The Perfect Plans Series [Box Set] (47 page)

My somewhat saddened smile at the memories we’ve created obliterates at the sudden remembrance of Julia and her visit two days ago. I curse her
and
the other players involved in my current diatribe. Julia. Ben. Helena. They’ve all contributed, each playing their parts so well. All succeeding in tainting our relationship with doubt and uncertainty, abolishing my dream-life come true, care of Alexander Tate. I hate them.

‘I can handle anything you need,’
Julia’s words burn through me.

I don’t need your goddamn help!

MY EYES JAR at the sun streaming through the curtained windows, my arms secured around the tablet at my chest. I’ve overslept having fallen into a dreamless sleep.

Standing, I falter.
Ugh.
I feel like shit. I make my way to the bathroom for a quick shower, an attempt to wash away my hangover.

Brushing my damp hair, I stare back at my reflection, the darkness coating my under-eyes reminiscent of my early morning wake—no amount of make-up will shield my evident tiredness. I slick my fingers through my hair, pulling it into a lose ponytail. With a long sigh, I stare back at my lost expression. I’m strong. I can be strong. I can forge past this.

Squaring my shoulders in my hardest semblance of confidence, I make my way to the bedroom to dress, my hangover lingering.
I deserve it.
It doesn’t escape me that alcohol played a large part in my confrontation with Alex last night—my semi-inebriated state resulting in somewhat rash statements and misguided ideals, spewed from my mouth in a dramatic display of irrationality.

Alex’s pleading is also ever-present. Is it possible that his panic at the thought of me leaving was sincere? I can’t be sure. We’ve never talked of love. I’d like to think that he loves me—as I love him—but I know it’s an impossibility. After such a short time together—regardless of how special and life altering—I can’t presume it’s mutual.

He
likes
me, no question. But
like
isn’t enough when he’s impacted by the consequences of our relationship. Enough damage has been done. Ben, for starters. Being partially responsible for the demise of their friendship—albeit as a second party benefactor—is something I’ll live with forever. I feel physically ill at the thought.

Alex will wake up one morning and realize his misguided
like
for me has led him down a path of irreparable damage. Can he live with that? Can
I
live with that?

Grabbing my purse, I head down the stairs, my steps a leisure stroll despite my tardy rise.

With the waiting cab at the curb, I lock up, catching a glimpse of Andrew’s door. The thoughts of his interpretations of yesterday’s events take root—the haziness of my drunken display fade away to reveal the extent of my behavior. I owe him an apology, at least, in note form.

Holding up a finger to the cab driver, I signal that I need a minute. Opening my purse in search of a piece of paper and pen, I make a quick notation, turning back to his door. Slipping the paper in the crack of its casing, it opens.

“Aby?” Andrew stands in the doorframe, a look of concern I anticipated donning his charming face. “Are you okay?” he asks, reaching his hand out to steady me.

I wasn’t prepared to come face-to-face with him at this moment. His presence takes me off-guard. “Y-yes. I was just leaving you a note,” I thrust it into his hand. “We’ll talk soon,” I back up towards the taxi.

“Aby, wait. Are you sure everything’s okay?” he follows me slightly towards the car.

“I’m late. I’m sorry, I have to go.” Sliding into the back seat, I buckle the belt, staring out my window at his confused face. Looking past him to my flat, I release a deep sigh.

I stare at my beloved new home, lost in a trance—perhaps impacted by the after-effects of the residual alcohol in my system from my over-indulgence. I’ve never understood people’s need to lose themselves in alcohol, the assessment reiterated by my turmoil resurfacing its fine head this morning. Nope, alcohol doesn’t help your problems. It simply masks them for an interim period, only to be reawakened come soberness. My problems are the same this morning as they were last night. My internal arguments the same. Issues the same.

The taxi pulls away, my flat becoming smaller and smaller in the distance, blurred into psyche along with everything else. I have a long day ahead of me.

SHUTTING OFF MY brain seems impossible.

Getting comfortable in my chair, I absently reach for my well-viewed
Glamour UK
stuffed in my purse. Resting the magazine on my lap, I absent-mindedly run my fingers over Alex’s face gleaming the front cover, a saddened smile lading my lips.

Sexiest Man
—an apt description to say the least. A more fitting label I truly couldn’t imagine. He
is
the world’s sexiest man. One I’ve had the luxury of calling my own. One I’ve fallen irrevocably in love with. He’s so much more than his astounding appearance. I’ve come to know the wonderful man he is inside, which makes it so much harder to deal with all this mess.

I would love to be the woman he ends up with five years from now—the memory of his shy, sweet allusion to his own desired dream. Is that what he truly wants? Maybe it’s simply a standard response to appear grounded. Obviously his career is a big part of his life. And with said career comes a boatload of other hurdles.

How can I look past everything that’s transpired? Is it possible to fit into his world? Do I even
want
to?

With his expressed dream floating through my mind, I start re-analyzing my own dreams. The dream life I’ve been fighting for, hoping to find. It’s sad to think that dreams are possibly unattainable. At least, not when the real world plays its part.
Is it worth walking into your fantasy when reality lurks right outside the door?

The sudden reminder of our would-be dream-life fills my eyes with building tears. Wiping a fallen drop from my cheek, I pull my gaze away from his beautiful cover, looking out the window for a much-needed distraction, the sun’s attempts to peek through the gloomy clouds catching my eye.

My thoughts drift back to the interview of Alex I caught on TV. The memory of my girlie hopping up and down on my bed bringing a slight smile to my face. I replay his answers, his admission of his weakness—floral tattoos. Who knew Alex Tate would end up being my weakness.

His desires to meet the woman of his dreams and live happily ever after is a reminiscent dream of my own. A shiver courses through me as I realize the contradiction of my prominent internal mantra—my quest for
my
dream life. I haven’t been searching for my dream life . . . I’ve uprooted my entire life, my entire existence in search of a fantasy. And fantasies are for children. Unattainable. And will never measure up.

It makes me shudder to think that I discarded a good life—aimlessly threw it away—in search of something that will never be. So many days wasted, spent daydreaming of escaping my mediocre life—my prominent imaginings of hopping on a plane, to chase that silly dream.

That life suddenly doesn’t seem so mediocre. The irony doesn’t escape me as I peer out the window, tears streaming down my face.
I’m so sorry Alex. So very, very sorry.

With my saddened smile concealed to those seated around me, I watch London fade into the distance as the plane continues to rise.

I’m going home.

To my final act—my award worthy finale—
take a bow.

To Be Continued . . .

“I’M NOT SUGGESTING a bender, shit head, just a few drinks with your best mate. It won’t kill you,” Ben mumbles beside me.

No, but your incessant pestering might,
I shake my head at having given in to him.
Best friends since we were pimply-faced kids, he knows all the right buttons to push to get me to do his bidding. And I indulge him because at the end of the day he’s the closest I have to a brother. So, I’m a sucker for my best mate, which is why we’re on our way to the Wellington Club. “Listen, I’ll plop my ass down on a bar stool for you for an hour. Two max.”

“You’ve been so fucking busy, you’re free to relax now, dick. Don’t be a pussy.”

He’s right, I could use a breather tonight given my jam-packed schedule of late sorting out my upcoming movie. I love my job, but when it’s busy, damn is it ever busy. Luckily all details were finalized today and I have the next month or so free before post-production. Well, minus a sporadic trip to LA here and there.