Late Love
Scarlett Hopper
Copyright © 2020 by Scarlett Hopper
Cover Design © 2020 by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Formatted by Brenda Wright, Formatting Done Wright
Edited by Nicole Mentges Nam Editorial
Table of Contents
Playlist
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Books by Scarlett
Porcelain by Moby
In My Arms by Kylie Minogue
Sea of Love by Cat Power
Bare Bones by Rainbow Kitten Surprise
ILYSB by LANY
Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
Here Comes the Rain Again by Eurythmics
Pull Me Down by Mikky Ekko
Toledo by Elvis Costello
Believer by Imagine Dragons
I Need My Girl by The National
Fancy by Iggy Azalea
Farther Figure by George Michael
Million Reasons by Lady Gaga
Lover, You Should’ve Come Over by Jeff Buckley
Hands Clean by Alanis Morrissette
After The Storm by Mumford & Sons
Tears Dry On Their Own by Amy Winehouse
Somewhere Only We Know by Lily Allen
Fade by Egyptian
For my B
Early July 2018
I count out the wad of bills, each of them eventually leading up to two hundred pounds. The man in front of me looks at the cash, probably annoyed I’m making sure it’s all there. His scent of stale tobacco and beer fills the small flat, but I say nothing. In fact, I’d love it if the scent lingered long after he was gone, long after I’m gone too.
But I doubt I’ll be so lucky.
“You sure you’re okay with parting with all this for two hundred quid? I mean, it must have cost you at least nine hundred.”
It was nearly two thousand, but I don’t tell him that.
His deep voice yanks me away from my counting, and I pocket the cash into my skintight black jeans, hoping he paid in full. To be honest, I don’t really care if he didn’t. This transaction is a symbolic act more than anything; I won’t even keep the money. Bobby the homeless man on the corner could use it more than me. Hell, maybe the two of us could grab a pint before my departure.
“Lass?”
I’m pulled out of my tangled thoughts, my attention redirected to the big burly Kevin. Wait, is that his name? Maybe it’s Cullum. Who knows at this point? It honestly doesn’t matter. After today I won’t see him or anyone in this town again. I guess I should feel sad. Edinburgh isn’t a bad place, and I’ve even come to love it over the past six months I’ve lived here. Too bad it took one night to taint the entire thing.
“Sorry,” I quickly reply, trying to sound attentive. “No, it’s honestly no problem. I’m moving soon anyway and can’t keep it.”
He nods, his long salt-and-pepper beard moving up and down with his face. “Well, I guess it’s my luck then to stumble upon your ad. Whereabouts are you moving to?”
“London,” I reply, hoping we can move this all along so I can continue to pack. Kevin or whatever his name is genuinely seems curious, his attention not causing me discomfort, but if it did, I’d have no issue pulling out the pepper spray I keep nearby.
“I can hear that classy accent of yours. You’re definitely a London girl, although I have to say you don’t look too posh.” He chuckles to himself, as if it’s some big revelation that my tattoos, combat boots, and jeans aren’t exactly blue-blooded.
I squint at him, not sure how to respond.
“Now I see why I’m getting such a deal.” I know what he’s implying, that I come from money so I don’t need money, but that’s not the full case. Sure, my parents have money, but I’ve been independent from them for years.
“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” I lie, “but packing calls.”
He quickly grabs the TV and I pick up the stereo, then walk him to his car so I can continue to get my things together. He carefully places all Beck’s shit in the backseat.
“You have a good day, lass,” he says, rounding the car and pulling open the creaky driver’s-side door. The car jolts as he jumps into the driver’s seat, a shit-eating grin on his face.
I give a half-hearted wave before retreating into the flat.
I look at the empty TV stand, the space where the stereo went next to it, also bare.
He is going to lose his shit.
A smirk double the size of Kevin’s overtakes my face.
I don’t have to wait long for the reaction, because an hour later I’m sitting in our living room, boots propped up against his coffee table, my Betsy Johnson suitcase at my side, when he comes home. I’ve made sure to have my makeup done, bleached hair straight, just resting upon my shoulders.
My eyes are locked on the front door when he enters, his hair disheveled and some slight stubble growing on his chin. It’s unfortunate he’s so pretty and has a fit body to match, because his personality is probably the worst fucking thing in the world. His eyes are laced with deception and his lips tainted with venom. Every kiss, every promise he’s made me over the past year has been a lie. While I changed my entire life for him, moved countries and left my friends and family, he’s been fucking some whore down the road.
“Lottie,” he says, taken aback when he sees me, probably because he assumed I’d be at work. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that his ruffled collar and ruffled hair are the result of his latest girl.
Since I found out about his little rendezvous over two weeks ago, I’ve been avoiding him like the plague, taking more shifts at work and planning my escape back home. Sure, I might have had a slight slip-up and slept with him the other night after an entire bottle of whiskey, but what can I say, I was so blind drunk it could have been anyone. Seeing his smug face the next morning was the stark wake-up I needed to get my ass into gear. I knew instantly I had to get out this week.
I smile at him, and it’s completely calculated and probably slightly deranged, but that’s the point.
“Lottie?” He squints at me before finally looking around the room. When he spots the missing TV, I can see the wheels churning in his mind. Beck knows how I am—hell, we’ve been together over two years. That’s why I’m so shocked he didn’t expect me to retaliate earlier. I live by extreme emotions and I’m highly loyal, to the point of blindness clearly, but this past week has a
lso taught me I’m highly reactive too. Hence all his sold electronics.
“Lottie, what the fuck did you do?” he yells, spit flying out of his mouth.
I unhook my legs, the studs on my boots clicking together. Standing tall, I look him directly in the eye.
“Well, Beck, I sold them.”
His face distorts, crimson overtaking it in patches. “What do you mean you sold them?”
“Let’s just call them payment for emotional damages.” I lift my suitcase handle up, beginning my retreat from the living room, from this life.
Beck pulls at the strands of his hair, looking around as if everything might somehow reappear.
“You crazy fucking bitch!” he screams in my face as I walk by him. I stay neutral, not responding his reaction, which only furthers his anger.
“What, you’re pissed I cheated on you? And so you fucking sell my shit. Wow, so fucking mature, Lottie.”
“Goodbye, Beck,” I tell him, not giving in to the plethora of swear words I want to hurl at him. I already did that when I found out. You see, I’ve never been one to contain my anger well; my dad always called me a firecracker for a reason. But today feels different. Selling the stuff we got together when we moved here, the stuff I didn’t want to waste thousands of pounds on but he insisted on having, the stuff that because I loved him, I gave in about… Selling all that shit was liberating, if I’m being honest.
“You better get it back, Lottie. I fucking mean it!”
He reaches out to grab me, but I shake his hand off. Beck is a lot of things, an arsehole being the first, but I know he wouldn’t get violent with me. I just don’t want him near me because his touch repulses me.
I walk out of the flat, feeling overly pleased with myself as I hear Beck screaming in the flat about his precious belongings. Sure, some could say this is cold, illegal even, but I consider it compensation for how epically he’s fucked up my life over the past six months, and for the two extra years of my time he wasted.
“Fuck you, Beck!” I yell out merrily, voice filled with cheer as I spot the cab out front, ready to take me back home to London.
I guess it’s true what they say: revenge is a dish best served cold.
I pace around my Notting Hill flat, looking for anything to keep me occupied until it’s time for me to pick up Emilia at her place. The blank cream walls practically scream for some color, but since I’ve been back, the only thing I’ve been able to do is trash the floors with my mess of clothes. I guess most people would tidy up, considering it looks like a small grenade exploded in my bedroom, but I can’t be fucked. Why clean all that mess up if I’m just going to destroy it again tomorrow? I guess that’s probably the wrong way to look at things, but oh well.
I laugh thinking about what Stana, my cousin, would think of the way I’ve left the place in less than a month since I’ve been back. I’ve had this apartment for three years, and not once was it as clean and sparkling as it was when she moved in at the beginning of the year. But then again, I wasn’t here to mess it up.
How so much has changed in seven months.
Relationships ended, some started, new friendships, some old.
It’s been a roller coaster, that’s for damn sure. When I left this very apartment and moved with my then-boyfriend, Beck, to Edinburgh, I never thought I’d end up right back here in less than a year. I also never expected the lad I thought was my future to have been cheating on me for the last year of our relationship.
But I guess that’s life, isn’t it? I also never thought I’d convince Stana to leave her life back in LA and move to London, but here I am, wrong again. The girl packed up in January and came to London, then took care of my flat for me while I was away—that is, until six weeks ago forces back in LA pulled her in again, leading her back there.
But tonight, she’s finally coming home. Emilia, Stana’s first friend in London and the sister of Stana’s boyfriend, Alistair, is helping me pick up Stana in less than an hour. To say I’m excited is the world’s biggest understatement. Plus, we may or may not have some surprises for Stana up our sleeves.
It’s been months since I’ve seen the girl, and well, I’ve managed to understand why she’s so desperate to get back here. The friends Stana made while I was in Edinburgh have so graciously welcomed me into the fold after everything in my life went south.
So, despite the horrific year filled with the world’s shittiest boyfriend and a traumatic life upheaval, twice, I have to say things could be worse. It’s better I know Beck is a lying, cheating tosser with good hair now rather than two years down the line. I’m only just twenty-five, and I’ve still got my entire life ahead of me to figure this shit out.
My mobile chimes and I realize that all my overthinking and reminiscing has in fact made me late to pick up Em from her place in Shoreditch.
Fuck!
I grab the black Valentino Rockstud purse my parents gave me for my birthday last year—I’ve never been one to own designer, but I’ve got to say, it’s fucking nice—and then I snatch up my hot-pink combat boots and hastily jam my feet into them. My fishnets get caught, almost tearing in the process, but thankfully we escape unscathed.
I don’t have time to do a double take in the mirror, just hoping my shoulder-length bleach-blonde hair isn’t sticking up in all different directions.
I spot the vintage Mercedes keys sitting on the side table, and my insides dance at the thought of driving this beauty. My parents have been living in France for the past three years, so they don’t exactly have a lot of use for the old car. I could possibly risk certain death if they find out I’ve driven it to collect Stana, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay.
I pull open the door to my flat and walk through the old building’s hallway, a slight smell of damp clinging to the air, yet as soon as the main door is opened, all is washed away. The dimly lit streets of Notting Hill greet me, the scent of brisk night air invading my nose.
My shoes ring out with each step on the paved sidewalk, tall black streetlamps illuminating my way and the grand white Victorian terraces surrounding me. All of it reminds me how much I’ve missed West London. I take a moment to myself, breathing in the familiarity and accepting the small moment of serenity before moving on. It’s time to bring Stana home.
I’m going to get our girl.
After a quick trip to the airport, Em and I force a confused Stana into Saint Street, the bar her boyfriend owns. To say the two of them need some alone time would be an understatement, and I know Stana—she wouldn’t have shown up without a push from Em and me. So that’s how I’ve ended up at the underground bar, music playing as happy patrons share drinks and laughter.
“I gotta say, we make a great team.” I grin at Em, thankful that our plan worked. After Stana’s abrupt exit from London last month, things between her and her boyfriend, Ali, were a bit up in the air. But from the look of the two of them slipping out of Saint Street, it is clear we’ve done a pretty good job.
I sip my mineral water, my poor stomach still upset from last night’s dinner. As much as I’d love to down a pint and call it a night, I just can’t. My back is sore as I lean into the wooden chair, wishing we’d secured one of the red velvet booths in the corner. Those have always been my favorite.
The décor at this place is one of the main factors that drew me to it years ago. Velvet booths line the walls with brown wooden tables in front, while small tables and chairs surround a stage the lads play at most Wednesday nights. But my absolute favorite thing has to be the bar. It’s big, it’s shiny, and it’s gold. Mirrored glass and top-shelf liquor. It’s like being transported back in time.
“We should be professional matchmakers,” she replies, cutting into my thoughts as her eyes scan the crowd and stop at the exit. I look up, then smile as Ali and Stana slip out together.
“Have you seen Reeve tonight?” I ask Emilia, giving the room a once-over to see if I can spot him.
“Seen him, yes. Spoken to him, that is a big fat
no. I just need time; I’ll get over it. I mean, I’m not the first girl to be told a guy isn’t interested in them. I’ll live.” Em looks away from me, her body language indifferent, but I don’t think she knows her acting skills aren’t exactly award winning. Anyone with a brain can see she’s waiting on a guy who might never come around. My heart breaks for her because even though I haven’t known her long, it doesn’t take much to see how great she is.
Not wanting her to feel bad, I nod, pretending I buy her story. Lord knows I don’t want to get into the nitty-gritty of my own failed relationships, so why should I push her into it?
“Ladies, what did you think of the show?”
Em turns around, flashing her teeth at the sound of the voice. I recognize him instantly, as I’ve seen him on Em’s Instagram from time to time. Big, tall, blond, he’s basically an Adonis. And he is so off limits for me. Don’t shit where you eat and all that jazz.
“Great as always, Owen,” Em replies before he looks my way. His gaze is penetrating, as if he’s opening me up in one sitting. So, of course, I shut that shit down.
“You seem great, but I’m not interested,” I quickly tell him, knowing I might be in for a rude comment or two before he fucks off. But lo and behold, he does something I didn’t expect.
He laughs.
“Quick and to the point, I like that. How about friendship? Interested in that?” His lips tilt upward, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and damn me to hell if it doesn’t make me crack a smile. Gotta give the man credit.
“One can never have too many friends,” he insists, raising those dark blond eyebrows.
I rake my gaze over him. “Sure, Owen. We can be friends.”
His grin only gets bigger, flashing those pearly whites at me. I’m sure it woos all the ladies, this gal not being one of them.
“We can be friends, but there is a condition,” he points out.
I raise my eyebrows. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
“It’s an important question, Lottie. I don’t know if you’re ready for it.”
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