Not The One (London Lovers #4)

by Amy Daws

  Her laughter peals through the room. “I didn’t escape. I just left!”

  “You just left? How did they let you just leave? Who had you?”

  She shakes her head knowingly. “I was in the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

  “Can I see it?” I step toward her, but my actions don’t seem to have any physical results. I remain planted in front of the bed. I glance around for help from my mother to find that she has vanished.

  “You don’t need to see this place, yet. I’m just so happy I made it for this big day. Ma lady is getting married.”

  Hearing her call me ‘ma lady’ sends immediate warmth through my chest. She always called me that in grad school. Ma lady! I was anything but that most of the time, but she couldn’t be convinced otherwise.

  “Marisa, before we go out there, I need to talk to you.”

  “What’s up buttercup?”

  Stealing myself I begin the speech that I’ve rehearsed for three years now. “I’ve betrayed you in the most dreadful way and all I need to do is say—”

  “Is this about Liam?” she interrupts haphazardly.

  “Yes, I—”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry, sweets. I have to stop you right there. We can’t have this conversation.” She moves down the small corridor and opens the door.

  “Why not?” I ask, following behind her.

  “Because you don’t deserve it yet.” She nods her head like her decision is final.

  “Then what do I deserve?”

  “To walk down that aisle. Let’s go!”

  She rushes me out the door and I step into the lobby of the hotel where hundreds of strangers stand forming a makeshift aisle. I nearly burst into tears at the sight of my father reaching his hand out for me to take.

  “Dad?” I utter, nervously. The word feels weird coming from my mouth, but I run to him anyway. The same issue happens where I’m running but there is no physical result of the action. “Dad!” I shout as he turns and walks away. “No! Marisa, help me!”

  Marisa appears beside me, smiling and laughing. “I wouldn’t worry about him. He’ll be back. Let’s get you married.”

  I begin gliding effortlessly down the aisle and see a tall, blond figure with his back facing me. His hair is mussed and my heart begins thundering a strange rhythm. We stand two feet from him but he still won’t move.

  “Why won’t he turn around?” I whisper.

  “Because you won’t let him, Reyna.”

  “What do you mean? I’m not doing anything.”

  “That’s just it, Rey. You’re not doing anything except hurting. Hurting and aching and crying and not moving.”

  “What do you mean? I am living! I got a new job at least.”

  Marisa giggles affectionately. “Sweetie, get your shite together. I can’t do this forever.” The sunlight around her begins to fade and I feel her drifting away.

  “Can’t you just wait, Marisa? Please? I need you. I need you to get through this. You’re the only one I can do this with. I just…I need you.”

  “Needs are always necessary. Wants have a way of surprising you.” She smiles and disappears along with everything around me.

  I wake to a crusty dryness on my cheeks like I’d cried in my sleep…again. I blink slowly, looking around my dark flat and trying to make sense of what that dream was about. Normally I would grab my phone and call Hayden to post mortem every detail. But after last night, he’s the last person I want to talk to. I grab my phone and see I have zero text messages from Hayden. Not surprising. I’m sure he’s going to vanish on me again.

  What was last night all about anyway? Hayden has never been jealous in the past. He’s seen me completely wasted at nightclubs, grinding on random blokes and never even batted an eye. Now that Liam shows up he turns into a territorial prick?

  And Liam. What am I interested in from him? What was it that made me run after him to make sure he knew I wasn’t with Hayden? At first it was just a strong desire to make sure he’s doing okay…not a walking zombie like me. Now I fear that feelings are becoming involved and I do not know how to process any of that, yet.

  My phone begins ringing in my hand and I see my mother’s picture pop up on the screen. I silence it and drop it down onto the bed. I’ve been dodging her calls all week and blaming it on work. The fact is I can’t face her after that messed up dream I had of the NICU. The woman she was in my dream that night is like nothing I have ever seen. That woman was ferocious and a mess. Real and authentic. The woman Elizabeth Miller is today is none of those things.

  I heave myself up off my mattress and make quick work of my messy clothes, tossing a load in the laundry and putting away the ones that I’m pretty sure are clean. Busy work is what I need right now. Mindless tasks to keep my mind off whatever it is that I seem to be trying to work through in my REM cycles.

  After a boiling hot shower, I’m feeling mildly human again. I rub some lotion into my ink stained arms and throw on a clean Taint tank and jean shorts. After a miserable night of sleep, the last thing I want to do is work at Club Taint tonight. But I’m slated for a full bartending shift and I can’t let Frank down. I’ve worked eight shifts in a row now and my dogs are barking at me for a break. Marisa’s words about living echo in my head and I know that calling in would only smother all the progress I’ve made so far.

  I hop off at my Tube stop, making my way to the doors of Club Taint. Night has fallen and it’s drizzling rain. Again. London seems to always be crying. I cross my bare arms over my chest in an attempt to protect myself from the cool rain.

  “Rey,” a voice calls from somewhere in the distance.

  Glancing over, I see Liam emerge from the side alley across the street. I stop and slick the hair of my topknot with the newly added moisture.

  “Liam, what are you doing here?”

  He stops right in front of me and stuffs his hands into his denim pockets. His face is squinting against the light rain and I can already feel little hairs clinging to my cheeks.

  “I wanted to catch you before your shift,” he answers, his voice deep and purposeful.

  “How did you know when I was working tonight?”

  He tweaks his brows knowingly. “How do you think?”

  Frank and Beans! What a mouth he has on him. I guess that protective friend vibe he gave off yesterday was all just an act.

  “I’m sorry how last night went down, Rey. I wanted to talk to you seriously, but everything went a little haywire. I think I got spooked.”

  I sigh and lick my lips thoughtfully. “Just leave it, Liam. All of this is too hard. Maybe catching up is a bad idea.”

  “Give me one weekend,” he chokes out suddenly.

  “What?” I ask, blinking rapidly against the mist. “The weekend! What happened to tea?”

  “I’m asking for one weekend, Rey. Surely you can grant me that.” He’s rocking back on his heels nervously.

  “Why would I grant you anything?” I groan out. Gosh, all of this seems intense. So deep and twisted and confusing. The last time Liam and I had a real, genuine conversation I was screaming at him to stay out of my life.

  “Because, Rey.” He leans down to lock his eyes on mine. They flash briefly to my matte red lips. “You and I used to be friends. Once upon a time you used to be kind. Sweet. Funny even, in your own rude, dry way. We were friends. No matter how much you want to diminish that or pretend that it was only you and Marisa, I was there too. I was there for nearly a year, watching you live. I know you. And you know I know you. I want a weekend.”

  His speech floors me, but it doesn’t change anything. “Liam, it’s just too painful and it doesn’t change anything.”

  “I know it doesn’t change anything. That’s why I want a weekend. A weekend to prove to you that we can be friends again. I miss you, Rey. I miss our friendship. I miss your smart mouth. Please.”

  He puckers his lips the same way he did in grad school when he was concentrating hard on something. His eyes look so hope
ful that I can hardly believe it when I ask, “When?”

  His face lights up. “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? I have to work.”

  “Frank owes me a favor,” he replies hurriedly.

  “Where would we even go?”

  “My parents have a place in Cambridge. We’ll have it all to ourselves.” His tone is rushed. He’s been thinking on this for a while.

  “Cambridge? But you’re an Oxford boy!”

  “I know,” he huffs with a laugh. “It pissed off my father so much when I told them I was going there.” His grin is devilishly proud.

  I push my wet strands back from my face, returning his smile. “But I thought you were a good boy.”

  His grin disappears. “Even good boys know how to be bad sometimes.”

  My stomach swirls at the intensity behind his words. So few words have ever said so much. “Just friends though, right?”

  “‘Course. Friends.”

  What in the bloody hell did I agree to? A weekend? A whole weekend with Liam Darby? How do I even pack for something like this? I mindlessly stuff random clothing into a duffle bag and forget what I’m doing only to look down to see that nothing I’ve packed even remotely resembles something wearable. I jog into the bathroom and begin tossing toiletries into a sack and bring that out, shoving it in with the mess of mismatched clothes.

  “Oh fuck this,” I say and head to the kitchen, ripping open my fridge and finding a half empty bottle of white wine. After smelling it and deciding it must be safe, I take a cooling sip. “Holy shit!” I cry out, looking accusingly at the wine. I run to the sink and dump the remaining wine down the sink. It didn’t taste bad, but it tasted like a huge mistake.

  Wiping my moist chin, I shake my head as I recall exactly how I felt the night Liam came over to show me the engagement ring he bought for Marisa. “I drank a whole bottle that night and look how that turned out. That’s not what this weekend is about. I can’t be repeating my mistakes. I can’t.”

  Needing some air, I pull open the kitchen floor-length window and step out onto my small wrought iron balcony. All that sits out here is a metal chair and a flower pot of dirt where Hayden’s cigarette butts lie. I hunch over, holding onto the railing and take in large gulps of air. “Get a grip, Reyna!”

  “Or just get out of your head and get down here!” a voice calls from below. I look down and see Liam standing at my building entrance. He’s dressed in a pair of gray shorts and a light gray plaid shirt. A large backpack rests at his feet.

  “I’m not sure I’m feeling well enough for a weekend away, Liam. Maybe another time,” I croak out and smile painfully down at him. I’m not even on my way there and already towing the line of a full blown panic attack.

  “You’re just getting squirrely like you always do.” Liam shakes his head knowingly. “Rey, there won’t be another time. I’m asking you to do this. Now.”

  Throwing my hands on my hips I reply, “Now or never? Is that seriously what you’re saying?”

  “I’m saying that I’m not going to wait down here forever.” His voice has a finality to it that scares me.

  I nod shakily and pull my hand up to my mouth to chew on a hangnail. “I’m coming. Stop griping at me, would ya?”

  I hear him chuckling as I move back into my flat to grab my bag and purse. Curiosity over how Liam is takes precedence and evidently my mind is choosing now over never. Striding out of my apartment, I feel suddenly foolish over him witnessing my little meltdown on my balcony.

  When I walk outside, Liam smiles brightly at me. “Can we pretend that didn’t happen?” I ask shoving the sleeves up on my red, lumber jack shirt.

  “Don’t even know what you’re moaning about. You look great, by the way,” he says as he leans in and kisses me on the cheek. When he pulls away he reaches for my bag.

  “I can carry my own bag.”

  “I know,” he says and takes it anyway. He struggles for a moment as he slips his backpack on and throws my bag over his shoulder.

  “You look ridiculous.”

  “I just said you look great and that’s what you’ve got for me?” I nod simply and he grins. “Nice to know some things haven’t changed.”

  The gleam in his eyes is so familiar that I can’t help but feel calmer as we make our way to Victoria Station. We grab the eleven o’clock train to Cambridge. It’s an unusually sunny day and it has everyone in London busting out the tank tops and shorts and looking extra chipper.

  Sitting across from him on the train, I watch Liam as he places an order for two coffees from the snack cart. I take the opportunity to inspect every little thing that’s changed about him since Oxford. His blond hair is longer now and he wears it in a stylized mess on top of his head. In college he did that slicked, swept over look that was so trendy at the time. Back then it looked like he was probably trying too hard to look like an Oxford boy instead of just being himself.

  The way he is now is decidedly sexier. His morning five o’clock shadow is darker than the hair on his head. It gives him a mature look that I can’t blame the cart attendant for noticing when he speaks to her. He hands me my cup and we sit in comfortable silence, listening to the hum of the people chatting around us and taking in the English countryside.

  About the only thing that hasn’t changed on Liam are his eyes. They’re a gorgeous deep brown, but it’s not the color that draws you in. It’s how they look at you. His gaze has this way of penetrating through all of your secrets. Then he does that thing where he glances down at your lips and a simple look turns into a sexual thrill coursing up your spine.

  After a while, we begin smirking knowingly at each other. It’s odd the comfort I feel with him already. In grad school, we always did have a certain undeniable connection. I wouldn’t say it was sexual…just synced. Like he could hear me and I could hear him and we never had to say a word out loud. Neither of us would ever admit it to anyone, though. It was this private secret we shared.

  After he catches me staring at him again, I finally break the silence. “How didn’t I know your parents had a house in Cambridge?”

  He pauses mid sip and begins coughing. “Erm…about that.”

  “What?” My eyes widen with alarm.

  “Nothing to fear. It’s just…well…I may have exaggerated when I said they had a cottage. You’ll see.” He’s smirking and watching me out of the corner of his eye as I mull the possibilities over in my head.

  With everything that’s happened since Marisa, I thought things would feel awkward…different. But they don’t. They feel natural. Fun even.

  When we finally reach our stop, Liam hails a cab outside the train station and gives the driver the address. I slide in, chewing my lip nervously. I’ve been to Cambridge a few times before and it’s stunning, but we seem to be heading away from the city center. In only a few moments we’re driving right alongside the River Cam. The cabby takes a few sharp turns and we pull back into a secluded, private mooring. A decent sized hunter green houseboat rests just off a small dock.

  “What are we doing?” I ask, confusion marring my face.

  “This is it,” Liam tweaks his eyebrows playfully and leaps out of the cab.

  My jaw drops as I take in the scenery around me more fully. It’s an exquisite, isolated little piece of property. No homes or neighbors within eyesight. A weeping willow rests in the center of the large grassy lot. Alongside the moor is a quaint garden house. I hop out for a better view and I about gasp when a flock of swans swim past us down the river.

  “Is this all your property?”

  “My parent’s property, but the boat is mine. She’s not sea-worthy yet, but she’s more comfortable than the majority of hotels, I can promise you that.”

  Liam pays the driver and grabs our bags, gesturing with his head for me to follow him. The smell of field roses permeates the air as we walk past the garden house. It’s a gorgeously designed, three-season shed of some sort. Large, overflowing pots of pink flowers line the decent siz
ed wooden deck attached to it. Old, period French doors are propped wide open inviting you in to a brightly designed interior. The inside walls are painted a bright turquoise with various empty frames hung crookedly throughout. It’s bursting with charm. Two cushioned patio chairs are nestled amongst several more clay pots of greenery and produce plants.

  We pass by the building and step onto a wooden dock. He hops down into the boat and sets our bags down. He then turns and holds his hand out to me with a bright, boyish smile. I reach out and tentatively take the first step when his other hand wraps around my waist and pulls me down the length of his body all the way to the wooden boat floor. He continues to hold me as he looks into my eyes with a salacious grin that says so much and yet nothing at the same time.

  “Thanks,” I murmur and pull away from him, denying that familiar spark of attraction.

  “Let me show you inside,” he says, twining his fingers with mine.

  Ignoring my inner turmoil over whatever feelings are reigniting, I let him pull me through the wide-open deck of the boat toward two wooden doors. He spins a code on the lock and pushes the sliders open to reveal a plush and welcoming living area.

  “It’s bigger in here than I expected,” I say, walking past him and stepping inside.

  The décor is all creams and browns and wicker accents with pops of Aztec-colored rugs and throw pillows. A long, comfortable-looking oak-trimmed couch rests on one wall. Across from it is a brown leather chaise. Past the seating area is an attractive kitchen with glossy wooden counter tops and stainless steel appliances. A separate island rests in the center with two wicker barstools.

  “This is ridiculous!” I say and continue through the kitchen into a narrow hallway, passing a small bathroom. “It even has a tub!” I exclaim and hear Liam’s laugh close behind me.

  I turn to find him watching me with wide, excited eyes. He’s proud. He’s proud of his houseboat. He should be. It’s stunning. I continue my perusal past the bathroom and find myself standing in front of a large king sized mattress with several colorful throw pillows scattered over a lush, white duvet. Three round porthole windows are above the head of the bed.