Falling For My Husband (British Billionaires) (33 page)

I’m totally in my zone on this ride, I didn’t even notice when a car came swerving into our lane.  Danny’s bike started to sway beneath my legs.  I gripped his waist even tighter and tried to remember everything he ever told me.  There is an art to being a passenger on a bike.

Don’t fight against me.  Don’t lean into turns with me.  Keep your body centered.  Hold on tight.  If we go down, try to stay on your back with your head raised.  Try not to tumble.

Ok. 
Alright.  Trying to keep my body centered, grip tight and not fighting against Danny, the bike continued to sway beneath me.  Before I knew it, we were headed right towards the guard wall in the middle of the highway.

Panic set it.  “
Danny .. Danny .. What do I do?” I screamed and I knew he couldn’t hear me over the traffic and the roar of the bike.

We hit the wall.  The sound was so loud; I felt it in my bones.  The sound of metal slamming against concrete is a sound I will never forget.  Nails on a chalkboard don’t even compare.

I flew off the bike.  The pain of hitting the cement of the highway at over sixty miles per hour is excruciating.  I felt my bones in my leg snap as I try to keep on my back without tumbling.

“
Aaaaahhhhhhhhh,” I screamed out in pain.  Every inch I slid down the highway until I hit my final resting place was terrifying.  I had no idea what was going on around me.

My body finally won out against me and my head slammed against the hard cement and pain shot through my entire body.

I assume I blacked out.  When I finally came to, I was in the back of an ambulance with medics looking over my body and starting an IV, their faces looked grim.

“Danny?” I asked, my voice coming out weak and barely there.

The blond medic just looked at me with blank eyes.  He slightly shook his head.

“No,” I cried, “no, please no.”

My Danny didn’t survive.  They said he had too much trauma and died on the scene.  My body screamed in pain as I tried to get off the gurney and go to where ever Danny was.  The other medic, who I don’t remember too well, grabbed my shoulders softly and pulled me back to stay on the gurney.  The blond medic inserted a syringe of medication into my IV and within seconds, I felt my body go lifeless and relaxed. 

In that moment, my world came to a screeching halt and that was it for me. 

Skylar came to visit me in the hospital, for the two days I was admitted, while I was treated for my road rash and broken leg.  Surprisingly, I didn’t have it too bad.  Because my injuries were minimal, I was released on the second day, with crutches and a wheelchair that Skylar had “borrowed” from the hospital.  I had a pretty bad bump on my head, some scrapes and bruises and a broken leg, but I was alive. Which was more than I could say for Danny…

Now here it is, five days after the accident and the day of Danny’s funeral.  At the service, his mom asked me to sit with her.  She told me that I was practically
family anyway, being engaged to Danny and all.  It did feel a little weird not sitting with my friends and parents, but it was nice to be able to sit with Mrs. Thomas, who looks so much like Danny it’s scary.

Immediately following the burial, we all went back to Danny’s mother’s house.  People were coming and going. 
Friends, relatives, faculty from the school, members of the community.  

I don’t remember eating much today, or any day since Danny died, for that matter.  I can hear my stomach growling.  I know it needs some sort of sustenance, if I am going to take the pain medication the doctor prescribed, but the thought of consuming anything, makes me ill. 

“Mira, honey, you have to at least eat something.  Trust me, I know how hard this is, but you have to take care of yourself,” Danny’s mom pleaded with me.

“Mrs. Thomas, I promise I will eat something later.  I just can’t right now,” I responded back emotionless, not even making eye contact with the woman.

Everything seemed to pass by in such a blur, I didn’t even realize that I was being wheeled out the door with Kylee on my side and Skylar pushing the wheelchair.

“Where are we going?” I asked them.

“We’re taking you home, Mi.  You have had enough for one day.  You need a shower and some sleep,” Skylar said.

“And something to eat,” Kylee chimed in.

When we got into mine and Kylee’s apartment, I immediately saw the long thin table by the front door lined with pictures of my past.  Some of the happiest days of my life, captured forever.  I will be forever haunted by these images in my memory, let alone to look at them every day.

“This isn’t fair.  Why did you leave me?” I yelled as I swiped my arm across the table, knocking everything onto the floor, shattering the glass in the frames. 

“Come on, Mira, let’s get you in the shower,” Kylee said.  I saw the pity in her eyes and Skylar just looked at the floor, not making eye contact with either of us. 

“I’m
sorry guys.  Today was just an emotional day,” I said apologetically.

“
Mi, we all miss him.  Just take care and call me if you need anything Kylee,” Skylar said as he walked out and closed the door behind him.

“I’ll clean up this mess,
hun.  Just go,” Kylee said to me as I got out of the wheelchair, carefully sitting on the floor and tried to pick up the pictures around the glass.

Kylee grabbed a
shoe box that wasn’t taken out in the trash and started putting my memories away.  “I’ll just put them all in here, for safe keeping, until we can buy new frames,” she told me as I used the crutches to maneuver into my bedroom.

It’s Him

By

Grace Villar

My new apartment was a university accommodation in the area made famous by Sherlock Holmes, just a few steps from Baker Street Station. Even more exciting than that, I was going to be living close to the gorgeous Regent's Park and just a stone's throw from the southern end of Edgware Road, renowned for its unique Middle-Eastern atmosphere. The
flat
, as the Brits call them, was also walking distance from Oxford Street, where the lights during the holiday season are to die for. Or at least that's what the guidebooks said. I read half a dozen of them on the 10-hour flight.

It was raining when my plane landed in London. I know they say the Big Smoke wouldn't be as charming without a welcoming rain, but we're not talking about a light drizzle or even gentle raindrops, but a heavy downpour. I took the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station, but found myself obliged to take a black cab the rest of the way.

"Whereabouts are you from, luv?" The cabbie asked in a thick Essex accent as I climbed into the cab. My pants and coat were soaked, and I was dripping all over the backseat. 

"California," I replied, "Los Angeles."

"You traded your beautiful weather for
this
?" He asked with a chuckle.

"Well, I'm doing my
post
graduate studies at University College London," I answered, remembering to use the British term.

"Ah, I see. Well, luv, better get used to the rain. It's been
goin' like this for days. The weather report is always wrong; listenin' to it is doin' me 'ead in."

I smiled politely and gave a small nod of agreement when his eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.

"They say winter is comin' early this year, so I hope you 'ave enough warm clothes wiv you."

"Me too! But I guess I can always go shopping if not." British people really seem to like talking about the weather. The English guy sitting next to me on the plane had also warned me, at length, about the unpredictable and often dreary London climate. We pulled up in front of my flat a few minutes later and the cabbie got out to unload my luggage.

"That'll be a tenner," he said, straightening up after setting my last suitcase on the sidewalk.

I handed him a bill. "Thank you."

"Any time, luv. Good luck with your studies. I never did ask what you're studyin'?"

"Scriptwriting."

"Ah. Well, enjoy London." The cabbie smiled warmly before climbing back into the driver's seat and pulling away.

I turned to the building. A handsome young Italian guy leaned against the doorframe smoking a cig
arette. He stared at my luggage. "I hope you're not on the sixth floor, because the lift's not working at the moment."

"Lift? Oh, you mean the elevator."

"Yes,
elevator
," he teased, mimicking my accent.

"Well, I'm on the fourth floor, so it shouldn't be so bad."

"If you'd like, I can help you carry your things up. I live on the fourth floor as well."

"Really? Thank you so much. My name's Georgina Wallace, by the way. You may call me Gina, or
Georgie, if you like," I said brightly, extending my right hand.

He shook my hand. "I'm Antony de Lucca. Call me Tony."

During the climb to the fourth floor, I learned that Tony was from Italy (obviously) and was studying to be an architect. He also had a job at a café nearby. I also learned that the fourth floor was actually the fifth—by American standards.

"What you call the first floor is the ground floor here. Then the numbers start,"
Tony explained cheerfully as we rounded the
third
floor landing and kept climbing. "You'd think for the price we pay in this place, we would have a working
elevator
," again he mimicked my pronunciation. "It's supposed to be fixed by tomorrow, though. Where I lived in Italy, my apartment was on the twelfth floor. After a week of going up and down, I had legs like Arnie."

"Who?"

"Come on, California girl, your former Gubernator."

"Oh, right. Of course." We reached my door and Tony set my luggage down as I fished for my key. "Tony, thank you so much for your help. I don't know how I would have managed to carry all these without your help. I hope to bump into you again."

"Of course! You have to meet my flatmate. You'll like each other. He's American too, and he's studying cinematography. Maybe you'll be in some of the same classes. We should all hang out some time."

"Oh? Okay." I unlocked the door and set the bag I was carrying inside,
then turned back to Tony. "Grazie mille."

"You speak Italian?"

"Cosi cosi," I answered shyly.

"
Bene! I’ll let you settle in. Welcome to London, Gina.”

"Thanks. See you!" I pulled my last suitcase inside and shut the door. And that is how I met my first new friend.

As I finished unpacking my things and setting up my room, a knock came at the door.

"Yes?" I called. "Come in."

The door opened a crack and a pretty girl with long brown hair and dark eyes poked her head in. She smiled and held out a hand. "Hi, you must be the American. I'm Ashley Worthington, your flatmate. Which I guess is rather obvious. Why else would I be inside the flat?"

"Hi, I'm Georgina Wallace," I smiled back and reached out to shake. "Pleased to meet you."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you wanted to join me for dinner in about an hour? I'm making pork chops and roast potatoes. I hope you're not vegetarian. Are you? Or perhaps you follow a religious prohibition that won't allow you to eat pork?"

"Me?" I laughed, overwhelmed by her rapid speech and slurring Australian accent. "No, I love meat. Pork chops sound delicious. Thank you for the invitation."

"Well, Gina—can I call you that?" I nodded as she continued talking. "I like you already. My last flatmate was vegan, and she gave me weird looks every time I cooked meat."

"Y
ou won't hear any complaints from me."

She flashed another grin and turned to head back to the kitchen. "I'll let you know when it's ready."