Making Love (Destiny Book 1) (5 page)

I narrowed my eyes and spoke slowly and I hoped menacingly. “You are a dead man, Braxton.”

“I do hope that’s a promise. I’m about to get into the lift so if we get cut off, remember I’ll call you-”

And he was gone.

I sat there, the phone still pressed to my ear for a few moments.

What the fuck just happened? Did my English gentleman just reveal his dirty side?

A devilish smile spread over my lips as I realised, he did. And I liked it.

As turned on as I was, I really did need to finish these sketches today, then I could have a few days to let them rest before going back and checking that I really was happy with them. As such, my wank would have to wait but with any luck, it would be all the better for it.

***

When it came down to it, I actually wasn’t in the mood to have phone sex with Will and while he made one or two leading comments, he obviously took my hint and didn’t press the matter. In fact, he was a perfect gentleman.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, it was more a case of feeling insecure. He was a movie star, I was a plain Jane and I worried he’d see me as a sex line or something. I knew this was my own insecurities coming to the fore, but I couldn’t help how I felt. Besides, phone sex is not to be expected after only one meeting, one text and one phone call.

Still, he called me twice a day, morning and early evening for him. For me it was late afternoon and late night. I offered to call him sometimes but he insisted that his call package gave reasonable international rates. I didn’t believe him, but I didn’t even have an international call package, so I let him talk me into it.

I vowed to cook him something nice when he got back, just hoping that his flight wasn’t delayed.

I was pleasantly surprised when he kept calling, and we talked about anything and everything, from TV to politics (yes I know the rule, but we still like each other, amazingly, and I don’t think he’s taken a hit out on me, so we survived).

In fact, our talks were so good, that I often stayed up later than I should, causing me to become somewhat nocturnal. I’m not sure the postman knew what to make of me when I answered the door at 10.30 am to sign for a parcel, with bed head and only an inside out dressing gown protecting my modesty. I was usually the picture of professionalism when he rang. Well okay, my hair was mostly up in a messy bun and I didn’t often wear make-up in the house, but at least I was usually dressed, even if there sometimes were tea stains on my t-shirt.

My closest friends and my sister, knew about Will, but they didn’t exactly know who he was yet.

Hannah, that’s my sister, knew all about the experiment and was keen to know how things had gone so when she called, I told her about Will and how well I thought we’d hit it off, and about him running out then coming back for a quick kiss. I of course, downplayed things, not letting myself believe that I actually cared about him, so I certainly wasn’t about to admit more than a passing attraction to my protective older sister. She asked a lot of questions about him, sensing my interest, and when I hedged on some answers, she called me out (sisters are good at that) so I realised I’d have to tell the truth, or at least part of it. I’d just watched the National Theatre’s DVD of Hamlet, which Will had been in, so I told Hannah that he worked at the Old Vic Theatre, where the production was filmed. She thinks he’s some kind of administrator cum stage hand.

I fed the same story to my two closest friends, Laurie, an old university friend, and Marie, who I had met when I moved into my building (she had since moved away to live with her boyfriend, but our friendship remained strong).

I feel bad about lying, really I do, but I’m just not ready for the reaction when they learn I’m dating Tumblr’s main squeeze (yeah, I’d done a lot of googling on him, and that site seems especially  obsessed with the man, he was second only to Benedict Cumberbatch, in fact. To be fair, I could understand people’s obsession with Will).

Hannah will be the first to know the truth, she always is and her being in Scotland means that she can't turn up on my doorstep and ask annoying questions. Questions like ‘What are you going to do when he’s away for six months filming?’, ‘Do you honestly think this can last?’ and my personal favourite, ‘You know I love you, but he’s surrounded by beautiful, nubile young women all day every day. Even if he is faithful, isn’t the jealousy going to eat you alive?’

It’s not that I know her so well that I can predict what she’s going to say (although I can) it’s more that these are the questions that keep popping into my head with alarming regularity, and which I’m studiously trying to ignore.

This relationship (if it can be called that yet) may very well end in tears.

However, it will definitely end in tears if I give in to my fears and don’t give it a shot.

Yeah, I’m punching above my weight here, but so what? And some celebrities were married to non-famous people.

Chris O’Donnell was married to his high school sweetheart and they’ve been together 18 years now! Matt Damon married a bartender and they have nine years of marriage under their belts. Jerry Seinfeld has been married to a woman who works in PR for 15 years, Jeff Bridges got married to a waitress in 1977, so their marriage was older than I was! Christian Bale had married Winona Ryder’s PA; again, they’d been married for 15 years. Nick Cage married a waitress, Patrick Dempsey married a make-up artist in 1999 and Paul Rudd, Robert De Niro, Kevin Jonas, Aaron Paul, Jimmy Fallon, Jon Bon Jovi and Vince Vaughn, to name a few others, had all married regular people.

I’d done my research. And that list didn’t even include the women who had married non-celebrities!

No, this could work, I just had to not let my fears hold me back. And maybe become a waitress or bartender. That seemed a popular profession for celebrity marriage. Seriously.

So that was why the secrecy with my friends, because I already have enough neuroses of my own, without adding theirs into the mix. Also, while I trusted my friends, I wasn’t entirely sure that they wouldn’t tell anyone, even if I swore them to secrecy. JK Rowling’s lawyers had been contractually obligated not to tell anyone that her book, The Cuckoo's Calling, published under the pseudonym Robert Galbraith, was written by her, but he had told his wife and she had told a friend and then the world and his wife knew.

So it might not take much for this to become public knowledge (and I had a feeling that my presence in Will’s life wouldn’t be quite as well received as JK’s new book had been) and something told me that if the tabloids got hold of it too soon, it would be over before it had begun.

So I pushed such thoughts aside and spoke to him each day, as if he was just a bloke I’d met down the pub and there was nothing unusual about how we had met (I shudder to think what would the papers will make of that!).

Katie knew, of course, and I told her the truth, which was that we were often talking by phone, but she didn’t ask too many details, perhaps sensing her conflict of interest.

As the day of his return grew closer, I became more nervous and worried but I tried to hide it. Will assured me that he only wanted something simple to eat that evening, and that he had a massive DVD collection and Netflix, so he could provide the movie. All I had to do was bring myself and the food.

He said that he would text me when he landed, and he expected that it would take him at least an hour to clear customs, collect his baggage and get home, so we agreed that I’d come to his for two hours after he texted, which gave me plenty of notice.

I hardly got any sleep on the Thursday night, I was too nervous about seeing him and every time I closed my eyes, I felt his lips on mine again, as I had during our brief kiss. That immediately woke me up and revved up my engine to the point where sleep would be impossible for a while but by the time I had relaxed enough to sleep again, that same memory would haunt me once more.

Eventually I drifted off into a fitful sleep at about 4am, and awoke at 10.30, but luckily the postman wasn’t ringing again. Although tired, I was also exhilarated, and I knew that dozing off again for a few more minutes sleep would be impossible, so I got up and did my best to ignore the fact that I had a date with Will tonight.

By lunchtime I had given up on work and found myself surfing the net, looking for pictures of him and by 3pm, I was ensconced on my sofa watching one of his films.

We’d just call today a duvet day.

As 6pm grew closer, I couldn’t stop fidgeting. I packed and repacked my ingredients, most of which I had pre-prepared and just needed reheating, and I nervously paced, trying not to let my fantasies get too out of control.

At 5.35 I got a pleasant surprise when Will texted to say they had landed early. I replied with ‘See you soon. xxx’ and I promptly went into panic mode, wondering why I had insisted on waiting until the last minute to get ready! I didn’t want my make-up to look tired or overdone, as it might if I had hours in which to gaze at my flaws in a mirror, so I had opted to leave it until he texted. Now I wished that I’d spent the day in the salon, getting my hair, nails, fake tan and make-up done.

Somehow I managed to keep the make-up in check and not look like a drag queen, despite my insecurities, and I opted for black trousers, a sweater and boots, just like the first time. I looked nice but not too dressed up. I didn’t figure a man just off an international flight wanted me to turn up in a ball gown and stiletto heels.

Finally happy with my appearance, I left the house, only to dash back from the bus stop when I realised I’d left the milk I’d bought for him behind (you always need fresh milk when you’ve been away). Luckily the bus I needed runs every ten minutes or so, and I knew I’d left myself loads of time, so wouldn’t be late.

I took a deep, calming breath as I stood outside his door, which did absolutely nothing! I should have brought a hip flask.

I rang the bell anyway and we both smiled when he answered. There was a beat of awkwardness, while I debated whether it would be good form to throw my arms around him and claim a passionate kiss but as soon as the madness fled, he invited me in.

Once in the hallway, he stopped me from progressing and raised a hand to my face, gently caressing my cheekbone with his thumb.

“Thank you for coming,” he said, his expression tender and sexy as hell. Then he kissed me again, no longer or harder than our first kiss, but definitely welcome.

It helped to relax me, proving to me that he really did want me here and when he pulled away, I wondered how I could feel so at home in someone else’s house.

“I missed you,” he told me.

“Me too,” I agreed. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to get your number sooner.”

“No harm done,” he assured me. “Drink?”

“Please.”

He led me through to the kitchen and I unpacked my Tupperware boxes and fresh (although I hasten to add, shop bought) spaghetti, and I watched him as he opened a beer for us both.

He had dark shadows under his eyes and his smiles didn’t seem quite as enthusiastic as they normally were.

“You look tired,” I told him. For some reason, probably the experiment we did, I didn’t have the same inhibitions that I’d usually have in such a new relationship. Normally, I’d be worried that such a sentence would be interpreted as ‘
you don’t look good
’.

“I am,” he admitted. “LA can be frantic at the best of times. I don’t mind going out there to film or even for a round of auditions but promotions are pretty hellish.”

“Then the jetlag,” I added. I was sure I hadn’t travelled anywhere near as much as him, but I’d been to America twice for holidays.

He nodded his agreement with my sentiment and we headed through to his lounge. His home had a natural, almost country feel to it. The doors were unfinished, natural pine, the floors were wood or tiled and it was more something I’d expect to find in a village, not in the middle of London. It was lovely though, definitely a home rather than a show house.

He led me through to the living room, where the couches were big and comfortable, the kind you sink into, and I realised that his home was a reflection of him, warm, open, welcoming and unpretentious. I loved it.

“Do you want to put a film on,” he asked? We had been talking twice a day, so we didn’t exactly have a lot to catch up on, so I agreed and as we settled back, he put his arm around me and pulled me into him.

I can't even remember what the film was now, but I vividly remember that we kissed a bit at intervals, nothing too heavy (which I couldn’t blame him for, the poor guy looked knackered). After I’d cooked the pasta and garlic bread, then reheated the sauce, the conversation flowed freely while we ate. I told him that I expected an answer about illustrating the children’s book on Monday, and that I was hopeful. He told me of the scripts he had to look through and what he looked for in roles.

With an embarrassed blush, I suggested he try a comedy, or a romcom, and his smile widened at that. I’m sure he could guess why I wanted those things, and that I only threw comedy in to distract from the fact I’d like to see him in a romance.

After we had eaten we watched another film, some action flick with Will Smith that I’d never seen before, and I could see his eyes drooping a little. I suggested a change of position and we ended up with his head in my lap, my hand running through his hair. He closed his eyes, giving up all pretence of watching the movie and soon after, he drifted off to sleep.

I didn’t mind, I continued to play with his hair. It was fairly long at the moment and just begged me to run my fingers through it.

By the time the movie ended, I was feeling drowsy too and rather than wake and move him, I decided to simply doze where I was, slipping a cushion under my head so I didn’t get a cricked neck.

I knew I would still ache in the morning, because I wasn’t a teenager who could get away with sleeping in odd positions any more, but I couldn’t find the will to care.

I woke up a few times in the night, first to see that the TV had switched itself off and the second time, I found that Will had turned to face me, his head now on my stomach and his arms around my waist. I toyed with his hair for a few moments before falling asleep once more.

***

Things with Will progressed remarkably quickly after that. We had sex the next day. I mean, I never do that! I’d only met him twice and I wasn’t even sure that going to his house could be considered a date, but it felt right and I went with it.

I quickly learned that although he did have a rather dirty sense of humour at times, his polite and easy going nature wasn’t a front or a public persona he adopted, he really was incredibly kind and generous of spirit.

It was strange really, I felt totally at ease around him, and yet I still felt as giddy as a school girl every time I saw him. Or when he gave me that sexy half smirk. Or sometimes just when the light caught his features in the right way, he could take my breath away.

It wasn’t all plain sailing though and we didn’t go out to many places, only a local bistro that he knew well. To be honest, I wasn’t looking forward to the world discovering our relationship, so I was happiest just staying in and ordering takeout most of the time.

After three weeks, during which we had spent all but five night together, Will arranged for me to meet Lee, his publicist with Destiny PR, who explained how hard dating a celebrity could be. As an example, he showed me what some fans were saying about Benedict Cumberbatch, who was recently married and was expecting a baby. They had kept their relationship secret for months, Lee explained, and he showed me why.

Now maybe what I saw gave me a skewed perspective as I was looking for the bad, but tons of people really seemed to hate his girlfriend, Sophie, some even creating elaborate conspiracy theories about their courtship and saying horrible things, such as that she was a callgirl being paid to date him. I have nothing against callgirls and it wouldn’t especially wound me to be called one (other than being undeniably rude because it’s intended as an insult). For me, what was horrible about such comments, was the idea of having people declare something important to me to be fake, which I thought was cruel.

Lee showed me Twitter comments, Tumblr and Facebook pages, all spewing hatred in some form or other. Sometimes Benedict was the target, as if he had done something wrong by falling in love but overwhelmingly, it was his wife who came under attack.

Then he showed me paparazzi pictures in newspapers and online, snaps taken with a long lens while they were on honeymoon, when they thought they had privacy.

Lee suggested we keep our relationship secret for as long as possible and after seeing all that, I agreed. He spent the next hour going over the various ways in which we could keep things quiet. We would never attend public events together and if Will wanted me to go, then I would make my way separately and wait inside the venue, away from the cameras. If we were ever on the street together, we should walk some distance apart and obviously, never hold hands, kiss, cuddle or show any affection anywhere that we might be seen.

He also warned me that we not only had to worry about paparazzi but also the public as these days, everyone had a camera on their phone and one tweet could spell the end of our privacy.

Next he spoke about social media, which I had to use for work. He schooled me on how to behave from now on, as anything I said could be dug up and used against me by the press. He advised me to beef up my passwords on all my internet accounts and find a strong pin code for my voicemail, as it was likely someone would try and hack me at some point, either upset fans or the press.

Just as I began to feel overwhelmed (perhaps Lee could see how much he had frightened me by my expression) his stance softened and he tried to reassure me. He had a list of restaurants and venues in London that were celebrity friendly, where we could go out and act like a couple (at least once we were inside).

Once Lee left, Will did his best to try and cheer me up but I needed time to think and said I wanted to go home.

“I’ll come with you,” he offered as I got up. Since he wasn’t working at the moment, he had spent more nights with me than I had with him.

“No.” I hated the forlorn look on his face as I said that, but sometimes I need to be alone.

“I feel like I’m losing you,” he told me when I began to pull on my coat.

“You’re not,” I assured him. I already knew I was too attached to give up easily. “But sometimes I just need to be by myself to work things through in my own mind. It’s not that I don’t want you there, it’s that being around anyone is going to stop me from wrapping my mind around this new reality.”

“I’m so sorry, darling. I wish… I wish there was something I could do.”

I tried to give him a reassuring smile but I wasn’t sure how successful I was.

“You can hug me.”

“Gladly.” He pulled me into his long arms and I felt cocooned by him, safe.

To be honest, if he could be with me and not speak, just hold me, then I could probably stay, but I knew from experience that when people said they would leave you alone, they rarely actually did.

“Oh, did you hear that, on the news?” “Here, look at this cute kitten on Facebook.” “What do you mean my singing disturbs you? I’m a great singer.”

No, I was better off alone until I had come to terms with my new situation.

After an exceptionally long hug and a searing kiss, I left and headed home.

As soon as I left his house, I was immediately struck by things that I took for granted now, and that I might not be able to do in the future.

First was the bus. Could I ride public transport in the future? If he didn’t get any more famous than he was right now, I probably could continue to take the bus. Will wasn’t a massive star, he wasn’t a George Clooney or a Brad Pitt, but he had the talent to be and if he did get that big, then I would surely start to be recognised by association. I probably wouldn’t be hounded, British people didn’t tend to do that, but I might be photographed by people and put on Twitter or Instagram.

That was a hideous thought. Taking cabs everywhere would be horribly expensive but it probably wouldn’t ever come to that, I would just be annoyed by the occasional (supposedly) stealthy picture.

When I got to my apartment building, I realised how insecure it actually was. Sure, people were supposed to be buzzed in but in reality, some of my neighbours didn’t check who was there before opening the main door. What if the press began to hound me, maybe if Will stayed over, or his fans learned that he stayed here sometimes. I wasn’t worried for my safety or anything like that, but what if I inconvenienced my neighbours? I owned my property so I couldn’t be evicted but if I created a nuisance, I would have to move, wouldn’t I? Getting another mortgage would be hellish, if possible at all in the current financial climate, and my interest rate would change, rising (of course).

But I could let the property, I supposed, and rent somewhere else. It would be annoying but possible.

Then there was work to consider. I’d probably get a lot more spam but I couldn’t see my relationship with Will harming my work itself, it might even help get me more publicity.

And what about my family and friends?

I doubted my sister or best friends would ever give away private information about me and Will, but was it possible they would be harassed by tabloids? Asked for information about me or Will, or for quotes on events and things?

And what about friends who I wasn’t that close to? If I took Will to a cousin’s christening, or a friend’s wedding, would other guests put pictures and information about us online? Maybe even sell a story for a quick buck? Or would I face scorn from my friends and acquaintances, because my date’s presence had overshadowed the bride, or the birthday boy, or the new graduate?

I spent the rest of the night like that, examining my life and either coming up with solutions, or resigning myself to my fate. There was nothing I would lose that was important enough for me to end things, and a lot of my worries might prove to be unfounded. I hoped they would but if not, I slowly came to realise that I wouldn’t let them take Will away from me. 

By the time Will phoned that evening, I knew that whatever happened, I was pretty confident that I could weather the storm and I told him as much.

“Oh, darling, I’m so pleased to hear you say that.” He sounded more relieved that I expected.

“I’m sorry if I worried you, I didn’t mean to. That’s just how I operate, sometimes I need to be alone.”

“I understand. I’m just glad you decided to give us a chance.”

“Me too.”

“It feels strange to be going to sleep without you.”

He was right. Somehow, although we’d only been dating for three weeks, sleeping beside him had become normal.

“I know.”

“Where are you?” he asked.

“In bed, so your voice is the last thing I hear before going to sleep.”