Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
I wonder when she’ll be back in London.
The article ends and I scroll back up to see if there’s anything I’ve missed. That’s when I spot the title of the new song she just released. “‘London Love Letter’.” I smile, wondering if she mentions Regents Park or the National Gallery. I press play.
And listen. And listen. And then I press play and listen again.
My mind fogs over and I forget where I am. All I can concentrate on is her voice.
And the music.
And those lyrics.
Those lyrics.
It’s a love song to a lost lover—that much is obvious. Vivian told me that she can get inspiration from books and films, and not everything is personal. She split up with her boyfriend of over a decade just a few months ago.
This song might not be about me. It might not be about us. But I know it is.
The way I stumbled into you wasn’t meant to last forever.
She’s right. The way we met, our lives, the fact that we live an ocean apart—nothing makes sense. Except that in my mind, she and I together is the only thing that makes sense.
Halfway through my third listen, Madison calls me again. Instead of canceling the call, I accept it by accident.
“Madison, I’m on my way home. Can I speak to you when I get back?”
“Absolutely not. If you hang up, I will hunt you down and kill you.”
Irritation prickles at the back of my neck. “What?”
“You need to put your phone on speaker and Google, ‘London Love Letter Vivian Cross’ right this second. I’ll wait.”
I sigh.
Thank fuck for Madison. I might not have seen this song if I’d decided to run home. She would have made sure I did.
“I’ve seen it,” I say.
“What? When? Have you called her?”
“Just now. I mean, right this second. I was listening to it when you called.”
“So call her.”
“Madison, I’m not taking dating advice from my sister-in-law. I’m hanging up right now.”
“Beau, call her or I will. And having your sister-in-law call the girl you’re engaged to, to say you’re sorry and you want her back, is way more embarrassing than me giving you dating advice.”
“I’m hanging up,” I say.
“Are you calling her?” she asks.
“You call her and I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”
“No you won’t,” she says with confidence.
I hang up. I don’t want to fight about Vivian, because we’re both on the same page.
I take a breath and press Vivian’s name. I have no idea whether it will even connect.
But it does.
And then it goes straight to voicemail.
Fuck.
THIRTY-NINE
Vivian
I push through the door to Coffee Confidential and go straight to the counter. There’s no line at all.
I take my sunglasses off. “A large Americano and a medium flat white, please.” I smile at the cashier and a flicker of recognition passes over her face, but it’s clear she can’t place me.
I’m not particularly bothered about being recognized this time around in London. I’m not hiding from anything anymore.
I put a tip in the jar and wait at the collection station.
A flat white used to mean freedom to me. Now an Americano means I’m here to win over the love of my life.
I take my drinks and head out and straight into the waiting Range Rover. My driver knows where we’re headed. I have a doctor’s appointment.
When we arrive on Welbeck Street, I give my name to the receptionist and take a seat, trying not to spill either of the two coffees I’m holding. Betty made me an appointment when I figured I’d done enough waiting around and decided to take charge of my life.
I’m the only person in the bright waiting room and I check the clock. It’s five minutes before my appointment is due. I wonder if he’s realized it’s me.
I soon get my answer when I hear doors slam, footsteps outside, and finally Beau appears in the doorway.
We lock eyes and I stand.
Without looking up, the receptionist says, “Adele Swift?”
“Thank you,” I call and step toward Beau.
His mouth opens and closes a couple of times. I want to reach up and stroke his face, but I’m not sure if he’s angry or frustrated or pleased to see me.
Silently, he leads me across the landing and into his office.
“Are you okay?” he asks as soon as the door is shut. “Are you in pain? Sick? How can I help?”
I take a seat opposite his desk and slide his Americano over to him. “I’m fine. I’m not here to see you in your professional capacity. I just wanted to see you as soon as I landed and I thought if I booked an appointment…we’d have some time to talk.”
His gaze searches my face, asking me a thousand silent questions. “How are you?” he asks. “I’ve… I called you yesterday.”
I nod. “I saw. I was on my way here, to London. I thought it might be better to have the opportunity to speak in person.” I’m not sure what he wants to say, but if it’s bad, I wanted a chance to win him over. That’s best done face-to-face.