Page 67 of An American in London

This might be it. It really might be happening.

A blond woman in sunglasses—despite complete darkness all around us—appears through the doors. She’s wearing a white coat and is about the same height as me.

“Is it someone famous?”

“Either that or someone who thinks theyshouldbe famous.”

The doorman opens the sedan’s door and she slips inside.

“Maybe she’s traveling with him,” I speculate.

“Who’s his costar in this film?”

“Sofia Flores. No way that’s her.”

The sedan pulls out and there’s more chatter on the radio. A Range Rover with blacked-out windows appears.

“You should have taken a picture of that woman. I bet she turns out to be famous,” Melanie says.

“I can’t start snapping strangers. I’ll get arrested.”

The doorman mumbles into his radio and then catches my eye. He gives a subtle nod.

Goose bumps sprinkle my skin, and I put my umbrella down. There’s no way I’m missing this. If I have to get soaked, so be it.

“What are you doing?” Melanie says as the phone is tucked under my arm while I figure out the umbrella.

“I don’t want to miss this because I’m under an umbrella. I’ve waited my entire life for this moment.” I’m not sure what I’m preparing myself for. Is Daniel De Luca going to look at me and fall in love instantly? Will he catch my eye and realize I’m the woman he’s been missing all these years? No, but I’m not wrestling with an umbrella while I try to get a picture with him, even if I look like I’ve just been pulled out of the Thames.

A huge guy gets out of the passenger side of the Range Rover and pulls the door open, just as the hotel door opens. I stand on tiptoes. Whoever it is has a baseball cap on and their head bowed as they come out, their coat collar pulled up. I can barely see anything.

“I think it’s him,” Melanie says in a loud whisper.

“Daniel!” I yell. I want him to lift his head. I want him to look at me.

Daniel doesn’t face me, just raises his hand in a half wave before ducking into the car.

I’ve finally laid my own two eyes on Daniel De Luca.

I sigh. Gosh darn it. Was that it?

As the car passes us, I can’t even make out his silhouette in the back seat. The windows are like a concrete wall.

“It’s the same every morning,” the doorman says. “He never stops for the fans.”

“He’s a dick,” Melanie shouts from the phone. “We just wanted a photo.”

“I guess he’s not feeling his best at five a.m.,” I say.

“Or he’s just a dick,” Melanie says. “Maybe you can stalk him in the bar. Or at night when he comes back. What time does he come back?” she asks, and I point the phone at the doorman, but he just shrugs. “If I was there,” she continues, “I would have dived into the car or clung on to the exhaust pipe. You need a picture with him. Youdeservemore than a hand raise.”

I don’t need to see him again, have a picture with him, or get more than a hand raise. I’ve seen him in person. That’s more than I expected, even when I was fifteen years old. Melanie thinks I should be disappointed, but honestly, I’m not. Maybe seeing him, however briefly, means my teenage obsession is complete. Maybe I’ve just got other men to think about.

One man in particular.

Chapter Twenty-Four

As I press the bell on Ben’s town house, nerves start to tumble in my stomach. Flashes of last night flip through my brain, and my hands start to shake with the anticipation of seeing him again. It almost feels like another version of myself was with Ben last night. A moremeversion of myself. He stripped me of more than my clothes and found a Tuesday I’d forgotten about, or maybe I never knew existed.

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