Another One by Aleatha Romig (32)

There’s nothing like sleeping in your own bed.

That saying is true. Since we landed at Heathrow Airport on Saturday morning and Ubered to our respective homes, it’s what I’ve been doing. Of course, because it’s all I’ve been doing, I have no food in my apartment—well, other than a few open boxes of cereal that may or may not be stale upon my return. The only thing worth trying to consume in the refrigerator—since I can’t exactly drink condiments—is apple juice, and if I were a betting woman, I’d wager that it is close to fermentation at this point.

Basically, the only safe risks are the water bottles, but they don’t do much for nourishment.

With the exception of the sandwich and chips Stephen brought over Saturday night, I haven’t given eating too much thought.

Or...unpacking.

Or...shopping for food.

Or...doing laundry.

Or...showering.

As I snuggle under my covers, I give the last one—showering—more thought. With my nose scrunched, I move it back outside the blankets and I make myself a deal. The next time I wake, showering will be on the agenda.

In the meantime, I prefer sleep.

As my temples pound, I’m aware that this self-imposed reprieve from life can’t last forever.

On Monday morning, I’ll need to go to work. I’ll need to face Neil Butler and thank him for his faith in me. Yes, I know if he stopped by at this moment, faith wouldn’t be high on his list. Pity might have a higher ranking. That’s why I’m staying put under the covers, just me and my stinky self.

Facing the shower means facing life, and I’m not ready to make that move.

I need some more time to wallow in my own heartache.

And headache.

Does lack of food cause a headache?

I decide to think about that later if I can come up with something to eat.

Maybe I could add mustard to what’s remaining of my houseplants and call it a salad?

Are houseplants edible?

Maybe I should Google that shit first.

When Stephen and I first touched down at Heathrow, I turned on my phone long enough to see that I didn’t have a return email from Trevor. I did have multiple voice mails from Kimbra and even one from Duncan, which seemed strange. I’m assuming that he’s probably simply being a good husband.

Maybe one day I’ll listen to them and find out what they say.

Right now, I prefer the company of dreams.

Dreams are truly magical places filled with memories and imagination. In dreams I can do things I could never do in reality. I can fly. I can transport myself back to New York, to Trevor’s apartment, to his fire escape. And then, in the blink of an eye, we’re together in Central Park, at Serendipity 3, or in his bed. The possibilities are endless, and in dreams, the destinations aren’t conscious. Each time I close my eyes, it’s like an adventure waiting to happen.

When I first arrived home, I turned on the television. I’m not sure why. I think it was to hear voices. Truly, I should have thought of it earlier. There were banners and flags everywhere as I Ubered home. Of course, at that time, none of it was registering. I’ll blame it on the flight or the wine. Either way... it has begun.

The royal wedding.

The greatest display of love since Romeo and Juliet.

The prince has finally found his princess.

Everyone is overjoyed.

And it’s a big deal.

The guests, crowds, royal family, and state officials.

Streets are blockaded and the masses are gathering.

The festivities don’t even start for a few days, but the entire world is abuzz with love.

True love.

I pull the covers closer to my chin.

Well, screw them.

It’s a wonder that Stephen and I made it home. The lady arranging our flight wasn’t kidding that changing our flights was out of the question. This place is a madhouse, complete with minute-by-minute coverage broadcast around the world.

Unable to listen anymore about the happy couple, I turned off the television. It doesn’t matter. I’m sure I will be able to catch it later. There’s no doubt that the live coverage will be going on for days, and after that, it will all be available on cable TV and YouTube.

My lack of interest in the impending nuptials can’t be blamed on my American roots. I’m actually a fan of the royals. I always have been. I even love the history: King Henry VIII, the Tudors and Windsors, the White Queen and the Red Queen. My current disinterest stems more from my melancholy mood.

I almost said bitchy, but truthfully, bitchy went out the window as I walked out on Vicky’s insulting offer.

The energy necessary to be bitchy dissipated by the second as I bit my tongue, stopping all the words I wanted to say, smiled politely, thanked Vicky for her consideration, and told her that she and the entire lingerie division was welcome, considering the fact that Stephen and I had traveled to New York on a moment’s notice, saved their show, and increased their sales. I then stood, told everyone in attendance that I would be returning to London and to juniors since the counteroffer I’d received from Neil was too good to pass up. I then bid everyone goodbye, leaving Vicky’s shitty offer sitting unsigned on the table as she stared at me with her mouth agape. I did get the feeling she didn’t know about Neil Butler’s counteroffer, which gave me a smidgen of satisfaction.

I left so quickly that I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to Chantilly or others I’d come to like in the lingerie department. The truth is that I had to leave while my head was still high and eyes were without tears.

Needless to say, that all changed the moment I walked out the doors and onto Fifth Avenue.

Now, without the adrenaline necessary to do more, I once again surrender to dreamland.

Before I slip away, I contemplate checking the time, but if I do, my rational mind will tell me that people shouldn’t be sleeping at four on a Sunday afternoon. I’m not ready to listen to my rational mind. Besides, my body still believes that four in the afternoon in London is ten in the morning in New York.

The tips of my lips turn upward and tears return to my eyes as I recall a week ago. Last Sunday at ten in the morning, I was still in Trevor’s bed. After my little fashion show during the middle of the night, we were both out for the count.

Coma by cannoli.

We woke in time for another round of much sweeter lovemaking, bagels and coffee, and then a private shower concert before going to Duncan and Kimbra’s. No wonder I was embarrassed when Kimbra brought up death by cannoli. I was possibly one more crazy sex round away from being a victim.

But not anymore...

Cannoli will only come in my dreams.

I close my eyes and recall...I’m almost to that place where sleep comes, erasing reality...

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

“What the hell?” I ask, muttering to myself as I try to decipher the sound of pounding. “Is someone doing construction?”

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

“On a Sunday?”

Shit.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

No, someone is knocking—no, pounding—on my front door. I consider my possibilities. If I hide under my blankets, maybe whoever it is will leave. It’s not exactly like I’m up for visitors.

Another round of loud, annoying knocks.

Maybe it’s the police? Someone reported the scent of dying.

I lower my nose under the blanket.

No, it isn’t that bad.

Maybe it’s Stephen with food.

But wouldn’t he call?

It’s then I remember my phone is still off.

For no other reason than the preservation of my houseplants and stopping them from becoming salad—because I remembered that I do have some expired salad dressing in my refrigerator that may work better than mustard if my plants aren’t poisonous—I force myself to get out of bed and place one foot in front of the other.

Too occupied with the banging on the door and the pounding in my head, I barely notice my haggard appearance or wrinkled sleep clothes.

“Stephen, you’d better have food or you’re fired,” I yell toward the front door as I make my way down the stairs.

Since my front door is solid and the small-paned window to its side is frosted, it’s a terrible combination to try to see who is visiting.

“Stephen, stop!”

The knocks begin again, but before they get to three, I open the door. “What is your pro—?”

Silence.

I can’t believe my eyes. Standing on my stoop with two large suitcases is the most incredibly handsome man with stunning green eyes, staring at only me. Me, who is wearing shorts and a camisole with no bra, three-day-old hair, no makeup, and an aroma similar to rubbish that needs to be taken to the curb.

“Shana,” Trevor begins, “I’m sorry to come unannounced. I tried your phone and couldn’t get through to you. I seem to have nowhere to stay. There’s some wedding or something happening, and I was wondering if maybe you had room?”

My eyes fill with tears as I wrap my arms around his neck. “Trevor? How are you here?”

After a kiss to my cheek, he asks, “Do you think that maybe we could go inside before your neighbors decide to watch?” He moves me to arm’s length. “I’m good with this outfit, but I’d like to keep your lingerie to my eyes only, if you don’t mind.” He adds the last part with a wink.

My head is bobbing faster than I can think. “Yes, come in. How did you find me? How did you get here? There aren’t any flights. Why are you here? What are you doing with suitcases?”

After the door closes, his finger touches my lips, stopping my questions. And then his head tilts as his gaze goes toward my hair and plucks something from its tangled depths.

When he brings the crumb into view, I shrug. “I think that’s a chip.”

“A chip?”

“Potato,” I confirm. “I was eating in bed and fell asleep.”

He nods. “Okay. I won’t ask for more detail.”

I look again at his luggage just before I tug him into the depth of my dark living room.

“Are you avoiding daylight? Did you suddenly become a vampire?”

“I sent you an email,” I say as my heart tightens in my chest and I avoid his questions.

“And I’m replying, now, here, with me.”

“With you?”

“Shana...” He reaches for my hands. “I didn’t tell you that I love you because I was trying to help the situation at Saks. It slipped out. I didn’t mean to say it. I know you had a full plate. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I’ve known it since before I saw you on that stage. I think I’ve known it since the morning of Duncan’s wedding.”

“You do? Really?”

“I really do. I’m also not losing you again, ever.”

I wrap my arms around my chest. “Trevor, I’m sorry I couldn’t take that offer.”

“I haven’t made you one.”

“No, the one Vicky made me. I wanted to stay with you. I wanted to stay in New York, but I just couldn’t do—”

Again, his finger stops my words, followed by his lips and oh God, his tongue. I melt toward him, only to suddenly back away. “Oh goodness, I’m a mess. I’ve done nothing but sleep and not shower...” My hand covers my mouth. “...or brush my teeth...”

Trevor laughs. “You’re the most beautiful woman I know. Now, Ms. Price may I propose my offer?”

“Propose? Your offer?”

He grins. “One step at a time. First, I would never want you to compromise who you are for us. That isn’t who we are or who I want us to be. I’m glad you walked out on her shitty offer.”

“I didn’t give you the details at JFK. How did you know about the shitty offer or that I walked out?” Before he can answer, I do it for him. “Stephen.”

Trevor nods. “The thing is that McCobb has been bidding a job in Oxford. I may have seemed distracted before you left because I was hoping to tell you about it. I didn’t want to give you false hope, and I was waiting on the reply. It didn’t come until after you were gone.”

“Oxford, England?”

“Yes, my lady. Oxford, England. I’ll need to be on-site on and off during the week. We will figure all that out. But my weekends will be free. I was only one of the engineers who worked on the proposal, but after I learned how you were being treated in New York, I applied to my boss to let me supervise the project. Then, even before it was approved, I went to Max and pushed for the funding commitment. It was a long shot, but it worked.”

“So you’re here now in England?”

“I am.”

And then I recall the royal wedding. “But how did you get here? Flights are booked. This city is a madhouse.”

“I called in one more favor.”

“From whom?”

“I called my brother.”

The tears again threaten the back of my eyes. “You asked Duncan to fly you to England?”

“What good is it to have a hotshot brother with a company plane if I never use it?”

Forgetting about my lovely aroma, I reach up and wrap my arms around Trevor’s neck. “Of all the things you did, I get the feeling that call was the most difficult.”

Trevor shrugs his wide shoulders beneath my grasp. “It would have been, but since you, it wasn’t. Nothing is too big of an obstacle for me to get to you. I know we could have made this work long distance. Here’s the thing, my lady, I don’t want to be away from you.”

I shake my head. “I can’t believe you’re really here. How long will you be here?”

“The spec on the project is for two years.”

My eyes open wide. “Two years?”

Trevor reaches for my waist and pulls me toward him. “And after that, we’ll see where life takes us. Who knows, there may be another project here?”

“Us? I like the way that sounds.”

“So do I, and as for your email, I hope you meant it.”

My head bobs up and down. “I meant it. I’m in love with you, too.”

“In love with me?”

“Trevor Willis, I’ve never been in love before. I’m not sure exactly how it works. All I know is that leaving you Friday night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. Since that moment, I’ve been broken...until I opened the door and saw you. Your amazing smile, eyes, hair...and thighs,” I say the last part with a grin. “In an instant you put me back together.”

“Well, you’ve got all of me—even my thighs,” he says, shaking his head. “Do you think I could possibly find a place to stay until my project starts?”

“I might have a spare bedroom,” I say, running my fingers through his hair.

“I was thinking that sharing a room sounded more fun.”

“I like the sound of that, too.”

Lowering my chin, I lift my eyes to look through my lashes. “If you don’t mind staying with someone who hasn’t showered.”

“Oh, I mind. Because you see, I have been traveling and well, I like showers. I was hoping that we could take one together.”

“On one condition,” I say, “only if you promise to serenade me.”

“I will be glad to serenade you.”

“If you’re staying here for the future, I don’t want just one personal concert.”

Trevor gently places his palm on my cheek. “No, my lady, there will definitely be another one and another one after that.”

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