by Aven Ellis
Now that I have my team behind me, I’ll tell Mom and Dad I’m off to discover art in England.
And reunite with the man I love, I think happily.
Chapter 12
London Calling
I exit customs at Heathrow and stop in my tracks, feeling like I need to pinch myself. Or slap my face. Yes, I need a slap, something strong to make sure this is real, and that I’m actually here, having stepped off a British Airways flight from San Jose into this busy airport on a Saturday afternoon.
I am in London.
And I’m minutes away from being with Christian.
Ahh!
I drag my wheeled bag behind me, butterflies swarming in my stomach. Christian’s best friend, Stephen, and his girlfriend, Emma, are going to pick me up outside of customs. Christian is waiting in his car to avoid the media. This way it will appear I am here to see them and not Christian.
I’ve talked to Stephen on FaceTime, so I know what he looks like, and I stop and scan the hoards of people waiting outside the exit area of customs.
Then I spot him.
It’s not hard because he’s holding up a sign that Christian made; I can tell by the handwriting. It says:
WELCOME TO THE UK ACE
I grin the second I see it. A beautiful dark-haired girl, who I presume is Emma, is standing next to Stephen. I head toward them, pulling my bag behind me, and stop when I’m in front of them.
“Hello, I would be Ace,” I say, smiling.
“So, you are real,” Stephen says, his words coming across with a strong Irish accent that sounds like music to my ears. “We accused CP of making you up. You know, paying an actress to play an American on FaceTime as a prank. He was uninterested in girls prior to you,” he says, flashing me a charming smile.
CP is what Christian goes by to his friends, to help conceal his identity, and now I understand how he let me into his world right away by telling me to call him this when we first started chatting.
Stephen extends his hand to me, and I shake it.
“No, I’m very much real. I’m Clementine. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure,” Stephen says, his green eyes dancing at me. “This is Emma.”
“Lovely to meet you,” she says, her brown eyes shining warmly as she extends her hand to me. While there is no doubt Stephen’s accent is Irish, there is also no doubt that Emma’s is pure English.
I take a moment to study her. Emma is a true English rose, with a creamy, pale complexion that is nothing short of perfect. Her long, dark hair cascades past her shoulders and her eyes are bright.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, shaking her hand.
“Did you have a good trip?” she asks.
“Let me take that,” Stephen says, retrieving my suitcase.
“Oh, thank you,” I say. I turn to Emma as we walk through the busy terminal. “It was long. I tried to sleep, but I was too excited.”
She nods. “I can imagine. CP says this is your first trip to England.”
“This is my first time crossing the Atlantic. My passport had two stamps prior to this trip: Canada and Mexico.”
“Oh, CP will have you filling that up in a hurry,” Stephen says as we head toward the exit. “Except his favorite place is somewhere you’ve been. He loves the ruggedness of Canada.”
I smile, as I already know this. Christian loves nothing more than going remote in Banff and Lake Louise and is already dying to go back next winter.
We head outside; the sky is overcast and drizzle is falling.
“Welcome to London,” Emma says. “I hope you packed an umbrella.”
She retrieves one out of a Louis Vuitton tote and pops it open, directing it half over me.
“Thank you,” I say, shivering from the damp air that is surrounding me.
“You’re welcome.”
Emma and Stephen continue general chit-chat as we walk, and I do my best to concentrate, but with each step I take, I’m looking for Christian. My heart is beating against my ribs. Excitement is driving my rapid pulse. With each second that goes by, I grow more eager.
“It’s the black Audi at the end of this row with the Range Rover parked behind it,” Stephen says, lowering his voice. “His team is in that car. CP will be driving us, though.”
I spot his car and force myself not to run to it.
I start to shake, but this time it’s not from the dreary London air.
I quicken my pace.
I reach his car, the Audi with the blackened windows, hurry to the passenger side, and throw open the door, but not before realizing I’m on the wrong side of the car.
“Ah!” I scream in fright, shocked to find myself in Christian’s face when I was prepared to jump into the seat.
He roars with laughter and catches my wrist before I fall backward.
“Hello, love,” he says, smiling broadly at me. “Are you that eager to see me, or did you forget we drive on the other side of the vehicle?”
“Both!” I cry happily. “Oh, Christian! I’m so happy to be here. I’ve missed you so much!”
I drink him in, from the curly locks to the wonderfully full lips and the blue eyes that are gazing at me with adoration through his fringe of long lashes.
His thumb circles around the inside of my wrist, sending delicious shivers down my spine as his calloused skin brushes sexily against mine.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he says, his deep voice low.
Our eyes lock for a moment. It’s as if we’ve never parted, exactly how I knew it would be between us.
“Go on around and get in,” he murmurs, “so I can kiss you properly before Stephen and Emma get in the car.”
I hurry around to the correct side—the one with the passenger seat—and climb in, slamming the door shut behind me.
I turn to face him, and the second I do, his hands are on my face, his fingertips delicately sliding over my cheekbones, my nose, my chin, up to my hair. Christian leans forward and presses his forehead to mine, and I close my eyes and breathe in the familiar clean scent of his cologne, the scent I have missed so much.
“I love you,” he whispers, lowering his lips to mine.
We kiss, slowly and sweetly. I lift my hands to his clean-shaven face, tracing my fingertips over his skin, savoring the warmth of his lips, the caress of his touch, everything that makes up the man I love.
He breaks the kiss as we hear Stephen and Emma approach the car.
“I love you more,” I whisper back to him.
His eyes light up the second I utter those words to him.
“Not possible.”
Emma gets into the seat behind Christian. “Christian, if you can pop open the boot, Stephen will put Clementine’s luggage in.”
“Yes, of course,” Christian says, hitting the button to release the trunk.
I hear Stephen place my bag inside. He slams the trunk shut and slides into the seat behind me.
“Thank you, Stephen,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” Stephen responds.
“Ready to go?” Christian asks as I fasten my seatbelt.
“I am,” I say. “I can’t wait to see Cambridge.”
“Don’t let the drive there put you off,” Stephen says. “It’s rather underwhelming.”
“Oh?” I ask. “No rolling English farms? Villages? Castles?”
Emma laughs. “It’s a motorway drive. Very bland.”
“Oh,” I say, rather disappointed to hear this. “So, no charming buildings that have been around since the 1200s standing on the side of the road?”
“No, but I can show you a fantastic petrol station circa 2006,” Christian quips.
“In an hour, she can see Knebworth House,” Stephen says. “That’s old.”
“I don’t think you can see it from the motorway,” Emma says, her voice taking on a thinking tone as we exit Heathrow.
“Yes, you can,” Stephen insists.
“No, I don’t think so,” she says.
“You can see the Adventure Playground, I think,” Christian says. “However, that wasn’t built in the 1200s, Clementine, so you are going to be sadly disappointed unless Stephen is correct.”
“Which I am,” Stephen insists.
“No, you’re not,” Emma counters. “All you can see will be trees, I’m sure of it.”
“I see this is up for debate. It also sounds like a brilliant pub quiz question,” I say, smiling at Christian while he drives.
We fall into an easy conversation, and I can see why Christian likes Stephen. Stephen is very much like him, as in you would never know he was the future heir to an Irish brewing empire. He’s friendly and down to earth. Emma is lovely, and I keep wondering if she has a lady title in front of her name, one of those long English names, like Lady Emma Smythe Potter Cox-Wenworth. Between the Louis Vuitton tote and matching umbrella and the Burberry rain coat and Wellingtons she has on today, I picture her to be the type to sip champagne and watch Stephen play polo before zipping off to Harrods for a consult with her on-call personal shopper.
“So, you met Christian online?” Emma asks, breaking through my thoughts.
I know his inner circle knows the real story, like Paisley, so I answer honestly.
“Yes,” I say. “We are an Instagram relationship. I had no idea who he was.”
I can see Christian smiling out of the corner of my eye, which makes my heart flutter.
“I can relate to that meeting.”
“Oh? How did you two meet?” I ask, turning around so I can look at them both in the backseat.
I’m already willing to bet that it was at Cambridge at some posh mixer. In fact, I’d bet my meager bank account on it.
Stephen laughs. “She told me my family’s beer was shit.”
“What?” I ask, laughing.
A pretty rose color tints Emma’s cheeks. “I work as a server at a pub near Cambridge University. I attend Anglia Ruskin University, and I’m working my way through uni. I was this one’s server that fateful night. I had no idea who he was, other than he was a Cambridge guy who hung out with the prince.”
It’s all I can do not to let my mouth flop open in shock. She’s obviously not a lady, nor wealthy.
She’s like me, I think, feeling more comfortable by the second.
“I asked her what she thought of my family’s beer, if it was a good pint,” Stephen says, his green eyes sparkling. “And Emma said, ‘Oh, I don’t like that one at all, very overrated,’ and steered me to Guinness, the competition. I knew immediately I would fall in love with her.”
Emma smiles. “It’s true. I still don’t like their beer.”
“I asked her out, and she said no,” Stephen says.
“You did?” I ask.
“I did. I told him I wasn’t a casual pick-up in a pub. He had to prove to me he wasn’t looking for that.”
“I came back every night for two weeks until she gave me her mobile number.”
“It became our pub,” Christian interjects, “as I had to live there until Emma gave him her number.”
“We’ve been together ever since,” Stephen says.
“I love this story,” I say, as Emma reminds me a lot of myself. She’s a woman not impressed with titles or money, but the man on the inside, and she fell for this man not caring that he came from one of the wealthiest families in Ireland.
“Is this the same pub where I’ll get my steak pie?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“You should come for Sunday roast tomorrow. I’m working.” She flashes me a smile. “I might even throw in an extra Yorkshire pudding.”
Ah, the Sunday roast. Christian explained this to me, that it’s a huge deal to eat on Sunday. The Sunday roast involves roasted meats and vegetables and gravy, a British tradition, and Christian loves it.
“I’ve never had a Yorkshire pudding,” I say.
“What?” Emma asks. “How is that possible?”
“I’ve never had Sunday roast either.”
“This is why I had to bring her to England,” Christian says. “Her food experience in America is seriously lacking.”
“Oh, is that so?” I say, bending over and grabbing my backpack. “If America is seriously lacking, then why do I have White Chocolate Cheesecake M&M’s in my bag?”
“Get out,” Emma says. “There is such a thing?”
I wave my M&M’s triumphantly in the air.
“You mean we’ve been in the car this whole time and you’ve been holding out on me?” Christian exclaims. “What are you waiting for? Open those up!”
“You were too busy talking about the Knebhouse, which nobody can decide if it can indeed be seen from the freeway or not.”
Christian bursts out laughing. “Knebhouse? It’s Knebworth House.”
“Whatever. You were so excited about Adventure Playground that you didn’t think to ask me how many bags of M&M’s I brought for you. In fact, maybe we need to stop at Adventure Playground first before opening the candy.” I get out my phone and type it into Google. “Shut up. Christian, you didn’t tell me there is a Dinosaur Trail at Knebworth House! They have seventy-two life-sized dinosaurs and pre-historic creatures there; we absolutely need to do this!”
“So, we’re going to walk in the rain on the Dinosaur Trail before heading to Cambridge?” Christian asks. “What, are you going to get an exchange going to bring the dinosaurs to the mall for an art exhibit?”
“Oh, good idea, but no. This is just for us. We need to do the Dinosaur Trail,” I say.
“You want your first memory of England to be a Dinosaur Trail,” Christian repeats.
“Yes.”
He grins and glances in the rear-view mirror. “Slight detour before home?”
“I can call some media outlets. We can have the Golden Prince snapped in public studying a brontosaurus,” Stephen teases.
“Odds are we’ll end up on social media if we do it,” Christian muses.
I hear the hesitation in his voice.
My goal is to shove him out of his comfort zone.
I want him to feel normal.
“So?” I challenge.
“So?”
“So what? You’re out walking a trail and looking at fake dinosaurs with friends. Let people post their pics. It’s not like the paparazzi is going to spring out from behind a T-rex and begin snapping away. Although that would be entertaining. I’ll feed you exotic imported M&M’s afterward if you do it,” I say flirtatiously.
“You do know how to drive a man mad, Ace.”
I burst out laughing, then punctuate it with a loud hiccup, which makes Christian roar with laughter.
“All right. We’ll do it.”
I am smiling from ear-to-ear as I gaze out the window. Mission accomplished, I think happily.
With the Dinosaur Trail being the first of my many adventures in England.
Chapter 13
I’ll Take the Woolly Mammoth for the Win, Please
“Isn’t this fantastic?” I say as we walk along the wooded Dinosaur Trail, which is not crowded due to the light rain that is falling from the gray sky. “It’s beautiful here, absolutely majestic,” I say, words falling out of me at a rapid clip I can’t control. “I can’t get over the scent of the English grass and rain, the flowers in bloom, this magical rolling countryside on a real historical estate. It’s like a movie. I can’t believe I’m here with you.”
Christian smiles as we head along the trail. Before he got out of the car, he covered his blond locks with a red Arsenal baseball cap to help conceal his identity. He’s gallantly holding an umbrella over me as we walk, and Stephen and Emma are next to us. His lucky protection officers, Oliver and Peter, are strolling behind us, no doubt thinking I’m adding a whole new layer of work to their days.
“Films are shot here, you know. But not the American-falls-in-love-with-a-prince-she-met-on-Instagram story,” he teases. “That one hasn’t been written yet.”
“That house,” I say, “i
s magnificent. Those spires and turrets and gargoyles; the history is screaming from that home. Oh, I’d love to see the inside of it someday.”
“You’re into estates?” Emma asks as we come across a T-rex.
“Oh, yes, I love antiques. I’d love to curate antiques in a museum or work for an auction house someday. When CP here is busy with classes, I plan to go on some tours.”
“She’s not here for me,” Christian says, his blue eyes dancing. “Clementine is here for the stately homes.”
“That is not true,” I say, smiling at him. “But it is an incredible bonus for me as an antique lover to see homes filled with amazing pieces while I wait for you to be done with your lectures.”
Christian stops on the path to study the T-rex. “This was my favorite dinosaur as a child,” he says, smiling at the memory. “Father would buy me books on dinosaurs, and I knew them all, every fact and physical detail. I had figurines, too, which I kept organized in cases in alphabetical order.”
I smile, as I expect nothing less from my rules-and-organization-loving boyfriend.
“Tell me something about the T-rex,” I say.
“What?” Christian asks, laughing.
“Come on, I know that little boy who loves dinosaurs is still in there. Share him with me.”
Something shifts in his brilliant blue eyes. I realize it’s surprise.
“While I want to know about the prince who grew up in the palace,” I say, lowering my voice so only he can hear me over the light drizzle of rain coming down on his umbrella, “I want to know the little boy who loved dinosaurs more. Because that is your heart, not your station in life.”
He stares down at me, his telling eyes growing emotional now. “Just when I think you can never amaze me more, you do.”
“I know. Now amaze me with your mad dinosaur knowledge.”
He chuckles. “Okay,” he says, staring straight ahead at the fierce replica with wicked-looking teeth. “The name is Tyrannosaurus rex. The first part of the name is Greek, meaning tyrant lizard. Rex is king in Latin.”
“Tyrant lizard king,” I say aloud. “Sounds about right.”