‘I don’t want to be that guy.’
‘What guy?’ she mumbled, three-quarters asleep.
‘The one you regret.’
‘I’ve already had one of those.’ She struggled to hide the tremor in her voice.
‘I don’t want to be another.’
‘You’re not. You couldn’t be.’ She was teetering on the brink of saying something there’d be no coming back from. She didn’t want to go home. And if the things they’d both almost said – but hadn’t – during that unforgettable night at the opera were to be trusted, he didn’t want her to go either.
She’d woken up, face down on a pillow in the shadowy grey light of the Paris hotel suite, with the weight of Nick’s arm pressed possessively over the small of her back. The hardness and heat of his body next to hers sent pulses of desire skipping through her veins, waking every nerve ending.
His erection stirred against her now and she turned into him, feathering kisses across his chest. The antidote to a whole heap of rubbish, she planned to enjoy every last minute of him. Raising her head, she nipped at his jawline. His stubble gently grazed her skin. He rolled her over and held her beneath him, kissing her.
When he finally released her from their dazed fusion she whispered, ‘Lundi.’ Saying it in French didn’t change the fact that the last day had arrived and she’d have to face it being over.
He banded her in his hold, keeping her close. The contact, skin-to-skin, bewitched her. She hardly dared admit it, but being together with Nick had made her outrageously happy. She played the notion that this might not be the end in her head like the repetitive music she’d got when she’d dialled room service late last night to order breakfast and been put on hold. It felt good that she’d helped him battle his fear of heights. And she hoped he’d make a go of getting to know his daughter. She resolved to hold onto the happiness and not let in the possibility that they wouldn’t somehow be able to let this continue. She didn’t want to let him go because behind the sex bomb celeb there was a decent, likeable human being that she was undeniably in love with.
Nick checked the time on his phone and groaned. ‘I have to love you and leave you.’ In the stillness she admired the handsome silhouette of his profile, imprinting him on her memory. The words he plucked carelessly out of the half-light gave her hope.
‘Why so early?’
‘They want to grab the sunrise,’ he said. ‘Plus, no crowds. Less hassle.’
‘More romantic.’
‘I’m going to take a shower.’ He met her gaze. ‘Join me?’
Having unwrapped a condom on the way to the bathroom she slipped into the shower with him and water streamed over them like hot, heavy rain. A zing of anticipation sparked through her. She pressed her breasts against his back and feathered kisses across his shoulders sliding her hands between his arms and his body to reach down and feel his hardness. He moaned, turned to face her and gently, provocatively, slowly, she sheathed his gorgeous erection.
He lifted her, hands cupped under her bum, her legs gripped tight around him, and her breasts bounced softly against his smooth, wet chest. Heat flickered between her thighs and, her mind melting, her body frenzied with desire, all she wanted was to feel him deep inside and for it not to be the very last time. What were the chances that the dreamiest man alive could be hers to keep?
Only one way to find out. Say something.
‘I’m in love with you.’
Drenched in the spray of the rainfall shower he penetrated her deeply and she lost herself in his powerful hold. His thrusts were urgent but he held back, prolonging his desire to ensure she found her release. Her arms curved tight around his shoulders, the fingers of one hand entwined in the soft wet hair at back of his neck, her mouth devouring him. The heat between her legs smouldered. The pressure of him tight inside her sent sizzling sweet spirals unfurling through her body over and over again taking her tantalizingly higher until delectable ripples spun her out of control again, her umpteenth fabulous orgasm. In an instant of perfectly synchronized shared pleasure, he let go too, driving into her, thrusting in ecstasy.
This beautiful man was a part of her, a feeling so essential that she no longer knew who or what or where she was, only that she was with him, unable to contemplate letting him go.
Ready to leave, Nick came and found her sprawled on the velvet chaise longue in a bathrobe, devouring a croissant.
He poured himself half a cup of black coffee from the mini breakfast banquet left by room service. He drank it down in one gulp. The cup rattled as he set it back on its saucer.
‘You can come and watch if you’d like to. I’ll ask the photographer’s PA to look out for you.’
His parting kiss was so, so sweet. He seemed reluctant to leave, kissing her again, so, so slowly. He hadn’t reacted to what she’d said in the shower, but that was okay – she was getting better at handling unspoken feelings. With Nick, things left unsaid weren’t confusing and threatening like in her childhood. His silence didn’t faze her. She’d be patient, wait until he’d finished his shoot.
‘You’d really better go,’ she whispered. ‘Or you’ll be late.’
At last he moaned and broke away.
When he’d gone she poured a second cup of coffee and doubts began to sneak in. Was she being unrealistic hoping they could make this work with him in LA and her in Cornwall? With the best will in the world it seemed impossibly difficult. Yet the thought of ending something that felt so right made the idea of going back to Porthkara without a plan to see him again unthinkable – it felt like she’d be heading off into a wasteland. She forced herself to brighten up. He felt the same way. She was sure of it.
Excited to watch the shoot from the sidelines, she got ready quickly, hopping around the room in one shoe, searching for the other one and trying to remember where she’d left her bracelet. The clasp had been loose, she’d opened and closed it too much like the charms were worry beads. She prayed it hadn’t fallen off her wrist. Having found the missing shoe but not the bracelet she set off for the Eiffel Tower.
Total astonishment swamped her when she spotted Nick, looking like a billion dollars, dressed in a designer suit and sporting an incredibly high-style silver wristwatch. It felt peculiar seeing him whisperingly close to a supermodel she instantly recognized. She hadn’t expected there to be anyone else in the photos; he hadn’t mentioned it. He was surrounded by the photographer and her assistants. The sun was rising over the Champ de Mars bathing everything in still pink light.
After introducing herself to the PA, a sylphlike girl called Louise with dark, shiny bobbed hair, a clipboard and designer sunglasses, Layla asked, ‘They’re doing the shoot here? At ground level?’
Louise gave her a warm smile. ‘Of course,’ she replied with a slight shrug, ‘With la Tour Eiffel in the background. Where else?’
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘It’s just that Nick had the impression that you’d be doing the shoot up there.’ She flicked her gaze skyward.
‘I know. He’s got such a great sense of humour. He told us as soon as he arrived about his fear of heights and how he went up there yesterday. He was very funny about it. The rose in his teeth! The selfies! He called you his phobia-buster. But you needn’t have worried. The shoot was planned with the tower as the backdrop.’
The thought of Nick telling these strangers about their time together made her feel small, no more than a hilarious anecdote. There were only a handful of people around, mostly dog walkers with tiny, pampered pooches. Some stopped to watch briefly, got bored and wandered off. A couple of the passersby photographed Nick being photographed.
Apart from the restaurant and the patisserie he hadn’t been recognized, not openly. Seeing Nick looking like a star, stylish, professional, with a top French photographer and a team of people buzzing around him knocked her confidence. She didn’t know how to be a part of this scene. She might as well be one of the random curious onlookers.
She hung around for a while, staying well back, trying to look as aloof as the French PA, instead of awestruck. Rapidly her excitement had turned into a numb mix of heartache and detachment. Reality hit hard. She didn’t belong to Nick’s celebrity circle.
Too uncomfortable watching, pointlessly hanging about like a leftover cupcake at a birthday party, she approached Louise who was writing something on the clipboard in purple ink. ‘Excuse me.’ She hated the tense, sharp sound of her voice. A reaction to how down she was feeling inside, she’d lost her breeziness. ‘I’m going now. Please tell Nick I’ll see him back at the hotel.’
Louise smiled. ‘You can tell him yourself. Tu sais? You won’t be interrupting.’
Since it wouldn’t have bothered anyone, apparently, couldn’t he have broken away for a couple of seconds to say hi? Instead he’d blanked her into a state of uneasiness, surplus to requirements and ready to run away and hide.
She couldn’t help noticing Louise’s perfect turquoise nails exactly matched her biker jacket and she had a trendy tattoo that started just above her collar bone and snaked around the back of her neck.
Her stomach tightened. ‘I’d rather not,’ she replied quietly, ‘I’ll catch up with him later.’
‘You have plans? Sightseeing? Shopping?’
‘Not really. This might sound silly. But I’d like to go the Pont des Arts before I go home.’
Louise gave her a curious look. ‘The Lovers’ Bridge?’
‘To see the lovelocks,’ she explained.
With a nod she turned away. ‘I’ll let Nick know when he’s finished here.’ She scribbled something on her clipboard in purple ink, jammed the pen between her teeth, and sauntered off to respond to a question fired at her by the photographer.
Layla walked to the Pont des Arts and stopped for a third coffee on the way. Sitting at a table in a café corner on her own her mood dipped lower. She had been prepared for this, but she hadn’t expected to feel so out of it. It felt like the world Nick lived in was a remote island where people like her never went. It was different for Maggie and Alex, they’d known each other before his career took off and anyway she worked with famous people all the time.
When Layla had said she loved Nick she’d been in a dreamland. She really just wanted to go straight back to the hotel, pack up and go. Only, torturously, she couldn’t allow herself to leave Paris without seeing the lovelock bridge that had started everything. It marked an ending, something she needed to get out of her system, so she finished her coffee and set off to find it.
Astonished by the sheer number of padlocks despite the city having removed thousands to prevent the bridge from collapsing under their weight, she milled around in the throng of loved-up couples, tourists, and business-as-usual Parisians using the footbridge to get from one bank of the River Seine to the other. The sounds of a string quartet giving a classical style performance of a pop song she loved lifted her spirits. Wistful, she tossed a euro into an open violin case. It chinked landing amongst the collection of coins on the silky lining.
The sunlight on the water, the boats cruising back and forth on the river, white fluffy clouds scudding across the blue sky, and the padlocks, each an individual declaration of love, squeezed her heart. Nick had shown her how different things could be, being with a man who was interested, who cared about what made her happy, not just himself. But something had happened at the shoot, she’d felt it like a sudden change in the weather.
She stood in the middle of the bridge looking back in the direction of the Eiffel Tower. The lovelocks were everywhere, jammed so tight in places there wasn’t a spare inch of space. Padlocks from the DIY store, fancy engraved ones, heart-shaped ones, colourful ones. The sight of a bicycle lock made her laugh out loud. She looked at the names. Every one of these couples had a love story. She’d always known she’d adore this place.
‘I knew this is where I’d find you.’
She jumped and spun around to find Nick, all tall and gorgeous and heart-stopping.
‘You knew because the girl with the purple pen told you,’ she pointed out.
‘Louise.’ He nodded and a lazy smile lit up his face. ‘She said you’d snuck off here. But I’d have guessed – even if you hadn’t left a message.’ His incredible drawl didn’t help one bit.
‘It’s so romantic.’ She threw out her arms and did a little pirouette. She was drumming up cheeriness she didn’t feel, over-compensating, just like she’d always done. ‘It’s a shrine to forever love.’
Nick tugged at a lock. ‘Brad and Janet!’ he read. ‘Really? I know I’m low on the romance-ometer but I’m not convinced.’ He pointed at another one. ‘King Kong and Cinderella?’ He frowned. ‘Some of these have got to be fake.’
‘Cynic. You’re not going to spoil it for me.’
‘Take note,’ Nick remarked, pointing at ‘Claudine et Guillaume’. ‘Some people have used the ones with number codes.’
‘Are you suggesting that’s in case they have second thoughts?’
‘You have to admit it’s a practical solution for fickle hearts.’ Nick felled her with his smile again. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. ‘It beats having to break out the pliers.’
‘And hide the evidence in a flower pot.’ She laughed. ‘I’m so over all that. But – for the record, next time I pledge my heart I’ll be sure to get a lovelock with a code. Just in case.’
He didn’t reply with a comeback. If she hadn’t been to the shoot she’d be happier right this minute than she’d ever been because he’d come to find her. But they were different with each other, tiptoeing on eggshells after what she’d said in the shower. So much for silent communication … She hadn’t improved at understanding silence one bit.
‘What are you doing here, anyhow? Apart from spoiling my illusions. Did you finish already?’
There was an awkward expression on his face. ‘No. Actually, I took a break. The shoot is taking longer than expected. The studio asked for extra shots – different locations. I’m driving out to Versailles, I’ve got a taxi waiting. The team’s gone ahead and I can’t keep them waiting so I’ve come to say goodbye.’
Her heart almost stopped. This was it. Exactly as planned. No big surprise. He was finishing with her. If there had been an okay moment to tell him that she wasn’t ready for this thing to end, it had passed. He’d touched her soul and the words ‘I’m in love with you’ floated in her head, resignedly ignored by Nick.
‘Okay,’ she said, all matter-of-fact as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
Nick put his hand in his pocket. He handed her a small velvet bag.
‘Open it.’
‘What is it?’ Avoiding his gaze she untied the silk string. Confusion tied knots in her stomach as she pulled out her bracelet, the gold charms shining in the sunlight.
‘I asked the concierge to have a jeweller fix the clasp. So you don’t lose it.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And there’s something else. There was a gap, so I took a chance, and had something added.’ Looking up from the heap of gold in her palm she met his stare, a far off look in his eyes, the emotion that had sparked between them earlier gone.
She forced herself to speak, heart heavy. ‘It’s a star.’
‘If you hate it,’ he said, misinterpreting her numb reaction, ‘I’ll get it taken off. Right away.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Misery engulfed her. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘Give me your hand.’
His touch sliced through her leaving her cold as he robotically fastened the bracelet on her wrist.
‘I’m not coming to the airport with you,’ he announced, detached. ‘I’m flying to LA tonight. Louise changed my flight. She arranged for a driver to pick you up at the hotel. Tell the front desk when you’re ready to go.’
He’d been back in his own world for a matter of hours and he’d already arranged for her to be conveniently removed. Nerves stretched to breaking point, she backed away, recoiling from him, shunning all the magical moments they’d had together. The man she’d been with wasn’t the real Nick after all. The time they’d spent together was pretend. She’d been living in the moment with him, but she’d been wrong to imagine that he returned her feelings. It was an actor’s game. Standing with him now – remote, smooth, shallow – she felt sick and stupid. She’d been so taken in. And on top of everything, he was heartlessly running away, rejecting Beth, unprepared to go and see her in the UK, to give her another chance.
She turned her back on him, doing a mental handbag inventory as she walked away. She had her passport, cards, money and the flight reference she’d need to get her boarding card, nothing to stop her going straight to the airport. ‘That’s very kind, but it won’t be necessary.’
He ploughed the fingers of one hand into his hair and ran it to the back of his head, exasperated. ‘Layla. Wait up.’ He sounded arrogant and annoyed, like she was being a nuisance, not fitting in neatly with the plan. She felt dropped. She’d served her purpose and he was ready to have her spirited away.
And the star charm made her angry, not because she hated it but because she loved it. She kept on walking. ‘Goodbye Nick. Have a nice life.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘The airport.’
‘What about your things?’
‘I’m sure if you speak nicely to the concierge he’ll have them sent on.’
‘If that’s what you want.’ His tone matched hers in condescension.
She inhaled a deep breath that filled her lungs. It nearly choked her as she let it go. Of course it’s not what I want. ‘I’m done with Paris. I want to go home.’
‘Take your time. Have lunch at the hotel. Get your things. Let the driver Louise arranged drop you at Charles de Gaulle.’
She couldn’t bear the mechanical way he treated her. ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ She stopped and turned to face him, knowing she was being irrational, but not knowing how else to be strong in the face of being given her marching orders. ‘Don’t follow me Nick.’
‘I guess we’ll run into each other again,’ he attempted to say, ‘With Alex and Maggie.’
‘Yep.’
‘Maybe I’ll come and visit when they’re in Porthkara. See how they like your artwork?’
Please don’t.
If she could engineer things to avoid having that happen before Phoebe or Horatio got married, she would. That should give her … what? About thirty years or so. If she was lucky.
‘It’s been fab.’ She resisted her slap-on-a-sunny-smile reflex. Chauffeur-driven limos, designer dresses at the snap of his fingers, it had been mesmerizing, until the unreality of Nick’s reality had slammed into her like an Atlantic breaker. She was so angry with herself for her confession that morning. But she’d get over it, she was used to relationships going wrong. ‘What we had was a blip.’
‘A good blip.’
‘You can have too much of a good thing.’ And I can’t be here a moment longer. ‘Enough is enough. I’m going home.’