Smitten by the Brit--A Sometimes in Love Novel

by Melonie Johnson

  “Who are you supposed to be?” Bonnie took a closer look at the get-up Theo was presently sporting and smiled. Maybe he wasn’t a prince, but he looked like someone noble … “A duke?”

  He breathed in sharply. “Pardon?”

  “Your costume.” She gestured at the formal sash and medallion decorating his chest. “I’m guessing Orsino, maybe? From Twelfth Night?”

  “Oh, right. Orsino. Exactly.” He exhaled, shoulders visibly relaxing beneath the tailored cut of his coat. “If music be the food of love…”

  “Play on.” She finished the line, beaming up at him. Their eyes met, and just as she had last summer, Bonnie felt an irresistible pull. Well, not literally irresistible—she had managed to resist him, after all. Faithful to her fiancé, Bonnie might not be able to control how her body reacted to the dashing Brit, but she could control what she did about it. Which was nothing.

  She pulled back, breaking their gaze and pushing another wayward curl out of her face. “Can you guess who I am?”

  “Hmm,” he murmured, “I’d wager on Ophelia.” He looked her over slowly from floral-crowned head to slippered feet. “Going for the Millais version, I see.”

  “Very good.” He knew Millais? Impressive. Cute and smart. Oh, her willpower was going to get a workout tonight.

  “You like Millais’s work?” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.

  “No, I love his work. And Waterhouse too.” She sighed and accepted the handkerchief, dabbing at the alcohol soaking the bodice of her dress. A memory flashed through her. “I once tried to recreate his painting of The Lady of Shallot.”

  “You paint?”

  “No.” She laughed. “Not well, anyway. I acted it out. I’d read about a girl doing that in a book and wanted to give it a try.” It wasn’t the first or the last time Bonnie tried to copy a scene from Anne of Green Gables. She believed Anne Shirley to be her literary doppelgänger and cast her best friend, Cassie, as Anne’s bosom buddy, Diana Barry. Luckily, unlike the boat Anne borrows from Diana in the book, the inflatable raft Bonnie borrowed from Cassie hadn’t sprung a leak.

  Theo shook his head. “What is it with you and watery tarts?”

  “Are you quoting Monty Python at me?”

  He pulled a serious face. “I’m simply concerned about your apparent obsession with strange women lying in ponds.”

  She tittered. Oh God, she actually tittered. Bonnie winced. She dropped her gaze and dabbed harder at the dark stain spreading across the front of her dress. “The painting is so beautiful, so ethereal … even a copy of it in a book brings the magic of Tennyson’s poem to life. I wanted to live that magic.” She was rambling but couldn’t seem to stop. Her brain went on sabbatical whenever the Brit was near. That’s it, Ophelia, time to get thee to a nunnery.

  “They are beautiful,” he murmured.

  She glanced up to find him staring at her chest.

  “Excuse me?” Bonnie stopped dabbing. Was he talking about her breasts?

  “Did you see them at the Tate?” His blue eyes met hers, coal black brows arched with polite curiosity. “When you were in London last summer?”

  The paintings. Right. She shook her head. “We did the Victoria and Albert Museum instead.”

  “Shame.” He sounded truly disappointed. “There’s another Millais at the Tate, of a different Tennyson poem. Based on one of Shakespeare’s comedies. Do you know the one I mean?”

  “Please,” she scoffed. “Is this a quiz? Mariana, from Measure for Measure.” She handed him back his handkerchief, now a little worse for wear. “Though I could never think of that play as a comedy.”

  “The lady knows Shakespeare, poets, painters … and even Monty Python.” He blew a soft whistle. “My, you are quite cultured for an American.”

  A hum of awareness threaded through her, and she tamped it down. “Are you complimenting me or insulting my country?”

  He didn’t reply, but the corners of his mouth curled with amusement, one dimple coming out to play.

  The backs of her knees immediately began to prickle again. Damn it. Why couldn’t the Brit have stayed on his side of the pond? “What brings you to Chicago? Aside from visiting your Scottish bestie, that is.”

  “Speaking of, where is the devil? He was supposed to meet me here.” Theo glanced around the packed room.

  Bonnie didn’t miss how he’d avoided answering her question. The evasive maneuver reminded her she still had no idea what Theo did for a living. He’d been very secretive about his job when they’d first met him in London. At the time, Cassie had even teased Theo about being a spy. Bonnie narrowed her eyes, considering. The man did drive a car that looked like something straight out of an old James Bond film. She leaned closer and whispered, “Are you here on a mission?”

  He stepped back, blue eyes going wide, in confusion or surprise, Bonnie wasn’t sure. Her breath caught. She’d been kidding, but could he really be a secret agent?

  “Bonnie! There you are!” Cassie glided through the crowd. “Where have you been?” She came to an abrupt halt. “And what the hell happened to your dress?”

  “That was my fault,” Theo confessed, adorable in his guilt. “Terribly sorry.”

  Cassie paused in her survey of the damage to Bonnie’s bodice. “Theo?” she asked, doing a double take as she recognized the man standing behind Bonnie. “Hey!” She pulled him in for a quick hug, then added, “No offense, but what are you doing here?”

  Exactly what I want to know. Bonnie joined her friend in staring up at the Brit.

  Theo swallowed, clearly flustered and looking more adorable than ever.

  Before he could muster an answer, Logan joined them, drinks in hand. “Theo! How’s my best man?”

  That’s right. Bonnie should have made the connection before. As Logan’s best friend, of course Theo would be the Scot’s best man. But that still didn’t explain why he was here in Chicago right now. While the two men exchanged greetings, Bonnie pulled Cassie aside. “Why didn’t you tell me Theo was coming tonight?”

  “Obviously because I didn’t know.” Cassie paused, dark eyes assessing. “Is there a problem?”

  “Of course not.” Bonnie glanced down, avoiding her best friend’s shrewd gaze. She couldn’t hide anything from Cassie. She swiped at the stain on her bodice and muttered dramatically, “Out, damned spot! Out, I say!”

  “Hey, that’s my line.” Cassie laughed, then stopped and looked to Bonnie for confirmation. “It is, right?”

  “Yes, that’s Lady Macbeth’s line.” Bonnie agreed, grateful her distraction had worked. “Look, I really should head home.”

  “What about your Manhattan?” Cassie gestured at the martini glass Logan was holding.

  Bonnie shook her head. A third cocktail no longer seemed like such a good idea. “Since I’m wearing Theo’s drink, let him have mine.” She braced herself, expecting an argument.

  But Cassie only sighed. “If you say so.” She bent her head closer. “But don’t think I don’t know why you’re escaping. And you’re not off the hook. While he’s in town, I’d like us all to get together. You know, chat about fun wedding prep stuff.”

  “Sure,” Bonnie promised, but not even her theatre degree was enough to help dredge up a convincing smile at the mention of fun wedding prep stuff. Still. She loved her friend and she was happy for her. She hugged Cassie tight and said her goodbyes to the guys.

  “You’re not off so soon?” Theo asked, frowning. “Alone?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She bristled, simultaneously annoyed and charmed by the Brit’s masculine show of chivalric chauvinism. “I do manage to go about the city by myself on a regular basis.”

  “Of course. I didn’t mean to imply—” He broke off, abashed. His palpable discomfort made the scales dip alarmingly toward the charming side.

  “Yes, well. This Ophelia needs to get home to her Hamlet.” She emphasized the last bit, a reminder for herself as much as anyone else. “It was nice to see
you again, Theo,” she said, stiffly polite, praying he wouldn’t smile at her again. She wasn’t sure her knees could withstand another potent blast from those magic dimples.

  CHAPTER 2

  ON THE TRAIN home, Bonnie tucked herself into a corner seat and ignored the strange looks the other passengers shot her way. Nobody bothered her, though. This might not be LA or NYC, where girls in flowing gowns and floral headdresses riding public transportation likely wouldn’t raise an eyebrow, but this was Chicago, where people minded their own damn business.

  As Bonnie walked the block from the L station to her apartment in Printer’s Row, the wind from the lake picked up. She shivered. The cloak she wore looked great with her costume but didn’t offer much warmth.

  Though it was spring, the nights could still get quite cold. Snow in April was unwelcome but not unusual. She decided she’d make hot cocoa when she got home. The good kind, with steamed milk, like Gabe liked it. Maybe she’d whip up a batch of gingerbread too. While it was in the oven, she could finish grading the papers she’d been procrastinating on all week. Bonnie smiled, warmed by the cozy scene. She’d curl up on the sofa, and when Gabe got back from his meeting, he could join her for a snuggle, and things would be perfect.

  The moment Bonnie entered her apartment, she knew things were not perfect. Not perfect at all. Her first hint something was wrong was the dress lying on her couch. Bonnie frowned; she didn’t own anything in that color. She hated that color. A bright pink, it would clash horribly with her red hair. She set her cloak down. As she bent to pick up the curious article of clothing, a series of muffled noises echoed from down the hall.

  Bonnie straightened. Numb fingers gripping the suspicious fabric, her mind seemed to separate from her body, floating above her as she shuffled, like a sleepwalker, in the direction of her bedroom. Pushing the door open, Bonnie caught sight of her fiancé’s bare backside. She froze, transfixed in horrid fascination as she watched Gabe’s pale behind move up and down while he thrust into a woman—a naked woman who looked vaguely familiar—not that Bonnie could tell much from this angle.

  The woman was lying on the bed, moaning and gripping the quilted comforter. A strangled sound escaped Bonnie, and her hands went limp, the dress falling to the floor. Her grandmother had made that quilt. Bonnie closed her eyes, shutting out the awful scene.

  Candlelight flickered against her eyelids, and her brain slammed back into her body, white-hot anger and burning shame fusing thought and feeling together. She’d bought those candles herself, had spent more than an hour in a little boutique on Belmont, agonizing over which scents were less likely to give Gabe a headache, as he complained her candles often did. It was why she’d gone to that damn boutique in the first place; she thought the pricy candles with fancier ingredients might bother him less.

  Well, screw him. She hoped he got a monster of a headache.

  Bonnie opened her eyes and forced herself to look back at the bed. Her bed, the one she had brought from home to avoid spending money on new furniture, since keeping pace with Gabe’s education debt was already eating up so much of their budget.

  The bonking couple still hadn’t noticed her standing in the doorway. Obviously, more important things demanded their immediate attention.

  Rage trembled in Bonnie’s fingers and toes, raced up her legs, her arms, her spine, finally gathering in a red-hot ball of fury pounding at the base of her skull. She stepped across the threshold of her bedroom, and despite the trembling of her vocal cords, roared with the power of a former theatre major who could deliver skeins of iambic pentameter with scarcely a breath between stanzas.

  “WHAT.”

  “THE.”

  “HELL?”

  Her fiancé stuttered to a halt mid-thrust and looked over his shoulder, eyes widening, first in surprise and then unmistakable terror. He released the hips of the woman underneath him. As he stepped back, the details of the scene slammed into Bonnie, a sickening kaleidoscope of images that made her want to puke.

  Swallowing bile, she looked away, attention snagging on the gleam of light bouncing off a silver nail file resting on the dresser. She crossed the room and curled her fingers around the cold metal, filled with a bone-deep understanding of what drove a woman to chop off her husband’s dick with the nearest sharp object. And Gabe wasn’t even her husband. Just her fiancé. Just her boyfriend for more than a decade.

  Gabe instinctively placed his hands over his crotch. “Bonnie,” he said, his tone cautious, eyes on the nail file. “Bonnie, you don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  Her heart splintered, and his voice slipped between the cracks. She’d known that voice most of her life, been in love with the owner of it for more than half. Bonnie swiped a fist across her cheeks. “I think it’s a little late to be talking about not hurting people, don’t you?”

  A sob escaped her, but as she took him in, standing there stark naked and stock still, with his hands hovering over his junk, the sob turned into a bubble of hysterical laughter. She set the would-be weapon down and twisted the sparkling band of gold on the fourth finger of her left hand.

  Gabe stepped forward. “Bonnie, wait. We can talk about this.”

  The skin on her knuckle tore as she ripped the engagement ring off her finger. “You two can talk about whatever you want.” She tossed the ring onto the bed, narrowly missing the woman who sat there, mutely staring at the two of them, clutching Grandma’s quilt around her naked torso.

  “But there is no we, Gabe.” Bonnie stopped and swallowed back another sob as the weight of that statement settled on her shoulders. “Not anymore.” Before she lost control of herself again, she kicked the offending pile of pink out of her way and exited the room.

  Her cloak lay on the couch where she’d left it what felt like a lifetime ago. Low murmurs came from the bedroom. Her stomach churned. Hearing them talk to each other was somehow almost as bad as seeing them fuck. Bonnie quickly pulled her keys and phone from the cloak’s pockets. Focused on escape, she grabbed a warmer coat from the hall closet, along with her purse, and fled the apartment.

  Outside, the spring wind tore at the flowers in her hair. She yanked the floral crown off her head and started walking, with no plan or purpose other than to get as far away from her apartment as fast as possible. She passed under streetlamp after streetlamp, not thinking of where she was headed beyond the next circle of light.

  As she walked, she began to tug at the flowers in her crown.

  He loves me. He loves me not.

  Petals floated on the wind behind her, leaving a delicate trail of dashed hopes and shattered dreams in her wake.

  He loves me. He loves me not.

  Reaching the end of another block, Bonnie paused. She held up the tattered stem of the last flower, examining the fragile beauty of the lone remaining petal. Fingers now stiff from the cold, she plucked it.

  He loves me.

  She dropped the naked stem, cradling the last petal in her palm. He loves me?

  A sense of awareness crept over her, and with a start, she realized the wind had shifted, the air growing heavy with the promise of rain. As she glanced around the deserted street corner and gathered her bearings, fat icy drops began to fall, pinging off the concrete and stinging her skin.

  She tilted her palm and let the wind catch the petal, watching as it rose higher in the night sky, dancing away from her, into the swirling eddies of the spring storm.

  He … loved me.

  CHAPTER 3

  THEO TWIRLED THE cherry stem in his glass. Prissy cocktails weren’t his preference, but shame to let good alcohol go to waste. And despite the syrupy sweetness, the drink had been made with high quality whisky and had a nice edge to it. Figures. Logan ordered it, and the Scot never skimped on the booze.

  “Bonnie left in quite the hurry.” Blast. He took a long pull on his drink. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t dwell on the redhead, and not five minutes had passed since she’d vacated the premises before he couldn’t resist men
tioning her in conversation.

  Logan shot him a knowing smirk over the rim of his pint.

  Bugger off, mate, Theo silently shot back. He had better manners than to say it aloud, especially in the company of a lady. He turned to his best friend’s lovely bride-to-be. “I hope she’s not under the weather?”

  “Bonnie?” Cassie frowned, delicate features creasing in concern. “I don’t think so.” Her face relaxed, and she shrugged. “She’s just got a lot on her mind.”

  “Right,” Theo agreed, ignoring the sudden sharp prickles in his gut. “The wedding.”

  “We really didn’t have a chance to talk about my wedding tonight,” Cassie said.

  “I meant her wedding. Isn’t Bonnie also engaged?” Theo bit down, trapping his tongue inside his mouth before he blurted out anything else.

  Beside him, a very Gaelic snort escaped Logan.

  Theo turned to his friend. “Pardon?”

  The Scot shrugged. “Well, that’s the problem. She hasna got a wedding to plan for yet.”

  The prickling in his gut intensified. “Sorry?”

  Logan shook his head. “Her lad won’t settle on a date.” He leaned toward Theo. “If you ask me, the wanker’s got a case o’ cold feet.”

  “Nobody’s asking you.” Cassie poked her fiancé in the ribs. “I’m sure Theo didn’t come all the way from England to gossip about Bonnie.” Her dark eyes flashed as she glared up at Logan. “By the way, why didn’t you mention he was going to be here tonight?”

  “I only found out yesterday, lass.” Logan held his palms up. “I swear.”

  Cassie looked to Theo for confirmation, and he nodded. “It’s true. I sent him a text when I was boarding my flight.”

  “Aye. And when Theo asked if we were free this evening, I told him we already had plans, but I’d nip him a ticket.”

  “I see.” She tapped her foot with feminine disapproval. “Yet somehow it slipped your mind to tell me?”

  “It slipped my mind, lass,” Logan purred, moving closer to Cassie, “because I was busy slipping something else inside your—”