Page 42 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

Lando

I t’s alarming how quickly I’ve gotten used to leaving Holiday in bed while I get ready for the day. Or how many mornings I’ve stayed in bed working because I wasn’t ready to leave.

Getting up and getting out has always been my ethos. I have a business to run, and it won’t happen if I’m not in the yard or at my desk by eight o’clock. Except, miraculously , the world doesn’t stop if I arrive at the yard by ten instead.

Over the past few weeks, it’s become harder and harder to slip away while she stays sleeping, which has everything to do with the day Holiday is scheduled to leave. It’s no longer months away, but weeks. Seven, to be precise.

On the flip side, the length of time she’s been in Valentine Nook has turned from weeks to months.

So many months it’s hard to remember what it was like here without her.

It’s hard to remember the person I was before she burst into my life with her celebration donuts, Hollywood smile, and huge heart.

In the hallway, the floor creaks, and my head pivots to see Holiday walking through the open door. She’s all legs under the white T-shirt which barely covers her arse, blond hair mussed up from a night of sleep, and the smile that rivals the sun breaking the horizon.

“Coffee, Your Grace.”

She steps carefully onto the bed, managing not to spill a drop from the two mugs she always fills to the brim.

“Thank you.”

She drops down, cross-legged. One of her knees rests against me, and I reach out to stroke up her thigh where her Californian tan has disappeared as quickly as the summer.

She says nothing as she picks up a book from her bedside table and opens it.

It’s one of four books she has on the go, and there’s something about how we can sit in silence—her reading, me working—when we can quite as easily spend a day nonstop talking.

And we can talk . We talk, and laugh, and have sex.

It’s all incredible. But this , this quietness, there’s an intimacy to it I’ve never had before.

It fills my chest with a kaleidoscope of colors, warming me to the depths of my soul and reaffirming what I’ve known for a long time. Maybe since the day I met her.

I love Holiday Simpson.

But typically, our peace is interrupted by a ringing. Holiday drops her book, picks up her phone, and looks at me with a quiet kind of excitement.

“It’s Marcy. She might have theater news. I should get it.”

I glance at the clock. “What time is it where she is?”

“She gets up super early. Or goes to bed late.”

Why doesn’t that surprise me? From the little I’ve seen and what Holiday’s told me about her, it doesn’t seem like the woman sleeps.

“You take it. I’m going to jump in the shower,” I tell her, dropping a kiss on her head.

I pad into the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror. Out of habit, I open the drawer for my toothbrush and razor, but when I look down, they’re not there because this isn’t my house anymore. I don’t live here, and I stopped shaving.

“Idiot.” I chuckle with a shake of my head and pick up my toothbrush from the counter where I left it last night .

I’m reaching for the tap when I hear an excited squeal, and my ears prick. Peeking around the door, I see Holiday where I left her, but with a smile lighting up her face. Hell, it lights up the entire room as she nods along with whatever Marcy’s telling her.

“Hmm, seriously? With no audition? Holy shit, that’s amazing . . . yes . . . yup. Marcy, you’re incredible?—”

I turn back to the sink, and the smile on my face is as big as Holiday’s.

I’m guessing she’s got something lined up with the theater, and I’m so fucking proud of her.

And not just from this. I’ve never met anyone who’s so sure of themselves.

So driven to go after what they want and stand up for what’s good for them in all aspects of their life.

She needed a break, she took it. Had a fall, got back up.

Wanted to learn something new, and now she’s on her way to being Pierre’s pastry chef.

It’s more than I’ve ever done, that’s for sure.

My path was laid before I was born, and I’ve never deviated from it.

I expect her to join me in the shower, but after ten minutes, I get out, and she’s still talking. Only this time, her tone is vastly different. Harder. For a second, I don’t recognize it as hers.

“No. No ,” she repeats, but louder. “Marcy, I was very clear . . . I have an engagement . . . I can’t leave before then?—”

I stop running the towel over my hair and stand still.

“Fuck, Marcy, that’s not fair. They can’t do this?—”

The pitch of Holiday’s voice changes. Becomes higher.

“No. I’m not doing the shows. Someone else can...I was told the end of November, not the beginning . . . I can’t leave yet . . . No . . . Do something . . . You’re my agent, for fuck’s sake.”

My stomach drops. The beginning of November is three weeks away. I wait for more confirmation of what I don’t want to hear, but instead, there’s a loud thud, followed by a muffled sob.

When I come around the door, I see her phone on the floor across the other side of the bedroom. Quietly, I retrieve it and place it back on the bedside table.

“Hollywood? What’s going on?”

Her neck crooks toward me as I sit on the bed. Her face is screwed with frustration, and she swipes away a tear.

I wait while she gathers her thoughts, teeth worrying her lip. I want to tell her it can’t be that bad, but I don’t. The beginning of November is still ringing in my ears.

Throwing back the covers, she pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “I...uh...” She takes a deep breath and flashes a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“Let’s go with the good news.”

She nods. “There’s a new production starting of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof . They want me for the role of Stella. Rehearsals begin in April. Opens in July. I have to meet with the director, but apparently, I don’t have to audition.”

My mouth drops. I forget about the phone launched across the room or the fact there’s still bad news to come. She got what she wanted.

“That’s incredible. I’m so proud of you.”

She nods. “Yes. It really is. On Broadway. My name will be in lights.”

“Where it belongs,” I tell her, though my excitement deflates slightly. “New York isn’t far?—”

“No, it’s not. ”

“Is that the bad news? New York?” I grin. “It’s not that bad.” My words peter off when another tear falls down her cheek.

“My schedule for the press junkets has been brought forward a month.”

“Okay . . .”

“I have to leave the night of the Fall Ball.”

I don’t know what to say, and I feel like I’m missing something, which probably comes from me knowing absolutely nothing about the movie industry. I don’t want her to leave early, but then I guess all it means is she’ll return sooner.

“Okay, how long is a junket? A week? Can you come back after?”

“They’ll take me up to mid-December. Because I won last year, the studio wants to push me out more.” Her lips mash and twist.

“Six weeks isn’t so bad.”

“After that, award season begins again, and it’s going to be busy. Intense. I’ll be traveling...”

From the way she’s chewing her lip again, I almost don’t want to ask. “How long is award season?”

“Finishes mid-March.”

“March?” That’s five months away.

Half an hour ago, I had seven weeks to figure out what to do when Holiday left. Now I have three weeks before she’s gone for five months. A month ago, I was of the decision that when she left, we’d have to say our goodbyes, but I’ve long changed my mind. I don’t care about living life on a plane.

I have a plane. I’ll make it my office. I’ll put a better bed in it.

“I have to be back in London for BAFTA. That’s in February.” She shrugs, plastering on another one of those fake smiles I hate. “Wanna be my date?”

Taking a deep breath, I slide closer to her and wipe my thumb across her cheek to remove another tear. “I would love to be your date. I’ll be your date to anything you ask me.”

Watery blue eyes flick up to mine. “Really? All of them? Even the American ones?”

“I’d be honored, and the rest we’ll figure out. It won’t be that bad,” I say, hoping I sound more convincing out loud than I do in my head.

“You think?”

I nod. “Do you still get Christmas or New Year?”

“I’ll be with my family for Christmas,” she says quietly.

“New Year, then.” I smile at her, trying to make it as reassuring and genuine as possible. “We’ll figure it out. Remind me how long the show will be on Broadway?”

“Six months total, three for rehearsals, three for the show. Ends in September.”

I do a quick mental calculation. It’s October now. Over the next eleven months, Holiday will be free for a total of one month, plus a few snatched days here and there. There’s no way to sugarcoat it—the situation is shit.

“Well,” I begin, “we’ll have to get really good at phone sex then, won’t we?”

The corners of her mouth lift with a weak smile.

“And don’t forget, I have my own plane, ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” I shake her knees, still tucked firmly into her chest. “C’mon. It’ll be an adventure.”

I can see she’s not buying it, but I don’t want to tell her I know how she feels.

That I’m not ready to give her back. That I’ve fallen in love with her.

Because I saw her face when Marcy told her about the role she’d been offered and how happy she was.

I’m not taking that from her. I’m going to show her I’m as excited as I could possibly be.

For once, I’m not going to be the worst liar in my family, because telling her how I feel amounts to nothing but selfishness on my part when the world is waiting for her to return.

I lean in and kiss her. “Okay, I’m going to get dressed and head to the yard before someone sends out a search party.”

I’m almost at the closet when she calls me back, her voice barely audible. “Lando, what if this is all it was supposed to be? A summer fling. Temporary.”

“It wasn’t,” I tell her firmly.

This time, I’m not lying.

I refuse to believe that something temporary could make me feel like my heart is breaking.