Page 6 of From London, With Love

Raindrops splat on the windscreen as I follow Teddy down the circuit’s driveway and out to the main road. We convoy for a while before Teddy takes the exit that eventually leads him into Surrey, and I continue on to Kensington.

When I stroll into my flat, my gaze immediately falls to the luxurious six-seater black lounge that sits sunken in the lounge room. It then sweeps over to the timber dining table and its seven mostly unused chairs. The size seemed perfect at the time, but the empty spaces cause a twisting feeling deep within my stomach.

I’m hit with an uncomfortable and not uncommon thought—this place is too big for one person.

I purchased the penthouse almost five years ago now, after landing my first big role. At the time, I didn’t think I’d still be alone five years later, but time has a way of surprising you.

Walking into the kitchen to raid the fridge, I survey the place as if for the first time. Black cabinetry with gold details lines the space behind me, topped with an oversized granite benchtop. The black and gold marbled splashback is one of the reasons I love this kitchen so much.

Childhood memories of cooking with my parents and siblings are some of my favourites. I always wanted a kitchen that would allow me to recreate those memories with my own family one day. Only I didn’t realise how lonely it would be when most nights it’s just me.

Sweeping my eyes over the lounge room, they land on the fireplace I installed shortly after moving in. I love the cold, as long as I can keep warm. I couldn’t install a real fireplace, so electric was the next best thing. Snuggling up with Winnie in the ridiculously oversized lounge is one of the best ways to spend an evening when Teddy brings her over.

Although excellent company, she happens to be four years old and my niece. I love her dearly, but sometimes I think it would be nice to have someone my own age to snuggle with and keep me company.

Deciding on last night's lamb roast leftovers for tea, I pull the tray from the fridge and dish myself a plateful. My minddrifts to the conversation with Teddy as my food heats, and I wander to the bathroom to shower off the remnants of today’s race.

I’ll be in your corner.

The words had struck a chord somewhere deep inside. Although he denies it, he’s one of my biggest supporters. I may never have graduated law school if I hadn’t had him breathing down my neck to finish assignments instead of drinking myself into oblivion over them.

When I was sworn in, he was the first to crash-tackle me in congratulations, closely followed by our baby sister Emilia, much to our parents' amusement. He’s been through some hard shit—shit no one should have to go through at the age he did—but he’s never broken. Teddy continues to have the biggest heart of anyone I know, and our family is everything to him.

Turning the shower to my preferred temperature of Satan’s arsehole, I strip out of my jeans and tee. When the water is on the verge of scalding my skin, I get in.

Feeling much fresher, I pull on a pair of grey sweatpants before heading back to the kitchen. I pour myself a glass of my favourite Chateau Palmer 2016 that I stocked up on during my visit to Margaux last year, and inhale the scent deeply. Black cherry cassis aromas invade my nostrils, reminding me of the beautiful French vineyards. Contentedness washes over me. Glass in one hand and plate in the other, I make my way over to the lounge to settle in for the night.

The fireplace blazes with warmth, but I reach for the throw out of habit. Growing up, we had throw blankets on every bed and lounge; one could never own too many. The burgundy knit throw living on the arm of my lounge was unsurprisingly part of a housewarming gift from my mother.

I grab the remote off the coffee table to turn on the surround sound system, decreasing the volume until it’s justaudible over the crackling of the flames. Leaning forward, I pick up my copy ofCrime and Punishmentlying on the table. Hitting shuffle on the remote, the southern drawl of Morgan Wallen fills my apartment.

I let out a content sigh, opening the book to find where I left off. Wine, books and country. It’s the simple things.

I awaken with a jolt. Eyes darting around the room, I take in the scene—my empty glass lies by my legs, and my plate is on the table in front of me. The throw that was over me is now discarded on the floor, along withCrime and Punishment. Morgan has long since stopped singing, and I realise I must have fallen asleep mid-chapter. Glancing at my watch, my brows raise faintly when I see it’s 3:00am.

Collecting up my mess, I turn the fireplace to sleep mode and head to the kitchen. I place the wine glass and plate in the dishwasher. Switching off the lights, I walk down the hallway towards my bedroom. The door glides over the carpet with a soft swish. The curtains are already drawn, which means I forgot to open them this morning.

Depositing the book onto my bedside table, I head into the ensuite. The double vanity with large oval backlit mirrors looms to the side, but my favourite feature sits a few steps higher than the rest of the room. A freestanding black stone tub is parallel to the floor-to-ceiling window, allowing for uninterrupted views of some of Hyde Park and Kensington Palace. Feeling slightly more awake than I’d like to be in the middle of the night, I clamber into bed. As I close my eyes, the week’s events replay behind my lids until sleep takes over.

“Are you ready for this, Son?”

The weight of my father’s hand on my shoulder reminds meto breathe. Truthfully, I feel far from ready. But is anyone ever really ready for change?

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“That’s my boy.” He gives me a small smile before turning with outstretched arms to address our executives, who are currently seated before us in the expansive boardroom of J. L. & Sons. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us today.” My father’s voice ceases the chatter, all eyes now on the head of the table. “As you’re all aware, I’ve made the decision to step down from my duties as CEO. It brings me great pleasure to announce that effective January 1st, my son, Carter—who you are all very familiar with—will be taking over as CEO.”

In the brief moment of silence that follows, I survey the faces around the room. There are gaping jaws, a few gasps, but not one look of disappointment or displeasure. Is every single person truly happy about my appointment as CEO? The chorus of cheers and claps following that thought answer the unspoken question. That is, until I notice one older barrister along the back of the room—a look of utter displeasure marring his features.

Despite the bundle of nerves still tumbling around my stomach, I allow myself a moment to enjoy the atmosphere. If my father thinks I can do this, and our team of executives agrees, I’d have to have some audacity to disagree. My thoughts momentarily linger on the disgruntled barrister. I’d put money on him having seen the tabloid headlines and accompanying photographs. Those who matter know the truth, but as others don’t, it opens the floodgates for judgement and criticism. I can’t say I blame the older gentleman; I’d do the same thing if I didn’t have context.

“I will spend the coming weeks preparing him for my departure, but I have no doubt he’s exactly what the firm needs in this next chapter,” my father continues, his hand once again restingon my shoulder. “I trust you will allow him the same respect you’ve given me and will show him some grace during this transition period.”

The claps start again, but I’m removed from the moment as images of magazine front pages and newspaper clippings flood my vision. I’m well aware that my actions and choices are the reason these exist, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but I can’t help but wonder—will this new chapter bring with it a fresh start? Has enough time passed that I could let this persona go in the hopes that I might be seen as more than the Oxford Street Playboy?

Chapter 3

Carter

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