Page 58 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually (Actually #1)

Even though my head was still spinning with thoughts and conversations when finally I climbed the stairs to bed that night, I felt as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders now that Dad knew about me finding Mum.

But when I arrived at the bedroom door and saw David sleeping in my bed, I felt the same weight descending upon me again.

The purpose of taking some time away on my own hadn’t originally been to find out whether I wanted to marry David or not; purely to put my mind at rest that I was doing the right thing. But now after everything that had happened, I found myself standing at the bedroom door wondering just that.

To anyone who didn’t know David well, he did appear to be quite staid and reserved, and he didn’t give too much away. But I knew that deep down he could be very passionate and loving once you got to know him. And that was the David I loved—the one he didn’t show to anyone but me.

But since Sean had come into my life it had made me question whether what I felt for David was enough.

Sean was the complete opposite to David, his personality was…

well, how would you describe him? My mother had portrayed him just now as a bit of a cad…

a smooth talker…a ladies’ man, even. He wasn’t really that.

She’d also said he was an amusing and intelligent young man—fun to be with at first, but likely to let you down in the long run.

Even Dad had said he used his head to get what he wanted, not only in business, but in his personal life too.

I screwed my forehead up; those descriptions sounded familiar, particularly Mum’s…where had I heard them before?

Then I realized. That’s just how I’d described the characters of Mark Darcy and Daniel Cleaver from the Bridget Jones movies to Sean earlier today—almost word for word!

I’d told Sean then that I’d preferred Colin Firth’s character of Mark Darcy to Hugh Grant’s Daniel Cleaver. Is that the way I really felt about David and Sean?

Oh God, this is just getting ridiculous. Didn’t I just say this evening how I wasn’t going to try living my life like a movie anymore? And now here I am only an hour or so later doing it again already.

I entered the bedroom and tiptoed in the dark across to the bathroom. Too much has happened tonight for me to even be thinking about all this right now, let alone to be making any decisions.

When I had finished in the bathroom, I returned to the darkened bedroom again.

I tried crossing the room as silently as I could; the last thing I needed was for David to wake up and want to start yet another discussion with me—especially about our relationship.

I think I’d done enough soul-searching for one night.

I stubbed my toe against the chair in front of the dressing table and swore under my breath, so I reached out and fumbled for the lamp that sat on top of the table.

A soft glow filled the room. David stirred in the bed and I watched him for a moment, praying he wouldn’t wake up.

But he didn’t—he just turned over and carried on snoring.

Normally if I’d heard David snoring I’d have been immediately thinking of ways of getting him to stop before I tried to get some sleep myself. But not tonight; in fact, I hardly heard him—I just stared at the offending chair that had attacked my innocent toe.

On the seat of the chair lay David’s clothes for the next morning.

Not his suit and shirt; they hung on wooden hangers against the outside of the wardrobe.

The items that were causing me so much interest were his socks neatly laid out in a pair, and more importantly, his underpants.

They sat folded just as neatly on top of the seat too—just like Mark Darcy’s underwear had done when he’d been in Bridget Jones’s flat…

I looked at the boxer shorts and then I looked at David.

And suddenly everything that had been a jumbled mess in my head up until now became crystal clear.

What Dad had said to me in the lounge.

What Mum had said on the phone.

It all made sense now.

Dad had been through so much to raise me on his own. He’d made so many sacrifices for me, and now it was my turn to repay him.

Mum had spent too many miserable years all alone, just because she chased some wild, romantic dream that didn’t exist with the wrong type of man. I didn’t want to end up like that.

Now it was my turn to do the right thing. Dad said I’d know what to do when the time came, and now this must be the time. He was wrong about one thing, though; it was something to do with the movies that was helping me make my choice.

“Well, if Mark was good enough for Bridget,” I whispered quietly into the darkness.