Page 48 of Valentine Nook (The Valentine Nook Chronicles #1)

Holiday

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

“ E NCORE. ENCORE .”

My heart hammers against my ribs as I rush back onto the stage, greeted by a standing audience cheering, whistling, and hollering, and take a deep bow. A second later, my co-stars join me, followed by Hamish McTaggart, our esteemed director, carrying a giant bouquet of roses.

“My star,” he says, taking my hand and kissing it before handing me the flowers.

From the size of Hamish’s wide grin, you’d never know he’d thrown a tantrum only hours before.

Or that nearly every main cast member threatened to quit at some point during the rehearsals because they couldn’t take any more of Hamish and his histrionics.

You’d think he was the first person to ever direct Shakespeare.

But tonight all is forgiven, and Hamish can bask in the glory of applause for as long as he needs, and I’ll be doing the same because man , do I deserve it. We all do.

I thought I’d known hard work before, but theater is a whole different beast—exhausting, exhilarating, and utterly terrifying—and I’ll be back here again tomorrow night to do it all again, and twice on Saturdays.

Theater comes with a thrill I can see myself getting addicted to.

The adrenaline rush of stepping out in front of a live audience and praying you don’t fuck up your lines.

I’ve never been a fan of roller coasters, but I bet it feels the same.

In comparison, a movie is slow and steady, filtered, and you rehearse your lines over and over until you nail them.

Then it’s all tied up in a pretty little money-making bow.

Early reviews are in, and they’re all saying this production of Twelfth Night will sweep the Olivier Awards next year, including best actress for me in my role as Viola—“my best work to date.” And for the first time ever, I think the critics might be onto something.

But I couldn’t have done any of it without my number one fan and biggest supporter, currently beaming up at me from the middle of the front row—Lando—along with his siblings, his mom, and my parents.

Marcy was here for the first week of pre-shows and once more declared the phone would be ringing off the hook with requests for me, which I’m happy with.

We’ve agreed to one project a year, wherever that may be, because Lando has said he’ll join me.

Since the beginning of the year, he’s been a permanent fixture next to me on the red carpet, which, to the amusement of his brothers, set off a slew of fan accounts featuring #hotenglishduke. I might have had Ashley “like” a couple of the posts for me .

Lando would be happy for it to die a painful death and never discuss it again, but Miles, being Miles, won’t allow that to happen. Since the first social post, any new ones are shared in the Burlington family chat group and rated.

I don’t hate it.

The cast and I take one final bow before the curtain falls, and for a minute, we all stand there, breathless. We did it. We got through the pre-shows and opening night without any fuckups, no lines forgotten, and no entering from the wrong side. Nothing.

We’re still on the stage, so our squeals of excitement are silent as we jump around congratulating and hugging each other, and the collective relief that we’re one show down is palpable.

We don’t even stop when Hamish tries to calm us for post-show notes.

In the end, he gives up because he’s eager to get to the opening night party for a stiff drink just like everyone else.

I’m floating on a cloud of happiness when I bump into Isobel, one of the production assistants.

“Holiday, would you like me to pop those in water for you? I’ll put them with the rest.”

“Yes, please.”

“And you have a visitor,” she adds with a smile.

I shove the bouquet at her and sprint down the stairs, then along the corridor to where the principal dressing rooms are.

The scent of roses hits me before I reach mine, and when I enter, it’s like I’m walking up the path to Bluebell Cottage because flowers cover every available surface and the floor.

But I don’t notice any of it because Lando is leaning against my makeup table looking more handsome than I’ve ever seen him, backlit by two dozen bulb lights.

The socials would have a field day if they could see him now .

“There she is.” He grins, holding his arms wide open for me to fall into. “You were incredible. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

I breathe him in, like I always do. He smells like mine, and if I can end every day in his arms exactly like I’m doing now, I’ll die happy.

Leaning back, I hold his clear blue stare. “You really liked it?”

“I loved it. Broadway next.”

My eyebrow shoots up, and I muffle a laugh. “I think we have enough to plan for the moment, don’t you?”

Twelfth Night runs for two months, and at the end of November, I begin filming a new legal drama set in the echelons of European security. Somewhere between that, I’ll take on the role of a lifetime as Lando’s wife.

He proposed to me a couple of weeks ago.

After two months of intense rehearsals, Hamish had graciously given the cast a weekend off before the preview performance, which was to take place ahead of opening night.

The second we were allowed out, I jumped into Lando’s Aston Martin and hit the gas until we reached Burlington to spend a glorious uninterrupted forty-eight hours.

We arrived just in time for family supper, which so happened to be almost exactly a year after my first Burlington family gathering.

And just like last year, fireworks were included.

The following morning, we woke early to take Sunday and Thunder for a long ride across the fields, checking on this year’s calves, and then visited our favorite spot on the estate. The one where we met for the first time.

While Lando tied up the horses, I walked in ahead through the canopy of trailing vines and wisteria to find the crop of rocks next to the waterfall had been laid with a picnic.

A bottle of champagne sat in a cooler next to a bowl of bright red strawberries, along with a giant donut with multicolored frosting that I knew Pierre had made.

And while all that was incredible, the little black box sitting in the middle of the donut was what caught my eye.

I could sense Lando’s footsteps behind me, along with his anticipation. I don’t remember breathing when I bent down to pick it up, but when I turned around, Lando was on one knee, looking nervous.

My nerves got the better of me, and I squealed yes before he’d even asked the question.

“Hollywood, can you let me have my moment?” He sighed, with the mother of all eye rolls.

Biting down a smile, I placed the box in his hand. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Thank you.”

Opening it up, he tipped out a smaller velvet case hidden inside and took a deep breath.

“Holiday Simpson, I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you right here in the glen.

You came into my life at a time when I couldn’t have needed you more.

I was completely lost, but you found me and showed me the way home.

Home to you. I know marrying me means you take on all of this too, but if you say yes, I promise I will never stop trying to make you the happiest woman on the planet.

And I’ll always be your biggest cheerleader. ”

By the time he cracked the lid, silent tears were running down my cheeks. Inside was the most beautiful ring I’d ever seen—a huge diamond, set in the thinnest gold halo and a band of pavé stones.

“It’s stunning,” I whispered.

“A family heirloom,” he added. “You really like it?”

“I absolutely love it, just as much as I love you.”

With shaking hands, Lando placed it on my finger, and we didn’t leave the waterfall for the rest of the morning.

Since Lando came to Los Angeles, we’ve tried to keep our life together as private as possible, something that’s not always been easy. Which is why we decided to keep our engagement a secret for as long as we could.

Only two people know, my dad and Tanner. Everyone else will find out at dinner tonight, which sadly Tanner couldn’t attend because he’s in the middle of his season.

“Maybe we do. But wishful thinking for next year.” Lando smiles, taking the opportunity to smack his lips to mine. “I have something for you.”

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small black box and holds it out in his palm. It’s exactly like the one he gave me at the waterfall.

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

When I see what’s inside, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry (happy tears). I’m looking at a gold band, on top of which is a thick circle of amber pavé stones, topped with a rainbow of tiny precious gems. It looks exactly like a donut.

Carefully removing it from the velvet casing, he slides it onto my finger, which happens to be empty because my engagement ring is safely locked up while I’m performing every night.

“Something’s been bothering me about your engagement ring, and I couldn’t figure out what.

Then it occurred to me that your engagement ring is a Burlington family ring passed down through generations, and while you’re the rightful owner of it, you aren’t the first owner.

Or the first person I gave it to,” he adds sheepishly.

“So I had this made. Something for us . A donut just for you, and you can wear it whenever you need to celebrate.”

I’m trying my best to mop up my tears without damaging my makeup, but it’s impossible, so I give up.

“You made me a donut.”

“I did. I think it’s quite fitting for the future Duchess of Oxfordshire. ”

I bite down on my lip. It’s going to take me a long time to get used to that. My mom is already freaking out that Lando’s a duke.

“I love you so much, Orlando Burlington. I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together.”

His hands cup my cheeks. “Then let’s start with getting the hell out of here. Everyone’s waiting at dinner, and then we can go on to the after-party, which you know is all Miles and Hendricks are excited about.”

“Best idea you’ve ever had.” I laugh, and it takes me all of five minutes to change and retouch my makeup.

Thanks to L’Oreal, I have that down to a T. The first campaign was such a hit, they’ve asked to extend the contract, but I haven’t decided yet.

“Ready, Hollywood?” Lando asks, holding his hand out.

“Sure am, Gracie,” I reply.

“Then let’s get this show on the road.”

THE END