Dance: The Collected Series

by Charlotte Eve

  I mean, this is the same exact jet I took my very first flight in – gripping the arm rests tight, absolutely terrified. And now, I just sit back happily, totally relaxed, the hours speeding by, mainly because I’m just so thrilled to be seeing Dylan again the moment we land.

  So you can imagine my confusion when I step out onto the landing strip and he’s not there. I look around, panicked, my heart starting to boom, wondering where the hell he is.

  My mind races, going to all sorts of crazy places.

  Oh god. This is it. Your worst nightmare.

  You’ve been abandoned in a foreign country, and you don’t even know how you’re gonna get home again.

  With a strange sinking feeling, I head out on my own, out into the busy bustling airport, then make my way through customs. And it’s only when I step out into the Arrivals gate that I see something familiar.

  But it’s not Dylan.

  Nope.

  It’s my name, written in big black letters on a piece of card, clutched in the hands of an immaculately-suited private driver.

  Huh?

  I approach the man, still totally puzzled as to where Dylan is, and when I ask him, he replies, “Ah yes, Miss Tate. Mister Campbell told me to give you this,” and hands me a small cream colored envelope. “Now, if you’d follow me, your car awaits.”

  With that, he takes my luggage and heads off towards the exits, forcing me to trail behind him before I can even open the damn envelope.

  So I follow him out to the parking lot, out towards a beautiful old Bentley, and he stops beside it, nodding politely then holding the door for me.

  Once we’re driving out of the airport, I have a moment to tear open the envelope, which contains a note in Dylan’s familiar, elegant handwriting:

  Julia,

  I’m so sorry. Alex arranged a last minute meeting today – it’s with important potential investors and I just couldn’t pull out. But I’ve got you a suite booked at the Dorchester and I’ll be there in the lobby to meet you at eight o’ clock.

  I love you so much,

  Dylan x

  See? I told you that I’ve not got over this whole thing yet. He doesn’t turn up at the airport and I immediately think he’s abandoned me, not that he’s a successful businessman with an important job to do, like any normal sane person would think. It’s just so hard to keep my head straight, as far as Dylan is concerned.

  I take a deep breath and promise myself not to think such stupid thoughts in the future. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel a sharp pang of frustration. I mean, the whole reason I’ve come to the other side of the world is to see him.

  And now he’s not even here?

  What the hell?

  I switch over to London time on my iPhone: it’s almost three in the afternoon here, so I’ve still got hours to kill. But that’s when I notice the new text message on the screen, too, from Isabella of all people:

  Hey! Let me know when you arrive. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do and Dylan tells me you’re free this afternoon? Bella x

  It’s pretty funny. Just a few short months ago, if you’d told me I was about to spend an afternoon catching up with Isabella Campbell I would’ve laughed in your face and tried to think up any excuse in the world not to go.

  But now? Well, since I’m not going to be seeing Dylan until this evening, I’m actually kind of glad she got in touch.

  §

  We arrange to meet in the Bluebird restaurant in Chelsea, which is luckily just a short cab ride from where I’m staying. When I arrive at the restaurant on time, it’s no surprise to discover that Isabella hasn’t got here yet. But when she comes strolling in only ten minutes late – instead of her usual thirty – I’m actually kind of impressed.

  I can’t help but smile as she struts towards my table. Total social chameleon that she is, she’s already got the London style down pat. For a start, she looks way less tanned nowadays, and she’s rocked up her look just like the London socialites you see in the magazines. Gone is her pink Juicy Couture tracksuit, switched out for artfully ripped jeans, lots of silver jewelry and the kind of perfect plain white t-shirt that costs two hundred dollars, at least. And she when says, “Julia! It’s so good to see you, boy do we have a lot to catch up on!” I swear I hear the subtlest hint of a brand new Transatlantic accent, too.

  But before she can begin to fill me in, the waiter arrives to take our order.

  “Anything to drink, ladies?” he says with an impeccable cut-glass English accent.

  “A bottle of champagne please,” Isabella replies without even consulting me.

  “Bella!” I laugh. “It’s only four in the afternoon! I can’t drink half a bottle of champagne this early. I’ve gotta meet Dylan later.”

  “Trust me, Jules,” she replies with a wink. “What I’ve gotta tell you? We’re gonna need it.”

  The waiter must be able to sense the urgency in Isabella’s voice because he’s back practically seconds later with a chilled bottle of Dom Perignon and two flutes, expertly pouring them out for us and then leaving us alone as swiftly as he came.

  “Cheers!” Bella says in that brand new accent of hers, raising her glass to me.

  “Cheers,” I reply, raising my own glass and tapping it against hers.

  And I’ve hardly had time to take a single sip before she launches into her story.

  “Okay, so I was at the opening of Sexy Fish, right? You know, that really hot new celebrity restaurant in Berkeley Square?”

  I nod, like I’ve heard of it, knowing it makes no difference.

  “Well, anyway it’s like totally hot right now,” she continues, her words tumbling from her glossy lips in an excited rush. “So I was there with my friend India Rose? Her family practically owns half of Soho, and I’m not even joking. She’s like the coolest person I’ve met in London by a total mile. She knows everyone, Jules. I’ll just have to introduce you to her.”

  “Great! Is she at RADA too?” I ask. But of course Bella’s not even listening to me, so I decide to just stay quiet from now on, taking another sip of my deliciously frosty champagne as she continues with her story.

  “So anyway, obviously we got pretty wasted, okay? It just happens at those kinda things, and then guess what? I meet this guy and he’s like seriously cute. Like, classic James Dean gorgeous. And inside I’m like: oh my God, even though obviously I’m playing it pretty cool. And so we’re like talking and flirting and before I even really know what’s happening he’s invited me to this exclusive members only club.”

  I take another sip of champagne.

  I think I can see where this story is going, and Bella’s certainly not one to leave out any of the ‘intimate’ details. But really? Is she just going to tell me about some hot night she’s had – is this the crazy story she needs so badly to tell me?

  “So we get to the club, and we’re talking and flirting and talking and flirting,” she continues a mile a minute. She’s talking so fast she’s not even touching her own champagne, which is unlike her, so maybe this story really is going somewhere. “And I can tell he really wants to kiss me, y’know? But he, like, doesn’t. I know, right? It’s totally weird because, well, I can’t remember the last time a guy managed not to kiss me when he wanted to. So anyways, we’re in this booth and we’re having a blast and it’s been like hours and he still won’t kiss me and now I’m getting like seriously confused. So I decide I have to up my game, but I don’t know what to do. And all I can think is, why won’t you kiss me?”

  “Yeah, really weird,” I murmur, just to make this feel like it isn’t a totally one-sided conversation, but as before, Bella’s not even listening to me – she’s just lost in her own story.

  “So all of a sudden I realize what I have to do. It’s so simple! I look him square in the eyes, and I ask him: Why won’t you kiss me? And then he does the weirdest thing. He puts his drink down and he looks back at me and he says, ‘Believe me, I want nothing more. But I’m gonna leave now,
and in ten minutes I want you to leave here too, and meet me in the Trafalgar Suite at the Ritz.’”

  Okay. I can’t help it. Now I am intrigued.

  “Wow, that’s crazy,” I laugh. “Is he like a spy or something?”

  “Not exactly,” she replies, enigmatically. “But just listen to this. I get to the hotel and he’s there. And he’s just incredible, if you know what I mean?”

  She gives me a little wink.

  “And we don’t even speak. We spend the whole night together, and don’t worry, I’m not going to give you any more details because you’re practically my sister and just that’s too gross.”

  Phew!

  “But suffice to say, he was a-mazing. And in the morning, he takes my number and we agree to meet up again. So then, I check my phone, and there’s this message, from India Rose, and it just says: O-M-F-ing-G. You just totally went home with Tyler Eastwood. I cannot believe you just did that. You are in TROUBLE now, girl! So I text back: What? He’s got a girlfriend, hasn’t he? I knew he was too good to be true. And then India replies: No, no, that’s not the problem. Do you even know who he is?”

  At this Bella pauses again and shoots me a look.

  “You don’t know who he is either, right?”

  I shake my head.

  “So I ask India. Who is he? And all she says is ‘google him’.”

  “So?” I sigh, getting kind of frustrated now, wishing she’d just tell me who this guy is already. “Who is he?”

  At this, Bella just sits back in her chair with this cat-that-got-the-cream look on her face, takes a painfully slow sip of her champagne, swallows it, then raises one eyebrow.

  “Tyler,” she says, “is only the lead singer in the UK’s hottest new boy band, Fastlane. They are already like huge over here, Jules, and they’re about to blow up in the states, too.”

  “Okay,” I admit. “That is pretty crazy.”

  “I know,” she grins, licking her glossy lips. “But just wait. It gets even crazier. Because it turns out he didn’t just take my number to be polite, like sure I’ll call you again, girl and then you never hear from them. You know, typical guy stuff? Uh-uh. He calls me up and says he wants to see me, and we do exactly the same thing again, except this time he sends a private limo to take me to his suite at Claridges. So I’m like, why did you move hotels? Your suite at the Ritz was awesome. And he says it’s because of the paparazzi. And that’s the thing, Jules. Whatever goes on between us? It has to be top fucking secret. Like, nobody can know. Nobody. Not a soul.”

  I nervously look around the room. If this is really supposed to be top-freaking-secret, does she even know how loud her voice is? But luckily it’s okay; all the tables around us are engrossed in their own conversations so I think her secret’s safe ... for now.

  “He said his management team need him to stay totally available,” she explains in a stage whisper. “You know, for the fans? So they can all imagine that he’s just waiting to meet them. That they are all the special one for him? So any time he’s asked in interviews, you know, things like is there anyone special in your life right now? he’s contractually obliged to say, ‘I haven’t met the right girl yet, but I’m still looking.’”

  At this, Isabella makes a gagging face, and I have to laugh, because I’ve definitely read that cheesy line before, more than once, in NYGoss.

  “And he said, more than that, it’s for my own safety, too? Because get this: the last girl the press linked him to, this singer called Ashleigh from Angels Inc? They weren’t even seeing each other, just on tour together, but the newspapers wrote some stuff about them and the next thing you know, she was getting like legit death threats on Twitter.”

  “Woah,” I say, shaking my head. “That can’t be fun.”

  “I know, right? I can absolutely do without shit like that in my life right now. But the thing is, I actually kinda like this guy, y’know? So. Jules. What am I going to do?”

  “You were right, Bella,” I smile. “I think we are gonna need this whole bottle of champagne, after all!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I am so sorry about earlier,” Dylan says, when he meets me in the hotel lobby, dead on eight o’ clock.

  And when I see what he’s wearing, I’m kind of taken aback. I guess I was expecting him to be dressed in his usual style -- smart suit, crisp white shirt, gleaming polished shoes – but this evening he’s dressed really casually; way more so than usual. Just, jeans, a rumpled linen shirt, and a pair of beat-up looking Converse sneakers.

  Did he come from the office in that outfit?

  Luckily I’m just wearing a jumpsuit and jacket. I’ve gone for plain navy, so I could fit in anywhere, and right now I’m kinda glad I didn’t get too dressed up.

  Then I notice this weird sheepish look on his face, too, and I have to ask.

  “What?” I quiz, unable to keep the grin from my face. “What’s that look supposed to mean?”

  “Well,” he says gently, “I’ve got something else to apologize for.”

  Once again my heart does a full loop-the-loop, just like it did the last time I met him off the plane.

  He really needs to stop doing this!

  “I’ve forgotten my wallet when I got changed,” he explains. “It’s back at the office, must be in my suit pants. I’m really sorry, Julia. All my cards. Everything. It’s all back at the office. So I can’t take you out for dinner anywhere fancy. I’ve got a hundred pounds in my pocket, and I guess I was thinking, I could still take you out and show you a good time?”

  Right now I’m just so damn glad to see him again that to be honest, I don’t care what the hell we do.

  “Of course!” I say with a big smile.

  And when he smiles right back at me, our eyes catching, I feel so lucky all over again to have this amazing guy in my life.

  We don’t need money and fancy restaurants to have a good time, I remind myself.

  And actually, you know what? I’m kind of glad to do something a little more down-to-Earth for a change.

  §

  I feel like I’ve seen a brand new side of London tonight, with Dylan as my very own private tour guide. We’ve spent the evening hanging out in Camden, which is this cool, artsy district, eating delicious Chinese food from a cute little street market, drinking in pubs, and even shooting some pool in a back room bar, which I totally whoop his ass at – of course.

  And now we’re strolling along the canal, arm in arm, the streetlights glittering and shimmering on the surface of the water, as pretty as Christmas lights, as we laugh and joke about the differences between England and America.

  “Now remember, Julia, this isn’t a sidewalk,” Dylan reminds me. “This is a pavement. And people will look at you crazy if you say pants here. Pants means panties. Although they also call them knickers. Our pants are called trousers.”

  His silly fake-English accent makes me giggle, and I squeeze his arm tight, just so glad to be with him again, hanging out and having fun, doing regular normal everyday stuff for once.

  “Hey!” I say. “So why haven’t you got the same weird accent that Bella’s picked up? I swear, if she spends any longer here, she’s going to sound like she goes to Hogwarts, not RADA!”

  “I know what you mean,” he smiles back. “Bella is one of the most adaptable people I know. Looking at her in her new role as ‘swinging London chick’ I’m kind of jealous. You wouldn’t know she’d ever been a valley girl brat, or that she’d been kicked out of half of New York’s fanciest schools. She’s reinvented herself, just like that, just like she always does. And spending the night with you, like this? Going to bars, shooting pool, wearing jeans and sneakers, just like normal people, I guess, just sometimes, I wish I could change who I was, too. Just be a regular guy.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Dylan, I don’t want you to change. I love you just the way you are.”

  “I love you, too,” he says, taking my hands. “I know that being with me isn’t always easy. I just
hope it’s worth it.”

  “Of course it is,” I say, squeezing his fingers right back.

  “So, did you have fun tonight?” he asks.

  “You know I did,” I reply sincerely. “I had a total blast.”

  “I’m glad,” he says softly. “Because it’s really important that you want to be with me for who I am, not because of the money, not because of the private jet, not because of my reputation. I want you to think of me as that regular guy shooting pool tonight, okay?”

  “Hey, hey, you know I don’t care about all that stuff, baby,” I say, meaning it with all my heart. “I’d still love you if you were totally broke.”

  And then, all of a sudden, he stops stock still on the sidewalk, I mean pavement.

  “What’s going on?” I say, totally confused.

  And what happens next feels like it happens in slow motion.

  I watch in total disbelief as Dylan drops down onto one knee in front of me.

  No fucking way.

  This can’t be what I think it is ... can it?!

  And sure enough, he reaches into his back pocket, slips out a little velvet box, then opens the lid, offering it up to me. I gasp in surprise and delight, as I stare down at the biggest damn diamond I’ve ever seen in my life.

  It’s beautiful; a baguette diamond, set inside an intricate, delicate platinum band, surrounded by a circle of smaller diamonds, all glittering and shimmering in the darkness, just like the lights on the water all around us.

  “So?” he says, looking up at me, eyes blazing. “What do you say, Julia Tate? Will you marry me?”