Lovestruck Forever (27 page)

“Who
cares why?” Sofie asked. “The result is that you’re
getting tons of publicity out of this. You were on
Entertainment
Tonight
last night.
This all has to be good for your book.”

“It’s
not
all
flattering,” I muttered, thinking of the website I had quickly
clicked away from just an hour ago. The headline of the article was
something along the lines of me cashing in on my fiancé to get
a book deal.

“Lizzie,
you can’t possibly expect all the press to be good,”
Sofie said sternly. “That’s just silly. The important
thing is that people are talking about you and talking about your
book. Take it for what it’s worth and ignore the rest.”

“You’re
right.” I heard a commotion downstairs and peeked out the
window again. Thomas was home, making his way through the reporters
and photographers. “Sof, I gotta go. We’re going to look
at a house.”

“Have
fun,” she said. “My life is equally exciting, by the way.
I might not have book deals worth tens of thousands of dollars, and I
might not be house hunting with my rich celebrity boyfriend, but I
did find a dollar in the cushions of your couch today.”

“That
dollar is mine.”

“Finders
keepers, babe.”

No
sooner had I hung up the phone did the door swing open. “How’s
my favorite about-to-be-published author?” Thomas asked.

“You
do know it’s going to be at least a year before the book
actually comes out, right?”

He
waved his hands dismissively. “Whatever. When it does happen,
it’s going to be huge.” He looked down at his watch,
wincing a little. “We should probably run, love. Alisha will
already be on her way.”

“Ready
when you are.”

“Let
me just hit the loo first.”

I
grabbed us each a bottle of water to drink in the car while I waited.
The appointment was to see a house over in Hampstead. We were lucky
she was able to get us in so late in the evening.

“Ready?”
he asked, appearing in the sitting room.

We
made our way downstairs and through the crowd to the waiting car.
Thomas gave the security guy, not Joe or Ross this time, directions
to the house and then relaxed back in the seat, putting his arm
around me.

“Hi.”
He kissed the tip of my nose.

“Hi,
yourself. You look tired.”

“It
was a long day.”

I
handed him his water and held out my own bottle for him to toast with
me. “Here’s to hoping this is the one.”

When
we pulled up in front of the house in Hampstead, I seriously doubted
it would be. Of all the places we had seen, it was the most like a
proper house. Detached, two stories, all red brick, and surrounded by
its own yard. That yard, however, was completely overgrown. A black
iron fence surrounded the property, lined with bushes for privacy.
Those bushes were scraggly, about three feet overgrown, and
threatening to escape past the bounds of the property.

“Great,”
Thomas muttered. “Just the kind of time waste I need after a
long day’s work.”

“Be
open-minded.”

Alisha
greeted us by the fence, smiling a little sheepishly. “I know
how it looks from the outside,” she said quickly, probably able
to read the expressions on our faces. “And to be honest, the
inside needs some work as well. But I think it has a lot of
potential.”

She
opened the gate and then the front door with a set of keys from her
purse. “The private garden has some really nice trees,”
she pointed out from the top of the rather tall front porch. There
was a battered porch swing on the far end. “It looks messy, but
it’s really nothing a good landscaper can’t sort. And it
gives you some privacy from the road.”

“That’s
a good point,” I said, thinking of the reporters that we were
having to wade through on an almost daily basis.

The
house opened up to a staircase. “Shall we start with the lower
level?” Alisha asked, gesturing for us to go down ahead of her.
Down the half flight of stairs, we found the sitting room. The walls
were covered in horrible flowered wallpaper, but the far corner
contained a giant fireplace. The last of the day’s sunlight
filled the room from the multitude of windows.

“Nice
view out into the garden,” Alisha said. “The floor is
original to the house, could probably use a re-finish.” Now
that she said it, I did notice a few scuffmarks and scratches in the
wood, but felt they added some character.

We
followed her through the sitting room and into one of the largest
kitchens I’d seen in any property so far. It had a farmhouse
feel to me, with the scrubbed pine counters, apron sink, and full
fireplace. “Wow,” I said, stopping to look around.
Through a door to the side, I could see a dedicated dining room, but
there was plenty of room right in the kitchen for a big wooden table.
The entire back wall was windows looking out into the back garden. I
didn’t need Thomas to pose me or pretend like we lived here in
order to know how it felt. I could imagine it perfectly, us cooking
together, having friends over, someday eating dinner with our kids
right at that table on a summer night like this one.

“Dining
room is through there.” We followed Alisha’s gesture into
another room with very unfortunate wallpaper. “This room wraps
around the side of the house,” she continued. “So you
have an entrance from the front sitting room as well. Kind of nice if
you have a formal party and don’t want to lead the guests
through the kitchen.”

I
realized that Thomas wasn’t saying anything and tried hard to
read his face as we made our way up the half flight of stairs to the
main foyer. “Reception room is right here,” she said,
opening a door to yet another flowery monstrosity. “This room
is a bit more formal, away from the main family areas. Aside from the
loo, it’s the only room on this level.”

Upstairs
we found four bedrooms. The master overlooked the back garden. If I
could ignore the teal and black tiles in the en-suite bathroom, I
could see that it was rather large, big enough, even, for a whirlpool
tub if we wanted—I had grown somewhat used to the one in our
rental house. The other three bedrooms were on the small side, but
the original wood floors continued throughout the second level.

“Shall
I give you a few moments to talk it over?” Alisha asked once we
were back on the main floor.

“That
would be nice.” Thomas took my hand and led me back down to the
kitchen, and we stood in front of the windows, watching the sunlight
turn from gold to orange over the crumbling stone patio. “So,
what do you think?”

It
was hard to tell from his tone how he was feeling, so I took a deep
breath, deciding to be totally honest. “Maybe it’s crazy,
but I love it.”

He
turned to me, his eyes wide and bright. “You do? Lizzie, so do
I!”

“Really?
I figured you thought it was too run down.”

He
shook his head. “I mean, it will be some work, for sure. Did
you see that tile in the upstairs loo?”

I
giggled. “Pretty awful.”

“But
that might be kind of fun, yeah? Doing it up the way we want?”

I
nodded, feeling ridiculously excited at the prospect of what I was
sure would be hard work. “We’re not touching this
kitchen,” I told him. “I love it just the way it is.”

“Scuffed
floors and all?”

“
Especially
the scuffed floors.”

He
was quiet for a moment. “Four bedrooms. That’s a lot of
room for family.”

“A
big family could definitely live in this house.” I realized
that I was grinning like an idiot but then, so was Thomas.

“We
never really talked about Hampstead,” he pointed out. “It’s
not quite as in the middle of things as that Westminster flat.”

“But
it’s close to Hampstead Heath,” I pointed out. “And
that’s probably the best park in all of London.”

“I
saw a tube stop a block down on the way in.”

“And
I’m sure there’s a nice local pub around.”

“I’ve
never spent much time in Hampstead.”

“We
could explore it together.”

He
laughed. “You do realize that we sound like we’re trying
to convince each other.”

I
met his eyes. “I don’t need convincing, Thomas. I’m
ready to put in an offer.”

He
looked so much like a little boy right then—happy, excited,
hopeful—that I felt my heart clench. “Yeah?”

I
wrapped my arms around his middle, resting my head against his chest.
I could see the whole back garden from here. And I could imagine a
little boy with Thomas’s green eyes out there playing.
“Definitely, definitely yeah.”

“Oh,
Lizzie, I’m so glad you’re here,” Maria called out
the moment I set foot in the church basement. “There’s so
much to do and no one is here yet. Can you help me with this crepe
paper? Oh, and we need to get the flowers spread out—”

“Can
I put my bags down first, Maria?” I asked, scowling at her over
the four brown paper bags I was currently balancing in my arms.

“Sorry,”
she said, sounding slightly abashed. “I may be a little
stressed out.”

I
set my bags on one of the card tables, taking in the space where we
would soon be hosting Laura’s shower. “Why are you
stressed out? We have two hours.”

“I
know. I just want this to be perfect for her, you know? She’s
had such a rough road trying to get pregnant and now she is!”
Was I imagining the moisture in Maria’s eyes? “I can’t
believe my little sister is actually having a baby! In like, a
month!”

“We’ve
planned a beautiful shower for Laura,” I assured her. “And
I’m here now to help, so no stressing, okay? Let’s just
get it all ready.”

Maria
took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. “Okay.”

We
worked steadily for the next hour before my mother and Sofie’s
sister Carla showed up. Under Maria’s strict instruction, we
were pretty much done by the time they arrived. We’d tied
balloons to the backs of all the chairs, placed vases filled with
carnations on each table, laid out the tablecloths and table
settings, strung crepe paper from the ceiling and walls, and set the
poster board Maria had made the night before in the place of honor
next to the gift table. Maria had made a collage of baby pictures of
both Laura and her husband, Frank. I marveled silently at the amount
of work she’d been putting into this shower, while
simultaneously doing so much for my wedding, helping out at my
parents’ house, working, and raising her own family. She may be
bossy, but my sister Maria got shit done.

“This
is beautiful,” my mother said, looking around the room. “Laura
is going to be thrilled!”

“I
hope so,” I said. “She deserves it.” I turned to my
mom. “How are you, Mama? How are you feeling?”

“I’m
quite well,” she assured me, patting my face as she moved to
the drink table to deposit a sleeve of paper cups. I watched her,
marveling at how well she was getting around. A few months ago, it
would have been difficult for her to walk while carrying anything in
her hands, and now she barely seemed to be moving slowly.

“Did
you bring my punch bowl, Lizzie?” she called over her shoulder,
pulling me from my musings on her health and reminding me that there
was still work to do. I helped her to ready the old crystal punch
bowl that her mother had been given for her own wedding decades ago.
We filled it with our family recipe of lemonade, orange juice,
Sprite, and raspberry sherbet. It might not be the most sophisticated
punch mix, but it would always be my favorite.

“Can
we expect Sofia?” my mother asked softly while we worked.

“I
think so.” When I had left the house that morning, Sofie had
assured me she’d been seeing me soon. Of course, there was
always the chance she’d change her mind. She’d been going
back and forth every time we talked about it since my return from
London.

“I
hope so. You did tell her how happy we’d be to have her? That
we wouldn’t let anyone make her feel uncomfortable?”

“I
did, Mama.” I felt a rush of affection for my mother and her
concern for Sofie’s comfort. I wondered how she would have
reacted if I found myself in Sofie’s position—unmarried
and pregnant. I knew it wouldn’t have been her first choice for
me, but I had a hard time imagining her being anything but
supportive.

“You
know,” I went on, “I really think it helped her to get
away with us in New York. You and Daddy treating her so normally made
her feel loads better.”

“I’m
glad. I would hate for her to think that she wasn’t welcome,
for any reason. We love her very much.”

“I’ll
keep reminding her of that.”

After
we finished with the punch, Maria, Carla, and I started pulling food
from the fridge. We’d planned a menu of a variety of
salads—pasta salads, various veggie salads, and chicken salad
to be spread on the fresh croissants Sofie’s mom would be
bringing. I’d spent the entire previous day at my parents’
house making all the food with Maria, and our hard work had paid
off—everything looked delicious.

Maria
didn’t seem as impressed with our efforts. “Where is he?”
she asked the room at large for the tenth time in as many minutes.

“He’ll
be here,” I told her, checking my own watch. Her husband José
was cutting it a little close. His job for the day was to head down
to Mexicantown to get the cake from Gloria’s and drop it off
here at the church. Guests were supposed to start arriving in fifteen
minutes, and still he wasn’t here. Then again, he did have both
children with him. In my experience, JJ and little Sofia added a good
twenty minutes to the best-laid schedules.

Sure
enough, he came through the door in the next minute. “Sorry,”
he preemptively called out to his wife as he laid the cake down on
the first card table he saw. “Your daughter got gum in her hair
and absolutely threw a fit about it.”