. But I didn’t break any laws, did I?”
“Awww, luv.” Three squats beside my chair. “Could I get you a nice cup of tea?”
This is surreal. “Um … sure?”
“Biscuits would be nice,” says One as he and Three scurry out the door.
Two smiles at me. “No, Miss Cole, you didn’t break any laws. We’re just here to help. And to give you a chance to collect yourself.”
“Thank you.” I imagine my makeup is a mess again, but I’m not going to ask for my purse and give him a chance to see that pill bottle. No sense rocking the boat here. I wipe my eyes with the tissue, hoping I’m not making my face look worse.
“Would you like to visit the toilet?”
I hesitate before nodding. Will he have to go in with me? He stands. I hold my breath.
“It’s just out the door and to your left.”
“Thanks.” When I start toward the door, he sits. Okay, then. Of course, he probably figures I’m not likely to run off without my luggage. But what if I ask for my purse? I step to the cart and lift the strap. “Can I take this with me?”
He blushes. “Certainly.”
Just as I enter the restroom, I realize why he was embarrassed. He probably thought I needed a tampon from my purse. I pee, wash my hands, and fix my face a bit. Dropping the pill bottle in the trash can as I exit takes a big weight off.
One and Three have returned. “We’re taking our break with you,” says Three.
So here I am, sitting in a private room in Heathrow Airport having tea and cookies with three airport cops. Yep, surreal.
After our tea, Guards One, Two, and Three wish me well and direct me to the exit near the taxi stand. I’ve told them I’m going back to the hotel. I wheel my cart out the exit, in case they’re watching, and then walk toward the first taxi in line. But I don’t get in. I move back against the wall and stand with my luggage. It’s after nine, and I’m exhausted.
I need Gabi. I dial her number, calmer already because I know she’ll see this clearly from the outside and tell me what to do, but it rings until her voicemail comes on. Crap. What am I going to do now?
Think, Chelsea, think.
I can’t leave the country without my passport. I can’t get my passport unless I go back to Laura’s. Can I count on her still being out looking for Jeremy? Could I keep the taxi waiting, run upstairs, grab my passport, and come back here without anyone being the wiser? It’s worth a try.
Oh crap. I don’t have a key.
I get in a taxi anyway. Where else am I going to go but back to Laura’s? Hey, what if I went in the back gate? I’m sure I can find some way inside. The image of Bridget Jones climbing onto her boyfriend’s skylight comes to mind. But I need to get inside not just look. Hmm.
CHAPTER 13
Laura’s car is parked on the street. Well, that’s that. I pay the taxi driver and wrangle my suitcases up to the door. The door’s locked, of course, so I have to ring the bell. Laura answers, her surprise deepening as she looks from me to my luggage and back.
“Don’t ask,” I say.
“How can I not? You were leaving without telling anyone?”
“No. Yes.” Sigh. “I told you not to ask.”
She shakes her head in reproof but helps me get my stuff inside. I grab the largest case and start up the stairs.
“Leave it,” she orders. “You owe me an explanation.”
She heads toward the living room, and I set the bag down and follow. What choice do I have?
There’s a half-full glass and an open bottle of wine on the coffee table. She turns off the TV, picks up the glass, and tucks a foot under her as she drops onto the sofa.
“Get a glass and come sit, Chelsea.”
She waits until I take a couple of sips before she speaks again.
“Jeremy is at Ethan’s.”
I nod.
“He wouldn’t talk to me.”
That surprises me. They’re so close. She’s waiting for me to say something, but what can I?
She sighs. “He’s not talking to Ethan either.”
“So … what is he doing?”
“Crying.”
“Crying!” I’ve never seen Jeremy cry.
“Not outwardly, of course. He was brought up as a goddamned Pearce, after all.”
Laura tears up but instantly swallows her emotion, just like I’ve seen Jeremy do. She picks up a throw pillow and, with an angry whimper, launches it across the room. Then she drains her glass, gets up, and stomps to the bar.
“We’re going to need another bottle,” she says. “Maybe two.” After she’s seated again, her eyes widen, and she slaps her thigh. “I’ve forgotten where your mother is. I thought she might be with you.”
“She’s out with your uncle.”
Laura points a finger at me and nods. I suspect she may have already killed a bottle on her own tonight.
“I’m sorry this has upset you, Laura, but—”
“Upset?” She rises from the sofa corner she’d slumped into. “Upset, you say? It kills me to see my brother dying inside.”
God, I feel like crap. I should have kept my mouth shut. I should have let Jeremy call off the wedding and—hey, wait. This is all wrong. If anyone has the right to die inside, it’s me.
“I don’t know why Jeremy should be upset,” I say. “He’s the one who’s getting what he wants.”
Laura stares at me, swaying a bit. She props herself up against the sofa arm, and then gestures for me to refill her glass. I fill both of ours nearly to the brims. To hell with giving it room to breathe.
“That makes no sense.” She frowns and, for a moment, transfers her stare to the wine in her glass. “Didn’t you say you broke the engagement?”
“Yes, but only because he was getting ready to do it.”
“No. Uh-uh. I don’t believe he was. He wouldn’t be in the state he’s in now if that were true.”
I set my glass down and take Laura’s from her. “Look around you, Laura. Think of your parents’ homes. And the cars, and the clubs, and all that … society. That’s what Jeremy would be giving up. And I’ve seen him with you and his friends here. He’s a totally different person from the Jeremy I know. And this city, that alone—”
“You’re completely mental.” She sits forward, suddenly sobered, eyes blazing. “You apparently don’t know Jeremy at all if you think those things mean more to him than you do.”
I’m on my feet in an instant. “Are you blind? You’ve been with us almost every minute we’ve been in London. Haven’t you noticed how quiet he’s gotten? How depressed?”
She’s shaking her head like I don’t know what I’m talking about. “He and Dad—”
“It’s not just because of his problems with your dad.”
She’s still shaking her head.
“We haven’t had sex in three days, Laura.”
There. That got through to her. I sit back down. She stands.
“I need coffee.”
I follow her to the kitchen. I need coffee too. This is going to be a long night.
We don’t speak again until our cappuccinos are ready. Laura hands me one, and we take chairs on opposite sides of the table. There’s a huge skylight over this part of the kitchen. I look up at the moon. How did this trip turn out so horrible?
“So,” Laura says, “tell me word for word how the conversation with Jeremy went.” When I’m done reciting how I remember it, she says, “Did it occur to you that he might not have expected you to say what you did?”
Sigh. “I told you he’s been worki
ng up to saying the same thing for days.”
She looks into her cup for a moment. “But you say he collapsed into the chair.”
“Yeah. With relief.”
“Not shock?”
“No …”
“And then he said …”
“All right. He just said ‘all right,’ and then he walked out.”
“Did he sound relieved when he said that?”
“No. Well … not exactly. He sounded like Jeremy. Like … like when he’s …”
“When he’s trying to hide his real feelings?”
Oh, God.
“I saw him when he left, Chelsea. The look on his face wasn’t relief. And it certainly wasn’t joy.”
“Oh, God.”
“Yes. That bad.”
“But … but then if it wasn’t that he’d changed his mind about our getting married, why has he been acting so unhappy with me these last few days?”
She stands. “I don’t know, but we’re off to Ethan’s to find out.”
Ethan answers the door with a beer in hand. “Thank God you’ve come. I was beginning to think I’d have to resort to torture to make him talk.”
I’m still not positive Laura’s right that I misinterpreted the situation, but something’s definitely wrong if Jeremy won’t even tell Ethan what’s going on. A soccer game is on TV, but apparently only Ethan was watching it. Jeremy is sitting next to a window, looking out at the city lights, and doesn’t turn his head toward us when we walk into the room. His hair hangs loose on his shoulders. Somehow he seems smaller. Laura’s right; he looks like he’s crying inside. The first time I saw him flashes back to me, how lonely he looked. It sounds cliché, but I really do think my heart is bleeding. How can I live without this man in my life?
Ethan, not bothering with playing host, returns to the sofa. Laura and I exchange a look. I stay by the door, and she goes to Jeremy.
“Jemmy, will you talk to me now?”
His only response is to turn his head farther away from her.
She bites her lip. For a moment, she stares out the window with him. Then she sighs. “Jeremy, why did Chelsea think you’d changed your mind about marriage?”
As if Laura’s words are on time delay, a few seconds pass before he looks at her. Bewilderment is written all over his face. My hopes rise before they’re smacked down by the thought that maybe he didn’t hear her actual words.
She crouches to be eye level with him and takes hold of one of his hands. “She believes you no longer want to marry her.”
The real Jeremy awakes with a bang. “That’s preposterous!”
Laura stands upright and beckons me with a look. When Jeremy follows her gaze, his face registers a second of surprise before confusion warps it. I’m barely breathing as I start across the room. If I was wrong, I’ve hurt him terribly. How can I apologize for that? He stands when I’m about eight feet from him, and I stop dead. A bazillion emotions are spinning in my head, and when the wheel stops on anger, I explode.
“Preposterous? Then why did you agree so quickly?”
He rears back. “You expected me to argue with your decision? Beg you to marry me even though you clearly don’t want to?”
His righteous indignation is evident, but I know him well enough to see it’s only about 80 percent genuine. “Don’t deny you’ve had doubts now that—”
“Naturally, I have fleeting moments of doubt, like any man would do.”
“But you’ve had serious doubts since we’ve been in London.”
He narrows his eyes in true Mr. High Tea fashion, which means I’ve struck a nerve. I’m not going to let that go. If we can’t be honest with our feelings, then our marriage will be doomed anyway.
“Well?”
He straightens his back to stand as tall as possible, looming his six-foot-three over my five-foot-four. I’m positive, now, that he can’t deny having second thoughts. But dare I hope that, in the last few hours, he’s had third thoughts?
“I am never going to be wealthy,” he says.
“If you marry me, you mean?”
Okay, it looks like I’ve bewildered him again, and I have no idea how. Finally, he shakes his head.
“You’ve confused the point,” he says. “I will never be wealthy, and that’s why I can’t marry you.”
I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m speechless. For thirty seconds. “Are you saying my mother demanded some exorbitant bride price from you?”
Absolute silence fills the room for ten seconds before Laura and Ethan snicker and then burst out laughing. Jeremy’s not laughing or even smiling. He’s clearly questioning my sanity.
“Stop it,” I tell Laura and Ethan. As they’re murmuring apologies, I turn back to Jeremy. “Obviously, I don’t know what you meant. I’ve already downsized the wedding plans, and my mother’s paying for most of that anyway. So you can’t use money as an excuse not to marry me.”
Oh great, now he’s looking at me like I’ve “gone mental.” He steps over to the sofa and picks up his jacket. Then he grabs my hand and starts pulling me toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Laura asks.
“For a walk. Chelsea and I need to talk.”
“Thank God,” Ethan says.
It’s freezing outside, and I’m wearing only a light jacket. I hope this walk doesn’t take too long, but I’m not going to complain—or say anything until Jeremy does. We’re halfway down the street before he speaks.
“We’re not communicating well.”
“Ya think?”
He stops walking and faces me. Damn my snarky mouth. I start to apologize, but then he shakes his head, smiling.
“Bride price?” he says. “Seriously?”
“Don’t make fun of me. Explain what you meant about being wealthy.”
We start off down the street again. I cross my arms and tuck my hands in my armpits. There’s a pub up ahead, and I hope that’s where we’re headed. He can’t expect me to have a sensible conversation with a half-frozen brain.
“First,” he says, “I think you should explain why you canceled our wedding. Not even postponed. Just quashed the possibility.”
“I said that because I thought you were about to do it.”
He stops again and gapes at me. “Setting aside, for the moment, that you had no cause to believe such a thing, it’s disturbing that you would choose to blurt out that shocking pronouncement as an exercise in one-upmanship.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I start walking; he keeps pace.
“Right. Well then, why did you think I was about to say the same thing?”
“You haven’t been yourself for the last few days. And nights. What else was I supposed to think?”
He pulls his hair back into a tail but let’s it fall loose again when he realizes he has nothing to bind it with. “So to you us not having sex means … all right, yes. I’ve not been myself. But not because I wanted to end our relationship.”
I’m losing the feeling in my fingers and toes, and we’ve reached the pub. “Could we go in there?”
“Oh. Yes, of course.”
The pub is warm and small but not too crowded. I find a table in a corner, and he brings us pints. As he lifts the glass to his lips, he motions for me to continue our talk. I’m trying to remember where we left off when he prompts me.
“Why, besides the lack of sex, did you think I’d changed my mind?”
“You seemed depressed. It’s obvious how much you miss living here, so I knew you were adding up what marrying me would cost you and decided—”
“Dear God. How many times have you promised to stop jumping to conclusions?”
“I didn’t jump. I thought about it for days. I tried very hard to convince myself I was wrong.”
“Well, you didn’t try hard enough.”
“Don’t be an ass. I was devastated. Totally destroyed.”
He makes that irritating head-exploding gesture that he damn well knows I can’t stand, and then he lean
s across the table to get in my face.
“I was not counting the costs of marrying you because there are none. No losses. Only benefits.”
“Liar. I see how you miss your life here. How you are with your friends—happy, relaxed, the life of the party.”
He sits back in his chair, shaking his head and looking at the ceiling as though he can’t believe what he just heard. Enough. This “talk” is going nowhere. I stand and start to walk out but turn back to drain my glass—no use wasting an excellent beer—and then I head for the door. I don’t get far down the street before I hear him running up behind me.
“Chelsea.”
I ignore him. He grabs me around the waist and lifts me so my feet are dangling.
“Let go of me.”
“Not until you promise to calm down and have a proper conversation.”
I kick him in the shins, and he drops me.
“I was having a proper conversation. And you were mocking me, you jerk.” My breathing hitches. No, no, no. Don’t you dare cry, Chelsea Cole. I don’t even see Jeremy move, but suddenly he’s kissing me. And then I’m kissing him back. This has got to be the most confusing night of my life. Ever.
“I’ll hail a taxi,” he says when we take a breath. “Let’s go back to Laura’s.”
A few minutes later, I’m snuggled up to Jeremy in the taxi. I know we haven’t settled everything, but I don’t care. I just want to get him into bed. And then sleep. Tomorrow is soon enough to sort out all the misunderstandings. He sees only benefits in marrying me. I can’t ask for more than that.
When we arrive at Laura’s, I wait by the door while he pays the driver. It’s just occurred to me he might not have a key on him, when he steps up and slips one in the lock. As he swings open the door, I remember what’s sitting in the entrance.
Oh. My. God.
Laura left the light on in the entry hall, so when Jeremy steps in, he freezes. The pause before he speaks is a giant hand squeezing my heart.
“What’s this?”
“It’s … my luggage.”
The look he gives me asks how I could be so insensitive to state the obvious in a moment like this. I wish I could come up with a believable lie to save this night from a horrible end, but the truth is right there in front of us.
Love & Liability (A High Tea & Flip-Flops Novel Book 2) Page 17