Lovestruck Forever (11 page)

“I’ll
talk to her, then, if you feel too close to the situation. She loves
me.”

“She
does. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have the wedding
here.” I placed my hands on either side of his face. “Look,
the important thing to me is that we get married. I’m not just
interested in a party; I’m interested in the marriage, you
know? Why not have it here, if it means so much to so many people?
Besides, you know I’m not good at all of this frou-frou wedding
planning stuff. Having my sisters and my parents helping wouldn’t
be the worst thing in the world.”

He
stared at me, silent, for a long moment. “You know it doesn’t
matter to me where we have it,” he finally said. “My
family is a lot smaller, and it’s easier for them to get here
than it is to get all of you over to England.” He paused. “But
I don’t want your sisters making all the decisions for you,
Lizzie. Maria was brutal the other night, the way she jumped in and
started making plans without talking to you.” His look grew
stern. “If we have the wedding here, if we let them help us,
you have to promise me that you’ll stand up to them.”

I
shifted, feeling uncomfortable, but he placed a finger under my chin,
making me look up at him. “I mean it, Lizzie. No humungous
dresses that you hate. We pick the food. We pick the music. You have
to promise me. I don’t want our wedding to be something that
you end up resenting because Maria is pushing you around.”

“Okay,”
I agreed, knowing he had a point. Wherever our wedding was, I wanted
it to be about us. “Maybe it will be easier for me to stand up
for myself now that we’ve decided to have it here. I won’t
have that guilt I would have had in London, so it will be easier for
me to say no.”

His
face tightened at my words, and I realized I probably shouldn’t
have used the word guilt to describe our wedding choices. I hurried
to continue, hoping he’d drop it. “Besides, I’ll
have Sofie here to help me be strong.”

“Okay,”
he said, his face finally relaxing. “If this is really what you
want, then I’m cool with it.”

“Good.”
I smiled up at him. “So. The movie.”

He
swallowed hard. “The movie.”

“You
have to do it, Thomas. You
have
to. I’ll be furious with you if you turn it down.”

“I
want it, Lizzie,” he admitted, blowing out a shaky breath. “I
really want it.”

I
laughed. “Of course you do.”

“But
I don’t want to leave you.”

“Look,
I’ll come over when it makes sense for both our schedules. I’ll
spend a week here giving my sisters a break with my mom and doing
wedding stuff then the next week or so in London with you. We can
talk every day, you know.”

“And
what about the wedding plans? Am I just out of the loop?”

“We
can do a lot of decision making through email and Skype,” I
assured him.

“But
we’d still be apart a lot more than I’m comfortable
with.”

“It
won’t be for very long.” I tightened my fingers in his.
“Besides, I miss London, Thomas. I would love to spend some
time there. With you.”

“Maybe…maybe
we could look for a house?” he asked, his voice hopeful. “A
place for us to live after the wedding.”

My
breath caught in my throat. We hadn’t talked much about where
we would live after the wedding. Everything was pretty much on hold
as my mom healed. But now that we were making actual plans, now that
the wedding was a tangible thing, rather than a vague fantasy, I
realized I could start to envision the future for us on the other
side.

“A
house, eh?” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “In
London?”

“Or
the country,” he said quickly. “Whatever you want.”

I
couldn’t keep cool any longer—I threw my arms around his
neck again. This time, he let me, pulling me close and burying his
face in my hair. “House hunting sounds perfect,” I said,
my voice shaking a little. “I can’t wait to get started.”

***

Everything
seemed to move very fast once Thomas officially took the role. The
producers requested that he come to London right away so they could
screen test potential co-stars and handle whatever logistical issues
there were when shooting a movie. He would be gone for a week, and I
decided to make the trip with him. I figured it’d be a good
test run to see how ready my family was to help my mom in my absence.
Besides, I hadn’t been back to London in months, and I missed
it so badly it made my chest hurt just to think about it.

The
night before Thomas and I were set to leave, he came into the bedroom
to find me packing. “Hey,” I said, distractedly hunting
for a missing pair of shoes. “Have you seen my black ballet
flats?”

He
looked at me blankly. “You have ballet shoes?”

I
made a face at him. “Ballet flats. They’re flat shoes
without a heel.” When his face still didn’t clear, I had
to laugh. “I practically live in ballet flats, Thomas. You see
me in them nearly every day.”

“Oh!”
He held up a finger. “Those black shoes you wear all the time?
I think they’re in the den.”

“Thank
you.” I moved toward the door, but he caught my hand as I
passed.

“Can
it wait a minute? There’s something I want to talk to you
about.”

The
nervous look on his face immediately put my guard up. “What’s
wrong?”

“Nothing.”
He led me over to the bed and pulled me down next to him on the edge.
“It’s good news.”

“If
it’s good news why do you look so terrified?”

He
gave me a rueful smile. “I’m a little afraid of your
reaction.” He took a deep breath. “An agent called
Heidi’s office today.”

I
wrinkled my nose. “An agent? Heidi’s your agent. Is this
someone that wants to partner with her—”

“No,
Lizzie,” he interrupted. “Not an agent for me. A literary
agent.”

I
felt the air leave my lungs. “Oh.”

“Look,
I know how uncomfortable you are using our connection to advance your
career. I understand that completely. But…this agent heard
about you from Ellen Jacobs.”

Color
immediately rushed to my cheeks. Ellen Jacobs was an editor I had met
with in Los Angeles. I had allowed myself to be swept along in the
fantasy that she and her boss loved my book on its own merits,
completely missing the fact that they were actually only interested
in capitalizing on my relationship with Thomas—until they
basically spelled it out for me. It had been one of the most
mortifying—and disappointing—experiences of my life.

“I
know you don’t want any kind of repeat of that,” he said
quickly. “But this agent seemed genuinely excited about your
book.”

“Thomas—”

“Look,
what could it hurt to have a meeting? She’s going to be in
London next week for a book expo. You could just fit it into your
schedule, how easy is that?”

“I
don’t know. What if it’s like last time?”

“Lizzie,
it won’t be. Working with an agent would be totally different
than working with an editor—she’d be on your side,
working for you.”

He
had a point. The editors I had met in L.A. were primarily concerned
with their own bottom line—how my book would work for them. An
agent’s job would be to represent the best interest of my book.

“But
if this agent heard about my book from Ellen,” I said, “don’t
you think she would want the same thing Ellen did? To change it all
and make it about you.” I looked away, not wanting him to see
how hurt I still was by the whole thing. Ellen and her boss had
wanted me to change the entire premise of my book to make it mirror
my relationship with Thomas—the whole
normal-girl-is-rescued-from-obscurity-by-a-handsome-celebrity angle.

“Not
necessarily. And if she does, you tell her the same thing you told
Ellen and her boss—you’re not interested.” He took
my hand from where my fingers were fidgeting with the hem of the
bedspread. “We talked about this, Lizzie. Every meeting you
have with someone in the industry is good for you. It helps to create
a buzz, get your name out there.”

I
nodded. I knew he had a point.

“Look,
is there a chance this agent only heard of you because we’re
dating?” he asked. “Of course. But that doesn’t
mean she won’t love your book once she reads it.”

There
was that thing I had such a hard time getting past—the idea
that an agent or an editor would only work with me because I was
dating Thomas. It seemed so…unfair to me. As if reading my
thoughts, he nudged my shoulder. “It’s only going to get
worse when we’re married, you know.” His voice sounded
equal parts sad and resigned. “And I’m sorry for that,
Lizzie. Sorry that sharing my name might make things uncomfortable
for you—”

“Don’t
talk like that,” I said quickly. “I’ll never be
sorry for attaching myself to your name.”

He
gave me that same rueful smile. “I know me being famous means
some media attention, and traveling a lot, and a bunch of other stuff
that you find tedious.”

“Like
parties at movie stars’ houses.”

He
looked exasperated. “Only you would call that tedious. But you
dealt with it, Lizzie.”

“It’s
part of your life, Thomas. Of course I dealt with it.”

“So
why can’t you look at the agent thing the same way? Being with
me means you might get a little favorable treatment in your
career—which, you know, isn’t a bad thing.”

“I
know. I know that it sounds spoiled and naive to think of
the…nepotism, or whatever, as a deal breaker. I just…”
I just wish I could do
it on my own
.

“I’m
not pressuring you, Lizzie. Take the meeting or don’t; it’s
entirely up to you, and I’ll support you, either way. Your book
can stand on its own merit; I’m sure of that. So why not use
this chance to get it in front of someone who can help to put it out
there?”

I
thought of my sister Maria, of the conversation we’d had right
after Mom was hospitalized, when I told her about the humiliating
meeting with Ellen. I had complained bitterly about my reputation,
how everyone was sure to think of me as using Thomas to get ahead.
“You need to decide if you care more about what other people
think than about your own happiness,”
she had told me
,
reminding me that
Thomas being famous was just another relationship challenge no more
or less difficult than anyone else’s relationship challenge.

“I
think I’d like to meet with her,” I said slowly, testing
out how the words felt to say out loud. “Hear her out. What
could it hurt?”

Thomas’s
entire face lit up? “Yeah? That’s fantastic, Lizzie!”

I
put a hand out. “I’m not saying anything will come of
it.”

“A
meeting with an agent is a big deal.” He wrapped an arm around
my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, love.”

I
snuggled into his chest, wishing I could feel the same sense of
pride. Wishing I could dispel the doubts that this was actually my
own accomplishment, and not just because of Thomas.

“Ask
Heidi for her contact information,” I said, trying to sound
more confident than I felt. “I’ll call her tomorrow
before we head to the airport.

It
was raining in London when we arrived. At Heathrow, Thomas, his hands
stuffed in his jacket pockets, stared morosely out the large windows
near baggage claim. “Hey, remember when we lived in Malibu?”
he muttered. “Why in the hell did we ever leave?”

“Oh,
come on.” I slipped my hand through the crook of his elbow.
“It’s just London’s way of welcoming us home. It
would feel weird if we came home to sunshine.”

“And
that doesn’t clue you in that we were fools to ever come back?”

“You
better watch it, mister.” I poked him in the side. “That’s
my adopted city you’re talking about.”

“Pardon
me,” a quiet voice asked at Thomas’s other elbow. “Are
you…are you Thomas Harper?”

He
turned to smile at the girl, obliging her request for an autograph,
before turning back to me. “Sorry.”

I
leaned into him. “You’re cute when you’re
embarrassed about being famous.”

“Who
said I’m embarrassed?”

I
giggled. “You never know what to say to the fans. You just
asked that girl if she was enjoying the weather—not ironically,
I should mention.”

He
gave me a wry smile. “You’re right. I’m bad at the
small talk. It just always surprises me, that anyone cares enough to
ask for my autograph.”

“I
think it’s nice— it shows that you’re not jaded
yet.”

“Yet?”
he raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you saying I’m going to
get jaded?”

I
slipped my arm around his waist. “Not if I have anything to say
about it.”

The
luggage belt started rotating behind us, and we both turned away from
the depressing view of the gray, rainy day to look for our suitcases.
“Come on, love,” Thomas said. “Let’s get our
bags so we can go outside and get rained on.”

By
the time we found our bags, made it through customs, and hailed a
cab, my phone had beeped three times in my pocket. “Someone
really wants to get ahold of you,” Thomas said, holding the cab
door open for me to slip in ahead of him.

Now
that my hands were finally free to do so, I pulled the phone from my
pocket. All three messages were from family members. I opened the
first, from my mother.
Hello,
dear,
it read.
The
caterer just called to let us know they have an opening today. Would
you mind terribly if we went without you? Sorry, sweetie, your sister
thinks it’d be better not to wait
.

I
sighed, not needing to ask which sister that might be. Maria had been
absolutely horrified to find out the caterer wouldn’t be able
to meet with us for two weeks. “That’s cutting it way too
close,” she had told me, on more than one occasion. As if I had
some kind of power to change the schedule of a caterer I had never
even met.