We went to the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace, which was less of a quick switch of personnel and more of an extensive, formal procession steeped in history. There was music and what appeared to be a parade of men marching in black pants, red jackets, and tall bear-skinned caps. When it ended almost an hour later, we took the walking tour of the palace.
Once we finished the tour, we made our way to the London Eye—a giant Ferris wheel that overlooks the Thames River.
“Did you enjoy seeing the palace?” I asked. I was still amazed at the elegance and opulence and enormity of the palace.
Bryan murmured an answer but didn’t say much. He had been quiet for most of the morning. As I kept pace beside him, I could feel Bryan hesitate. He stuck both hands in his front pockets and kept his eyes down.
It was probably the amazing view of London. Or, like me, he was tired. It has to be.
After we had purchased our boarding tickets and made our way into the Eye’s queue, he finally spoke. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
He shifted his weight on his feet. “I posted the picture we took online last night. My sisters all went crazy and said they had seen you on TV. Desperately Seeking Mrs. Right. Was that really you?”
My heartbeat picked up a little, and my stomach tightened. I nodded. “That was me.”
We shuffled forward in line. The queueing process gave me a chance to gather my thoughts.
He rubbed his hands together. “You didn’t tell me you were famous.”
It had become a common thread in many of my conversations since the show. “I wouldn’t exactly say famous. I hope I’ll be forgotten soon enough—at least once the finale airs. Then everyone will be thinking about next season and, hopefully, forget this one.”
“Why do you say that? You didn’t like it?” His eyes met mine.
I scratched at my collarbone, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “He—well, the bachelor, Joshua—said he was going to keep me on the show, but he let me go instead. Once that episode aired, there was a lot of backlash. I wasn’t the favorite in the running because I told him I didn’t want to relocate my business or do the spin-off show if we got engaged. The internet went wild over that.”
“That’s what my sisters said.”
I wondered if his sisters were part of the backlash. Phoebe-haters.
The line inched forward. “I’ve gotten a lot of hate mail. A lot. There are some very serious, hardcore fans out there. I even had one viewer tell me passing up a man like Joshua qualified me as too stupid to live. It got ugly over a totally harmless comment. I finally ended up deleting most of my social media accounts.”
“Was that like a death threat?” He took a step closer to me.
“I only had that one, but it was mostly just really mean, horrible things. It’s interesting being on a show like that. Viewers think they know you. They judge you, get angry at you, and hate you for no reason—all the while never blaming the guy or seeing it from my point of view.”
Once we were inside one of the London Eye’s capsules, Bryan sat down on the edge of a bench and I sat next to him. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “He was the guy who wined you and dined you.”
I shrugged. “He was. And that’s why I needed a vacation. The finale is airing in a couple weeks, and I thought I’d celebrate the end of the show early.”
He nodded, saying nothing. I wondered what he was thinking or if he was just trying to process the information. I watched his expression carefully, waiting to see any hints of disinterest or attempts to distance himself. But he didn’t move.
After a few beats of silence, he started talking again. “What was reality TV like?” His voice was upbeat. I hoped he was just trying to keep the conversation rolling rather than change the subject from Joshua.
“There was nothing realistic about it.”
Bryan leaned in and lowered his voice. “Is it all staged?”
“Some. When you get there, they tell you to act natural and ignore the cameras.”
“That sounds hard.”
“It really was—at least for me. They don’t want you looking directly at the cameras during filming. Only when you’re in the confession room.”
“Do they tell you what to do?”
“Not really, except during the structured dates.” I paused. “I watched the first episode, then stopped watching. I didn’t like how they edited the footage. They cut out parts of conversations and put things together to make it seem more dramatic. That’s what I hated the most: being misconstrued.”
“Is that why it’s not realistic?” He fiddled with the beaded name bracelet, twisting it around his wrist.
“Real life isn’t getting whisked away on dream dates in foreign cities. Or having delicious dinners where you end up dancing to serenades in a park beneath twinkling lights.”
How could I have been so naïve to think it was?
“So, spending the day in London eating fish and chips wasn’t a dream date? Being on this capsule with this incredible view doesn’t make it dreamier?” He motioned to the view we could see in every direction. “If you want, I can find a park with twinkling lights and pay someone to serenade us.”
“The view is not the only thing that is amazing,” I blurted out.
“Why do you say that?” His eyes met mine, and he held my gaze.
I could feel the heat rush to my cheeks. I looked away instinctively. “It’s been more enjoyable with you.” Probably because there was no pressure. And it was comfortable. And real—more real than anything I had experienced with Joshua. I continued with my explanation. “I don’t have to pretend to be something or someone I’m not to get you to like me. Take out the competition that went on with the show and it makes for a much better date.”
“Thank you,” he responded.
“No, thank you. Yesterday was one of the best days I’ve had in years, and today has been even better.”
He took my hand in his and squeezed it gently. “Me too.”
The corners of my mouth threatened to break into a smile, but I resisted. I didn’t want to appear too giddy.
We sat in a comfortable silence, enjoying the slowly passing view around us. The conversation had thankfully lulled, lending to occasional, hushed comments about the experience.
As our ride came to an end, I returned to our former topic. “Now can I ask you something?” I couldn’t stop thinking about it since he’d brought up the reality TV show.
“Sure,” he said easily.
“Are your sisters Phoebe-haters?”
We stood up as the capsule arrived at the unloading dock. We waited our turn, and Bryan held back so I could disembark first. His hand hovered at the small of my back, lightly guiding me through the crowd of people.
“No. At least they didn’t say anything about not liking you.” His forehead creased. “My sisters didn’t tell me too much. Why?”
I exhaled, relieved. “I thought Joshua and I got along so well and had a connection. So when I didn’t make it to the final three, I was blindsided. I’d been questioning the whole process all along. Viewers—at least the ones who sent me mean messages—thought I should have anticipated the way the process worked.” Because dealing with the feelings and emotions of having twenty women compete for the attention and affection of one man was something I should have anticipated, according to them.
He cocked his head. “The process? Do you mean whether he would be enjoying himself on each of the dates?”
“The process of narrowing down the contestants by dating all of them. Dating multiple girls at once doesn’t seem like a big deal until you’re actually in the situation and you’re one of the girls. It breeds insecurity and jealousy. I thought I would be exempt from those feelings, but I wasn’t.
I was always asking him what he was doing with the other girls. Was he kissing them? Was he feeling the same connection I felt? It seemed like the whole environment was the perfect concoction for imploding.”
“Did you implode?” Bryan looked concerned.
“No. But I know now that I’m not cut out for that kind of show. I thought I was. I thought that was what I wanted. I thought I could handle it. In the end, I couldn’t.” I rubbed my eyes. All this talking about the show was making my head hurt.
“I can see why you might be a little nervous about what my sisters think about you.”
I managed a small laugh. “After being on that show, I feel like I am one of the most hated women in America.” But there was nothing funny about it. Going on the show was probably the worst decision of my life.
“Nah,” he waved his hand. “My sisters would never think that. Besides, they’re really nice.”
“I know they have a really nice brother.”
“You think so?” A small smile appeared on his face. He glanced at my lips and then back at my eyes.
“I do think so.”
There was a pause. He looked at my lips again and smiled a bit bigger. He leaned in slightly but then pulled back. It seemed like he was making a decision as his eyes wandered in that moment. My lips parted in response.
A horn beeped, interrupting our moment.
I cleared my throat and then looked around.
“It’s way past lunchtime, and I’m starving. Are you up for grabbing something to eat?”
I paced my response. “I would love that—I mean—me too.”
“Let’s check our bucket list and decide where to go,” Bryan suggested.
That implied together. I liked that idea.
We stepped to the side of the sidewalk, and Bryan pulled out his map. He unfolded it enough to find the list scribbled in the margins.
“Cadbury World’s afternoon tea?” he suggested. “Let me Google it.” He pulled out his phone and typed on his screen. “Oh, wait. It’s two hours from here. Maybe we should plan on that tomorrow.”
Another reference to spending time together. Internally, I cheered.
“There’s got to be a place close by that does afternoon tea. Isn’t it like a daily tradition?” Bryan typed some more on his phone. “It says here that we can go”—he looked around and then over his shoulder—“to a hotel right down the street here.”
“I’m in. Let’s go.” I grabbed his hand ready to take off, but Bryan didn’t move.
He gently tugged me back to him until I was just inches from his face. My heart hammered in my chest.
He glanced at my lips again. “I kind of want to kiss you right now.”
My heart beat double time. “I kind of wish you would,” I murmured, already leaning toward him. My stomach did somersaults as his lips met mine. His hand slipped around my waist as he pulled me closer. It’s just a fling. It’s just a fling. I felt I needed to keep reminding myself.
When we broke apart, one hand remained on my waist. “What if you came to Scotland with me? Have you ever been?”
My head was still spinning from the kiss we just shared. I wasn’t sure how to answer or what to say. “Wait, what? Go to Scotland with you? Really? Are you always this forward?” I should have asked myself the same question.
His took a small step back and I noticed his neck turned slightly pink. His reaction was markedly different from Joshua’s when we had first kissed on the show. In fact, I couldn’t recall if Joshua even reacted at all.
“Um, only with girls I like.”
Hopefully, he didn’t meet a lot of girls he liked.
“So, I’d be your plus one for the conference?” I joked but held my breath, hoping it wasn’t really a joke.
He took my hand in his. “As my date.”
My eyes widened and the thoughts in my head started spinning again. Labeling it as a date made it more official. This was fast becoming a little more than just a fling. “Can you bring dates to kilt conventions?”
“I don’t think there are any hard and fast rules for kilt conventions. I was thinking it would be a way we could spend more time together. And you’d probably make the convention more enjoyable, but I can’t promise since I’ve only been to one other one.”
I thought about it quickly, relishing in the bliss I was experiencing. Yes. I definitely wanted to spend more time with Bryan. My gut feeling about him was good so far, and I decided to go with my gut. There was no reason I couldn’t go. I didn’t exactly have iron-clad plans, and a little trip to the countryside couldn’t hurt. Besides, if I stayed in London alone, I’d probably give in, watch the show and end up licking my wounds. It made for the perfect distraction. “Yes, I’ll come.” I squeezed his hand.
“It’s a date, then.”
It was confirmed. A date. I liked the sound of that. “Do you think it’s too late to get a hotel room?”
Bryan muffled a snort. “It’s a kilt convention, not Comic Con. I think you’ll be fine.”
“Forecast is rain today,” Bryan announced. For the third day in a row, we met at the circular chartreuse sofa in the lobby.
I glanced out the lobby’s window. Outside, was grey and overcast. I had missed that somehow.
“I was thinking of indoor activities, like Harrods and the Brunel Museum. Thoughts?” He sat down beside me.
“What’s the Brunel Museum?”
Bryan pulled up a webpage on his phone to show me. “It’s a tunnel by the Thames, built over two hundred years ago. It seems pretty cool.”
“Can we start with Harrods? I also really want to see a play that’s in town. I checked this morning, and there are some tickets available for the matinee. You’re welcome to join me if you want, but don’t feel like you have to.”
“What play?”
“Wicked.”
“My sisters love it. I’ve never seen it, but sure. I’ll join you.”
I smiled and a thrill ran through me. Maybe this is evolving into something more.
I squinted in the daylight as we left the theatre. The clouds had cleared up a little, but it was still mostly overcast. I had a throbbing pain behind my right eye, and I pressed my palm against it. “I should’ve paid attention to the ‘use of strobe lights’ warning.”
We started walking in the direction of the bus stop. “Does that mean you don’t want to go for afternoon tea?”
As much as I wanted to spend time with him, the pain was getting worse. “I would love to, but my head is killing me. If I take some medicine and lie down for a bit, I should be good to go for tonight.”
He reached out to me, his hand cupping my elbow. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Actually, I noticed you had some Advil in your bag. Could I have a couple? It would save me a trip to the store.” I leaned against the bus stop sign.
Bryan shifted his weight and scratched his head. “The Advil I have isn’t exactly Advil.”
I squinted at him. “What do you mean?”
He kicked a pebble on the sidewalk. “They’re ashes.”
“Ashes?” I inadvertently took a step back.
“They’re my father’s ashes. He passed away last year.” Bryan paused, shifting his weight. “He never got to travel outside the States, so I thought every time I traveled, I could spread some of him.”
“Um, wow.” My heart swelled for him. I remembered the sadness I felt when my grandma passed away four years ago. I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.” After a moment, a question popped into my head. “Why are they in an Advil bottle?”
He twisted his mouth slightly. “Have you ever tried to ‘smuggle’ ashes through airport security—never mind customs?” He made imaginary quotation marks in the air.
“I can’t say I have,
” I managed. I wasn’t sure what the appropriate thing was to say.
“I figured no one would question an Advil bottle.”
“Sounds like your plan worked. Do you have a specific place you want to spread them?”
He shook his head. “Maybe it sounds a little morbid, but I always carry them when I travel. When I come to a spot that feels right, I spread some of his ashes.”
I smiled at him, hoping to reassure him. “It doesn’t sound morbid. How do you know when it feels right?”
He shrugged and held his palms up. “I’ll let you know when I find out.”
“Okay.”
“Sorry. I hope I’m not freaking you out. I know it’s not normal to hear from the guy you just met that he’s carrying around his dad’s ashes.”
“No, definitely not. It’s just not a typical conversation. But then again, nothing has been normal since we met.”
“Like that you’re a celebrity,” Bryan added.
“And you’re an American kilt salesman.”
“Technically, I’m in marketing, but close enough.” After a beat he continued, “And you’re, uh…” he trailed off. He shrugged. “I got nothing.”
The bus pulled to the curb. We boarded it and rode back to the hotel in silence. I leaned my head back and rested it against the window, letting my eyes close.
After we got off, I pointed my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going to find something for this headache—maybe Excedrin if they have it. A couple of those and I should be feeling better in a couple of hours.”
“Want me to find some?”
“That’s really sweet, but I can just stop at that corner market. I don’t want you to go out of your way.”
He stood at the entrance, looking undecided. “Let me give you my number. Text me if you need anything.”
I put his number into my contacts and decided to go ahead and give him mine. So far he had proven himself trustworthy. I thanked him and then made my way to the corner market where I found some Excedrin—or rather some foreign brand that was the same. I took two and put myself to bed.
Desperately Seeking Mr. Right (Destined For Love: Europe) Page 5