Lovestruck Forever (26 page)

Jackson
laughed. “Sounds like Tommy. Well, I would avoid Chelsea
entirely. It seemed like everything I saw there with a decent square
footage was remodeled and totally streamlined. Maybe not his thing.”

I
made a mental note to remember not to look in Chelsea—and to
remember, that for all his silliness, Jackson Coles could be a really
nice guy. A nice guy who was much more interesting and thoughtful
than I often gave him credit for. He’d been the one that
recommended hiking to me in Malibu, and it had become my favorite
hobby there, filling countless hours while Thomas shot his movie.

“Bugger,
it’s getting late.” Jackson pulled a twenty-pound note
from his wallet and laid it on the table. “This was nice,
catching up.”

“It
was.” My voice was sincere. “Thanks for the tea.”

He
reached out and took my hand, bending with a flourish to kiss my
knuckles. So very Jackson. “You can call me if you have any
questions about the house hunt, okay? I’d be happy to give you
my agent’s name.”

“I
think Thomas has someone, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

He
met my eyes, giving me the same smile that he’d graced the
waitress with. “Good luck with the wedding, Lizzie. I’m
glad you’ll be around town—you keep things interesting.”

“Has
anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible flirt, Jackson?”

He
laughed, finally releasing my hand. “And that’s exactly
what I meant. Laters, Lizzie.”

I
shook my head, once again unsure if I should laugh at him or roll my
eyes. I settled for a bemused kind of smile. “Laters, Jackson.”

I
woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee. When I finally
succeeded in opening my eyes, I saw that Thomas’s side of the
bed was empty.

“You
awake?” I heard him ask. I rolled over and saw him coming
through the doorway, holding a tray.

“Coffee?”
I asked hopefully, sitting up in bed.

“Coffee.
And toast and eggs.”

“You’re
my hero.”

He
grinned and set the tray over my knees, kissing my forehead. “You’ll
need your energy for today.”

“Will
I?” I struggled to remember what he was talking about.
Something about the wedding? The jet lag was making my head fuzzy.
“Why, what’s going on today?”

“Don’t
tell me you forgot—we’re looking at houses today.”

My
confusion was immediately replaced with a rush of excitement.
“Houses! I almost forgot!”

“Yes,
houses. My agent—Alisha—put together a list of properties
for us to see. She just sent me the email to confirm—there’re
loads.”

“When
can she meet us?” I asked, moving the covers from my legs.

Thomas
laughed at my eagerness. “Eat your breakfast; we have plenty of
time.”

I
munched my food happily as Thomas told me about the houses we would
see. “I told her we were happy to check out lots of
neighborhoods,” he explained. “She said she had a few
places here in Bayswater and a couple over in Nottinghill. And then
there’s a place she wants us to see in Lambeth, right on the
river.”

“And
you told her nothing too outrageously fancy, right?”

Thomas
laughed, nodding. “I did.” He was quiet for a moment. “I
wasn’t really sure what to tell her about a budget, now that
you mention it. Houses are so expensive, especially in the city. But
I didn’t want to… you know, I didn’t want you to
feel uncomfortable. Or worried or anything like that.”

He
looked wary, almost afraid of my reaction. I realized that every time
the subject of money came up, it was an issue.
I
did that
, I thought,
feeling guilty. I made him uncomfortable even talking about budget
with me, because I always had to make such a big deal out of these
things. I thought about my conversation with my dad, how he’d
been happy that Thomas could take care of me. How he’d told me
not to let money become a resentment. That too much pride could be
sinful.

“I
say go all out,” I said.

“What?”

“Go
all out. Spend whatever we like.”

He
was gaping at me across the bed. “Are you serious?”

I
shrugged. “This is your first big purchase since your career
took off, right? You’ve been incredibly conservative with your
money so far.” It was true, really. Most guys in his situation
probably would have at least splashed out on a sickeningly expensive
car, or something. Thomas was still living in a
six-hundred-square-foot, one-bedroom flat.

He
was shaking his head at me, still confused by my reaction. “I
don’t…are you saying you don’t care how much it
costs?”

“I’m
saying this is our first purchase together as a family. It’s
where we’re going to live, where we’ll start our life
together. Maybe even where we’ll have our children, someday.
I’m not saying you should try to spend as much as you can, but
I also don’t think price should be the biggest deciding
factor.” I peeked at him, trying to read his reaction. “That
is, if you agree. It is your money—”

“It’s
our money,” he said firmly, brushing my sleep-mussed hair
behind out of my eyes. “And I think you’re completely
right—this is the biggest purchase of our lives, so far at
least. I want it to be right.”

I
grinned. “Good. Then I promise not to say a single word about
money the entire day.”

“Okay—what
in hell has gotten into you?”

I
laughed, grabbing the last piece of toast from my tray. “Nothing.
I’m just trying to not be so uptight about money. To be
thankful for what we have.” I went to pop the toast in my
mouth, but before I could get that far, Thomas had both hands on the
sides of my face, kissing me until I was breathless.

“Thank
you, Lizzie.”

“What
are you thanking me for? It’s your cash.”

“Our
cash,” he said again. “I’m thanking you for trying
to not be uptight. I know it isn’t easy for you, but it makes
me very happy.”

I
kissed him back before pushing him away to finish my breakfast. “I
aim to please.”

***

We
didn’t find our house that day, but I didn’t let it get
to me. I had the best time looking at houses with Thomas—I had
never realized real estate hunting could be so thrilling—and so
silly. In each new place, Thomas insisted we pretend we lived there,
to see how it would feel. In a massive loft in Camden, he made me
stand in the kitchen, pretending to chop onions while he stirred an
imaginary pot on the stove. At a new -construction penthouse along
the banks of the Thames, he lay on the floor in the empty living
room, making me sit cross-legged on the floor across from him in an
imaginary armchair. “So we can see how it will be to watch
telly.”

I
was pretty sure Alisha thought we were ridiculous, but I could only
giggle at his antics. It was hard not to be giddy. This wasn’t
all pretend; it was real. We were really picking the house that we
were going to start our family in. Maybe it made me childish, but I
was going to soak up every silly, fun moment of it.

And
I had to admit that it was refreshing to not think about the money.
At the first place, an attached townhouse in Mayfair, I had happened
to catch a glimpse of a detail sheet on the counter. The number of
zeros had made me feel sick, even worse after I tried to mentally
convert the pounds to dollars. But Thomas’s enthusiasm had
prevented me from saying anything. After a few properties, I
eventually managed to put it out of my mind entirely. I got to look
at some of the most gorgeous, highly sought after properties in the
city, and I was determined to simply be grateful for that fact.

On
Saturday night, Thomas’s parents made the drive down from
Edinburgh to spend the night and all day Sunday with us. They were,
if possible, more excited about the house hunting than we were.
Alisha got us in to see three more places—a detached, proper
house in Hampstead, another loft by the river, and a classic four
bedroom in Westminster, within walking distance to Buckingham Palace.
Thomas’s parents came with us and agreed that the classic flat
in Westminster, with its original wood floors, traditional crown
molding, and working fire places, was much more our style than any of
the more modern, renovated properties had been.

On
Monday, Thomas had to go back to work. I actually took him up on his
invitation to come hang out on the set, though I usually felt out of
place on movie shoots. But Monday was the day Ciara was accepting
final offers for my book, and I knew if I didn’t stay busy
somehow, I was going to go crazy.

It
was fun getting to meet Thomas’s co-stars.
Journey
was a family drama, with lots of humor and a bit of romance. The
actor who was playing Thomas’s father had also played the role
of the father in my favorite Jane Austen adaptation, and I had
accidentally squealed a little bit when we first came face to face.

“That’s
what it takes to get you to lose it over a celebrity, eh?”
Thomas asked, after I’d begged for an autograph and gotten my
picture taken with the increasingly bemused actor. “You openly
make fun of Jackson Coles. You fail to recognize Matt Damon at that
studio party last year. You thought Ryan Gosling was a waiter, for
Christ’s sake. But Hamish from the BBC means autographs and
pictures.”

I
crossed my arms. “Have you
met
me?”

I
watched them do several takes. It was fascinating, the way they could
repeat the same few lines of dialogue so many times with different
inflections and change the entire feel of the scene. After a while,
there was a lengthy break to adjust lighting, and I found myself
getting bored.

“Want
to head back to my trailer?” Thomas asked. “I know you’re
just dying to read whatever book you have in your purse.”

I
kissed his cheek in thanks and allowed a P.A. to lead me back to the
trailer, where I spent a few comfortable hours reading and texting
with Callie. As the day grew later in New York, Ciara was sending me
updates on the progress of the offers. The numbers she was sending me
sounded crazy, more than I’d make in several years of teaching.
I could actually pay off my student loans without help based on some
of these offers. I tried to keep in mind her often-repeated warnings:
book advances were only a small part of the picture and could be
quickly eaten up by agent and lawyer fees; and they weren’t all
paid up front. “The important thing is the contract,” she
had told me over and over. “The details. What you owe them and
what they get. Royalty shares. Long-term rights. It’s often
worth turning down the biggest monetary offer if the contract itself
isn’t strong.” It was those details she was trying to
hammer out now.

Even
though I knew there were actual, honest-to-God offers on the table, I
was still having a hard time believing any of it was true. It felt
like a daydream that would disappear at the first light of day. So it
was somewhat of a shock to me when my phone rang around three
o’clock.

“Lizzie,
I have a few offers I’d like to talk you through,” Ciara
said. I could tell from the satisfied tone of her voice that it was
good news.

“A
few?” I squeaked, my throat immediately going dry.

“There
are several that I’m happy with,” she said. “The
ultimate decision, of course, will be up to you. But I’d like
to tell you which ones I think will be most beneficial to you, and
why.”

My
heart pounding, I clutched the phone to my ear while she went through
the details. Much as she predicted, the top offer did not come with
the highest advance. It did, however, offer the best terms. And, as
she pointed out, the editor from that house had seemed the most
invested in my book. “I think they’ll commit to making
you a success, Lizzie.”

My
mind was whirling by the time we hung up. She was sending me
contracts to look over, but it was mostly a formality. I had agreed
that her preferred offer made the most sense for my book and my
career. The contracts had already been thoroughly reviewed by her
lawyers, so there was nothing to surprise me. It was now simply a
matter of signing on the dotted line.

When
the door to the trailer opened a moment later, I was standing stock
still in the middle of the room, the disconnected phone clutched in
my hand. “Lizzie?” Thomas asked, his voice sounding very
far away in my ears. “What’s the matter?”

I
shook my head, not knowing how to say it out loud. I didn’t
even know if I believed it yet. I looked back at the blank screen of
my phone as if to confirm that the call had taken place.

“Is
everyone okay?” he asked, his eyes on my phone now, too. He was
scared now, probably thinking I’d gotten bad news. “What’s
going on?”

I
looked up at him, at his familiar, much-loved face. In that moment, I
thought of all of his encouragement, from the very first time I told
him I wanted to write. Up until that point, anyone I had mentioned my
writing to had basically told me that it was a pipe-dream, that I
should concentrate on finding a real job. Thomas’s support, so
unfamiliar to me, had felt like such a gift. And it had never gone
away.

“Lizzie?”

“I
think I just sold my book,” I whispered, and promptly burst
into tears.

The
next two days were the craziest two days of my life. I felt like I
got phone calls from everyone I had ever met. Family from home,
having heard the news from my mom; friends from London, having heard
from Thomas; and a random assortment of others who had read the news
online or in the papers. Ciara had released an official press
statement on my book deal, and the entertainment sites seemed way
more fascinated by it than I thought possible.

“It’s
because of Thomas,” I told Sofie over the phone the second
night, looking out the window at the reporters below the flat. “They
wouldn’t even know who I was if it wasn’t for the
engagement.”