Page 50 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
“So, what do you think?” Sean asked.
“Hmm?” My mind floated back into the room again as I realized Sean was talking to me.
“My idea—what do you think?”
“Run it by me again?”
Sean sighed. “We go into the store with stockings over our heads and hold up the manager at gunpoint until he gives us Bill’s address.”
“You’re joking, right?”
Sean raised one eyebrow at me.
OhGod, my stomach must have won a medal—it’s doing a lap of honor now.
“Yes, of course I’m joking. Are you OK? You haven’t been listening to me, have you?”
No, I’m not OK. I’m engaged. I shouldn’t be thinking about you in this way. He’s not Brad Pitt, Scarlett. Or Ewan McGregor or Jude Law or any of those movie stars he might have a passing resemblance to—he’s Sean, your temporary next-door neighbor.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, trying to pull myself together. I took another large gulp of wine. “I was just, er, deep in thought and didn’t hear what you said, that’s all.”
“I said, we’ll both go over to Fenwick’s tomorrow, and I’ll see if I can use my natural charm to persuade them to tell me more about Bill.”
“Sounds like a good plan.”
“OK—now Iknowsomething is wrong. I fed you a great line there, Red, and you chosenotto make a sarcastic comment about me?”
“Oh yes, sorry. Do you know something, Sean? I’m not feeling that great—I think I’d better go home.” I stood up and made a bolt for the door. “It’s a great idea though,” I said, peeping out from behind the doorframe. “What time do you want to meet up tomorrow?”
“Ten?” Sean suggested. “Look, do you want me to help you back to your place—tuck you up in bed, that kind of thing?”
“No!” I insisted a bit too loudly. “No, thank you, I’ll be just fine. You stay right here…with your wine…alone. And I’ll be next door…in my bed…alone.”
“Right…” Sean said, sounding mystified. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, at ten.”
“Yes—ten,” I said, disappearing backward out of the door. I ran down Sean’s steps, back up my own, and in through my front door again. And Buster the burglar alarm must havesensed this was not the time to play me up, because for once he behaved impeccably.
It was just as well one of us did. Because I feared if I’d stayed any longer at Sean’s tonight my own behavior might have been far from impeccable.
Fourteen
Sean knocked on my door at 10 a.m. as arranged, and after he inquired if I was feeling any better this morning, we set off to Bond Street—a tube journey I knew all too well by now.
At Fenwick’s we walked through the store together to the handbag department, where I spotted Sheila behind a desk. She was checking off stock against a delivery sheet.
“Right, you stay here,” Sean said, parking me behind a pillar. “Sheila mustn’t know we’re together.”
“OK,” I said, wishing he hadn’t had to touch me to do so. My stomach was off again—I think it may have been training for the parallel bars event now.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Sean said, facing me. He still held on to my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes while he spoke. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” I squeaked, barely able to find my voice with his face this close to mine.
Sean released his hold on me then strode purposefully across the shop floor in the direction of Sheila.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I had to stop this—now.
When I’d got back home last night, I’d given myself a stern talking to in the bathroom mirror. Telling myself that I was getting married in just over seven weeks—and under no circumstances was my stomach, or brain, allowed ever again to repeat anything that had gone on in Sean’s house that night. Sean was just a friend—well, hardly that, really, more an acquaintance—who was simply helping me out. He wasn’t a movie star or whoever else my brain had subconsciously duped me into believing he was to make me feel this way about him.
