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She owed her mom, Geraldine, a message too. Letting her know that she had arrived safely in London—the mature thing to do. She’d rather skip it. The clashes between Alex and her mom were legendary in the Sinclair family. They fought over everything: clothes, Alex’s picky eating, panic attacks—but her playwriting aspirations ranked as her mother’s favourite target.
Geraldine always championed her older children, Kathryn and Robbie, who were twelve and ten years older than their youngest sibling. Alex never quite measured up to them despite her solid grades and talent for storytelling. Her mom didn’t value Alex’s artistic flair. To Geraldine, a career with prospects, status and a big pay cheque—impressing friends, family, and business associates—was the only path to take. It’s all about the bragging rights.
Michael insisted that Alex follow her passion at college. Forcing her into law or medicine to become a corporate attorney or emergency room doctor like her sister and brother, would be a cruel waste of her creative gifts. He didn’t have the heart to impose such an agenda on his baby girl, and as a result, Geraldine viewed Alex as her ex-husband’s problem. He could worry about her, pay the tuition, and support her when her writing dreams amounted to nothing.
Her mom’s harshest words were burnt into Alex’s memory: “A job in the arts isn’t respectable. You’ll struggle for years with nothing to show for it. You’ll embarrass yourself, Alex—and worse, you’ll embarrass me.” She desperately wanted to prove her mother wrong, and was determined not to return to Florida until she had made her mark.
Geraldine didn’t deserve a blow-by-blow account of her new life abroad, but if Alex shirked this one small responsibility, she’d never hear the end of it from her dad. Old habits ran deep. She’d walk barefoot over shards of glass to avoid upsetting him. His voice rang in her ears: “It wouldn’t kill you to send one text, or leave a quick voicemail message.”
The five-hour time difference meant that a text or call would wake up her mom or interfere with her early morning gym session. Alex chose the least invasive option—a Facebook update. Her mom could read it at her leisure, and Alex could avoid speaking to her. Besides, most Saturdays her mom had back-to-back real estate viewings with her clients. Alex would be lucky to hear from her hours from now, if at all.
She typed a quick status update and set her phone down on the small kitchen table, its surface littered with lipstick-ringed cigarette butts, corks, and a woman’s telephone number jotted down on an ATM slip. She tugged open the under-the-counter fridge. How do Brits make do with such teeny refrigerators? It looked like a mini-bar. She bent over to get a better look.
Two hands, cloaked in fuzzy black sleeves, tickled her waist from behind.
“Arrrrgh!” She flicked her hair out of her eyes…
“It’s you.” Alex’s grin could’ve powered half of London’s East End.
“Ha ha. I didn’t mean to startle you. I can’t believe you’re actually here…in my flat making breakfast.” Harry let her go and tightened his plush black robe, his dark blonde hair pointing in all directions. He smelt like freshly laundered towels.
Alex bounced on the spot, her eyes taking in all five foot ten inches of him. Even though they had last been together two weeks ago, their separation felt like an eternity.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived. The beer supplier for the club fouled up our order and with it being the start of the weekend, I had to fix it in person. Then we had a leak in the ladies’ room, and the hostess quit without notice. One disaster after another.”
He pulled open a canister holding tea bags. “I didn’t get home until gone three. Fancy a cuppa?”
Alex nodded and sat down at the table with her chocolate-coated English muffins. Harry’s sugary tea was legendary. In college, they shared many an evening ranting about their course work over a comfy mug of tea and a plate of cookies—or biscuits, as Harry called them.
“The party was on its last legs when I got in, so I only saw Tom and Livvy briefly. He mentioned your luggage was missing. And I can see he tried to help you out. Nice Chelsea kit, Manc girl!”
Alex stuck her tongue out at him just as Olivia sauntered into the room. His girlfriend made a point of hugging Harry tightly from behind, giving him a lingering kiss on the temple. Her long dark hair tumbled onto his shoulder as she nuzzled his neck. “Morning, darling. We missed you last night. You owe me.”
Harry turned to face Olivia and kissed her lips. “I do, do I? Well, before my princess calls in her debts, I have a favour to ask you.”
He fetched a third mug from the cupboard and elbowed several prosecco bottles to make space on the counter. “Alex is still waiting for her suitcases to arrive, so why don’t you take her shopping for clothes this afternoon, get a few essentials to tide her over? Shopping is your cardio. Go on, you know you want to.”
Alex’s eyes shifted from Harry to Olivia.
Olivia jerked her head back, avoiding Harry’s gaze. “I was planning on revising the seating plan for the young playwrights fundraiser, but…I suppose it can wait.” She tightened the belt of her pink silk robe with a sharp tug.
Harry beamed. “Of course it can wait. It doesn’t happen for another two weeks.”
He poured hot water into two of the three mugs and chuckled at Alex’s plate of chocolate drenched muffins. “Alex, sweetheart, I see fruit’s still banned from your breakfasts. Is it safe to assume you still like three spoonfuls of sugar in your tea, too?”
Olivia crossed her arms and squinted, first at Alex, then at Harry. Her mouth fell open, but no words came out.
Alex shifted in her chair, one foot jittering underneath the table. “Yep, guilty as charged. My dentist was in tears when I left Florida.”
She smiled at Harry, and chewed a mouthful of English muffin, but the butterflies whirling in her stomach and the chill creeping up her spine hinted that Olivia’s eyes remained locked on her.
Harry handed Alex her steaming mug, then turned to his girlfriend. “I’ve switched on the coffee maker so it should be ready shortly, babe. Right, I’m jumping in the shower. Must get back to Bespoke. I’ll see my two favourite girls later.”
He kissed Olivia on the lips and squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “Olivia will show you the ropes. Have fun today.”
Mug in hand, he headed off to the bathroom leaving the two women submerged in a suffocating silence. Only the ticking carriage clock and the hissing shower head pierced the quiet. Olivia kept her head down, leaning against the counter, scrolling manically through Twitter on her Swarovski-jewelled iPhone. Alex counted the seconds it took for the Nutella and melting butter to drown the nooks and crannies of her muffin.
Several minutes later, Tom’s shuffled into sight, naked except for a pair of low-slung baggy shorts that matched the Chelsea top Alex wore. He scratched at a sparse patch of dark hair on his chest.
