Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83343 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Thank you for your patience,” the woman on the phone says. “I see those pictures were a special request on your booking. I believe your husband had them sent over to be placed in your room.”
Heat courses through my body. My husband.
“Oh. Thank you.”
I hang up, stunned. The photographs are Vincent’s doing. I guess he’s being well-briefed by Michael and Olga; he knew I’d find coming to London and staying away from Crompton challenging.
Vincent is a good man. Thoughtful, sweet and sensitive. The man I want to be with for the rest of my life.
And suddenly, I have it. I understand exactly what I can do to make Vincent realize I want him forever. I just need to work up the courage to leave my hotel room to put my plan in action.
Then I’ll be ready.
FORTY
Kate
I come out of the lifts on the hotel’s fourth floor and head back to my room, relief coursing through my veins at the thought of being safely ensconced inside. I see him before he sees me. I place my hand on my chest and pull in a breath.
He’s here.
And I’m ready.
Vincent leans against the wall opposite my room, staring at the floor. He looks thinner than when I saw him last, even though it’s been just a few weeks.
Thank goodness I figured out how to make him stay. At least, I hope I have.
He looks up as I approach. The sight of his handsome face short-circuits my breathing for a second and I have to remember to exhale.
“Hey,” I say as I come to a stop in front of him. I want to skip this part and fast forward to the bit where he’s holding me, but I don’t want to spook him. “You had the photographs put in my room.”
He nods. His eyes search mine and I can tell he’s looking for clues, trying to figure out what to say. “I was wondering…if we could talk?” he asks.
“Let’s do that,” I reply. I hope he hasn’t come here to apologize and tell me how things would never have worked between us. My agenda looks a lot different. “I’ve always wanted to go to Hyde Park. I hear it’s wonderful.”
He narrows his eyes like he’s wondering if he misheard me. “Okay.”
I turn and head back where I came from. He hits the down button and we wait, both facing the lift doors.
“I’m sorry I left so abruptly,” he says.
“I know. I appreciate and accept your apology.” I don’t feel any anger toward him. It hurt that he left, but I understand why he did.
Before he can respond, the lift doors ping open and we step inside. We join an elderly couple standing at the back of the lift.
“There’s definitely the chill of autumn in the air,” the woman says.
“Do you want me to go back and get your coat?” the man asks her.
“I was thinking you might want to go back and get yours,” she replies.
“I won’t be cold, but if you will, you can wait for me in the lobby while I go and fetch yours.”
“I think I’ll be fine.” She scoops his hand up in hers and he presses a kiss to her cheek.
I grin and want to ask them questions. How long have they been married? Where did they meet? Have they always looked after each other like that?
But I don’t get a chance because we’re on the ground floor and the doors open into the lobby.
“You know when you said you know?” Vincent says as we head to the exit.
“Yes,” I say.
“The bit where I said I was sorry and you said ‘I know’?”
“Thirty seconds ago? Yes, I remember.”
He insists on opening the door for me, despite the doorman doing his best to open it for both of us, and we step out into the London afternoon. The woman in the lift was right. The chill of autumn is in the air. My pounding heart does a fine job of keeping me comfortably warm.
“What did you mean?” he asks.
We walk along a little bit and stop at a crossing.
“Just that… I know you’re sorry.”
“You do?”
I nod, keeping my focus on Hyde Park. I don’t really want to have this conversation among the hustle and bustle of traffic and people. I need to find some trees. I’m hoping I’ll feel more comfortable. More at home under an old oak.
We cross in silence and make our way into the park, which is bigger than I expected. And less organized. I suppose I’ve grown accustomed to formal gardens. But this is beautiful, too—this little slice of wild amid the concrete and stone city.
“They were right, in the lift. Autumn is on its way.” I bend and pick up a yellowed leaf.
“I really am sorry,” he says. “I freaked out and made up a bullshit excuse about work. I flew to Arizona.”