Don't Look Back (17 page)

Letting out a scream, I dart back under the arch, taking shelter from the sudden cloudburst. The beautiful moment is lost, washed away in the summer monsoon. Matthew follows, and we shake off the rain on separate sides of the archway, laughing like children. His hair has contracted, making his curls tighter and dark, and raindrops glisten upon his skin like beads of sweat. My hair is saturated, but it’s my shirt that causes me concern. The white cotton button-down is drenched, and I resemble someone in a wet T-shirt competition as it clings to my skin. Thank goodness I’m wearing a decent bra that has good padding.

Almost as quickly as it arrives, the rain stops, and we continue our leisurely stroll, hoping the gentle breeze will dry us out, the atmosphere cleansed by the fresh rainfall. As we pass the Horse Guards and St. James Park, walking toward Buckingham Palace, I find myself telling Matthew about how Allie and I travel all over Europe. He is impressed, and finally I feel he has faith in my sense of direction. It seems strange to retrace steps I have walked with Allie, but this time hand in hand with Matthew. I will never again be able to walk these streets without thinking
about him.

The palace slowly grows closer, so I suggest we cut through the Marlborough Gate into the park and catch the view by St. James Lake. It is one of my favorite places to sit quietly, and since the evening is still light, I think Matthew will appreciate the view. As we enter the park and come across the Blue Bridge, we find ourselves enclosed in a blanket of green. Trees surround us on all sides, while summer flowers bloom in the flower beds, brightening the park with their glorious colors. The entire area glistens from the rain, and the birds chatter, darting back and forth between the trees, while a sweet perfume from the flowers surrounds us. Ducks and pelicans float on the water in front of us. To our right, we have a wonderful view of the Victoria Memorial and Buckingham Palace, and to our left above the treetops, we can see Big Ben, the rooftop of Parliament, and the London Eye off in the distance.

“Wow!” Matthew is taken aback by the view. “Impressive spot, I must say.” He praises me as he admires both views equally. I continue walking across the bridge, and he raises his voice so I can hear him. “You are an excellent tour guide, Kate.”

I turn and smile at him, walking backward for a couple of steps. “Thank you!” Turning forward again, I make my way onto the grass on the other side of the lake, leaving him on the bridge. Settling onto the lawn under the shelter of a large oak, the grass dry under its massive motherly branches, I watch Matthew as he rests his elbows on the bridge railing, absorbing the view. My physical attraction to him is undeniable; I am waging a war inside trying
not to reach out and touch him. He acts so casual, the way he holds my hand or touches my cheek, and I’m confident he would have kissed me if the rain hadn’t interrupted. Anyone watching us would assume we are a happily married couple, walking hand in hand, laughing and talking, both our left hands adorned with gold bands. I smile sadly as I reflect how this could have been us. It should have been us.

I am overthinking this entire situation when Matthew drops down next to me on the soft grass, his long legs stretching out as he props himself up on his left elbow, once again giving me his attention.

“A penny for your thoughts?” His eyes question my silence.

I keep my eyes on the lake, trying to contain the tears that threaten to fall as I softly speak about the conversation Diana and I had the day before.

“Diana told me yesterday that she visited you in Sydney when she was there. She’s kept it a secret from me all these years, and I can’t help but think how differently things might have been between us if she had told me the truth eighteen years ago,” I confess to him.

“I can’t offer any explanation why she didn’t tell you, Kate, but I’m sure she has valid reasons. Di would never do anything deceitful to hurt you. I was a mess back then, and so was she, and I think we helped each other that night; it was a turning point for both of us. Would it really have changed anything?”

“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know … ” I am so confused. “She should have told me so I could have had a choice in the matter. We were both
consenting adults, Matthew; I could have flown to Sydney to see you. Who knows? Maybe we would have worked things out, maybe you could have moved to California.”

Matthew laughs. “Aren’t you forgetting your Malibu beach house and rich attorney husband?” I detect an edge of agitation in his voice.

“Ha!” I laugh sarcastically. “You think I married Brock? Oh, no. The night Diana was in LA, precisely one week after she met up with you, I caught Brock cheating on me. I was single, Matthew, for the next year. Unattached, solo, devoid of a partner, alone.” A tear finally escapes and slides down my cheek as I turn to him. “I would have come to you in a heartbeat.”

CHAPTER 17

London Eye

I regret my words the instant they are spoken, because the look on his face is heartbreaking. He looks as though someone has sucked the air from his lungs and drained all color from his blood, leaving him lifeless.

“She told me you were happy,” he flatly responds. “I was finally able to put you aside and start living. I had wandered around Sydney for four years, abusing my body, exploiting women, working odd jobs and surviving, and then Di showed up. After I finally gave in and agreed to meet her, we sat in that bar that night and talked. It was like her presence wrapped a bandage around my gaping wound, nursing it and cleaning it. Nothing could ever completely heal it, but she was able to patch me
up that night to where I was able to try and start over.” He stares blankly out toward the lake. “I met Julia later that year.” His voice trails off, and we sit once again in the quiet.

In the distance, Big Ben chimes and faint church bells join from farther away. I count a total of seven strikes, and then the clocks quiet once more. Matthew jumps up and stands before me, hands outstretched, inviting me to stand.

“We can’t go back, Kate. What’s done is done,” Matthew announces, his somber mood vanished. “But we do have tonight, so let’s not waste this opportunity dwelling on ‘what if’ scenarios. We must seize this moment. It’s you and me, Kate. No one knows we’re here; we don’t have to lie or pretend to anyone. Let’s cast aside our real lives and for one night, let’s be us, enjoy each other, and play the hand that fate has dealt us.”

I allow him to pull me up. I brush the grass cuttings from my jeans and throw my wet purse over my shoulder. He is right; I need to enjoy this moment instead of overthinking everything. The night will play out however it is supposed to, and I, for once, need to allow myself to let go. Matthew doesn’t seem concerned or worried, so neither will I. With a deep breath and a renewed sense of adventure, I head out of the park with Matthew toward Westminster.

After wandering around the outside of Westminster Abbey and Parliament, we head north along the Victoria Embankment in the direction of St. Paul’s Cathedral. The evening is mild and the sky is clear; all threat of rain has passed. The sun is starting to make its final descent, and if we time it
right, we should make the loop up to St. Paul’s, cross over Millennium Bridge, and return on the south side of the river to reach the London Eye by nightfall. The view of the Thames and Houses of Parliament lit up in splendor from that side of the river is one of my favorite sights, and I want to share what I can with Matthew before we part ways for the night.

Sometime after ten, we find ourselves back at the London Eye as planned, sitting on the courtyard patio of a contemporary wine bar along the embankment outside of Jubilee Gardens. Inside, the bar is fairly quiet but a little warm and stuffy, so we opt instead for the patio, as it is almost abandoned. We are seated at a wooden table in comfortable seats with red cushions. The air is cool, and the river front is peaceful. Only the occasional horn from a passing boat and the sound of the water lapping along the riverbank can be heard, with the exception of the mellow music I hear flowing out of the bar when someone opens the door. My feet are glad for the rest after our long walk, and my body pleased to have the refreshment.

The London Eye towers above us, stretching over four hundred feet into the clear night sky in its superb architectural glory. Like a gigantic bicycle wheel glowing with blue lights, the Eye hosts thirty-two viewing capsules and rotates smoothly and effortlessly, with one full rotation taking about half an hour. The views from the top are spectacular; Allie and I went on it a few years ago during the day. Since it is the most popular tourist attraction in London, we were squeezed in among twenty-something other tourists that rainy day, all of us
trying to take photographs and speaking in several different languages. Even though we felt like wet sardines, it was an incredible experience.

“Are you scared of heights?” Matthew asks randomly as he catches me staring at the mesmerizing wheel.

“No, not at all, actually. I was remembering when Allie and I went on it.” I smile at the memory, pointing to the Eye.

“Would you be interested in going again?”

“Absolutely!” I say, excited. “Oh, Matthew, the views are amazing, and at nighttime they must be superb.”

“Then let’s go, shall we? The ticket office looks quiet, and I don’t know how late it stays open, so we’d better not miss the chance.” He finishes his drink and stands up.

I swallow the rest of my wine and grab my purse, and we walk across to the ticket office. Fortunately, the attraction stays open late in August, with the last boarding at eleven o’clock. We are cutting it close, but that seems to work to our advantage, because when we board our capsule, we find ourselves alone in the large oval pod.

Matthew paces around at first, excited as a young boy, as the wheel slowly rotates in a clockwise direction, lifting us off the deck and over the water. I stand up front overlooking the Thames, watching as the lights of the city stretch out before me. I try to pinpoint random points of interest to gather my bearings, but it isn’t much use; all I can see is Trafalgar Square, the palace, and obviously Parliament, which is directly before me, but not much else. It is amazing to see how far and wide the
lights of London extend into the distance. There is something magical about being up here, enclosed in a capsule in the quiet, locked away from the world, just the two of us.

As we crest the top, I feel Matthew come to stand behind me, settling in to admire the same view over my shoulder. Every nerve ending comes alive with a magnetic pull as goose bumps spread down my arms. I long to lean into him, to feel his body against mine, but I hold myself still, unable to make that first move. We stand there frozen for a while, the city lights outstretched before us; the only sound is our breath.

The lights of the bridges stretching over the Thames are so beautiful. I try to focus on the view instead of how close Matthew is to me, but silently I am praying that he will touch me. As if he’s reading my mind, his arms envelop me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. His hips push against my bottom, sealing his body against me, his chest pushing firmly against my back. He rests his head against mine, his breath grazing my left ear, sending chills down my spine. His exotic, woodsy scent consumes me, the feel of him behind me drives me over the edge, and I surrender my battle, easing into him and relaxing my head against him. I surrender to my desire to be close to him.

My body comes alive when his hand slides up my neck and cloaks my jawline, holding my head still while his lips gently trail white-hot kisses down my neck. His other hand cups my breast, filling his palm, my nipple hard and erect through my blouse, eager for his touch. He pushes into me harder, forcing me against the metal railing, his arousal firm
against my rear. His tongue assaults my ear deliciously, his teeth biting into the flesh of the lobe. My unrestrained hands reach backward, roaming freely over his back jean pockets and down his hips as I find myself pulling him closer to me.

In a swift moment, Matthew spins me around so I am facing him; my hands fall to my sides as we stare at each other, face to face. My mind is dizzy, confused, my body screaming at the loss of his touch, but I find his expression unreadable. My skin is flushed, my breathing labored. My chest rises and falls as my heart hammers inside me like a drum. The pod is inching its way closer to the ground—only a few precious minutes are left of our ride, and I can almost hear them slipping away. The heated passion from a moment ago has subsided; the intense atmosphere gives way to a softer, more gentle mood as he cups my face with both hands and searches my eyes for what seems like forever. His thumbs delicately trace my lips, then he tilts my head up, leans in, and covers my lips with his. “Stay with me tonight, Kate,” he pleads, his eyes searching mine for an answer.

CHAPTER 18

Butterflies

The cab ride back to the hotel is intense. I sit on the full rear seat, and Matthew is opposite on the pull-down seat next to the door, his back to the driver, a safe distance from me. The energy radiating between our bodies is unlike anything I have ever experienced. Our eyes are fixed on one another, devouring every inch of each other. Every bump in the road vibrates through me, causing the throbbing between my legs to intensify. I feel as though I will explode right there in the taxi under Matthew’s heated gaze.

We have agreed for Matthew to wait in the taxi while I run up to my room and collect my belongings. We both admit this is the safest scenario, since Matthew said he likely would not be
leaving my hotel if he were to follow me upstairs. Since his hotel is located more conveniently next to the train station, it’s best for him to remain in the taxi. Fortunately, I packed earlier in the day before meeting Matthew, so it doesn’t take long for me to gather my things.

We pull up at the Paddington Hilton Hotel about ten minutes later, just before midnight. Briskly walking through the art deco lobby and past the grand staircase, we head directly into a waiting elevator that whisks us to the fifth floor. Matthew has his hands occupied with my luggage, so for now I follow quietly, momentarily distracted by my new surroundings. He pauses midway down the hallway, swipes his keycard through the electronic door reader, and motions for me to enter into the room.