Page 68 of For My Finale
Billy snorted outside the window.
Blossom let out a short, humorless laugh, wiping at her eyes. “Yeah, what do you know?” She offered him another carrot, which he took gladly, thoroughly unbothered by her heartbreak.
She breathed, just breathed, letting the pain wash over her. Then she straightened her spine. There was work to do, a life to live. She’d had a life before Lilah Paxton. And now she had to have one after her.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lilah stepped out of the car, and the moment her foot hit the pavement, the cameras started flashing. Voices clamored over one another, shouting her name, shouting questions.
“Lilah, what’s the project?”
“Are you back for good?”
“Lilah, over here!”
She smiled, because that’s what she did. Because that was the role she’d perfected long ago. With a flick of her hair and a knowing glance at the closest camera, she lifted her chin and walked forward, her heels clicking against the stone steps of the hotel.
Security flanked her, clearing a path, and she glided through the entrance like she’d never left this world behind. Just as the doors framed her, she turned and flashed a dazzling smile.
“Is it the Leyland project, Lilah?” asked someone from the front of the crowd.
She raised an eyebrow, tapped the side of her nose, and said, “You know I never reveal my secrets.”
There was a chuckle from the journalists and she stayed still just long enough for everyone to get a good shot, and then she turned and left, the doors sliding shut behind her.
The lobby smelled of polished wood and expensive perfume. The concierge greeted her by name, and within moments, she was in the elevator, watching the numbers rise.
It was all so smooth, so easy. Like slipping into a familiar costume. Lilah Paxton, the actress, the star. Not Lilah, the woman who knew how Blossom liked her tea, who could burn pasta, who did her own grocery shopping and stole kisses behind the cafe counter.
Lilah looked at herself in the mirror elevator doors.
She even looked different. Harder, cooler, more angular.
The elevator doors slid open, and Lilah stepped into the hallway, heels sinking into deep, plush carpeting. When she reached her suite, she pushed the door open and… nothing. She didn’t really know what she’d been expecting.
The silence was stark and empty. The lights were dim, the air still. The suite was extravagant, as was to be expected. There were tall windows, thick carpets, bulky furniture. A bottle of champagne sat waiting in a silver ice bucket, the bed looked like she might need a stepladder to get onto it.
And it all felt so hollow.
She dropped her purse by the door, walked over to the window, and stared out at the London street below. She could see the city moving, cars weaving through the streets, people bustling about their lives. Their normal lives.
She’d wanted this, hadn’t she? This was what she was supposed to do. What she was meant for. So why did she feel like she’d cut off a leg and left it behind? Left something vital behind. Like the ability to breathe properly.
She exhaled, rubbing her hands over her face before letting them drop. Her phone was already lighting up with messages. Margot. Producers. A director she hadn’t spoken to in years suddenly wanting to grab coffee. And the press, of course. Tame journalists, those just taking a chance, everyone had already heard that Lilah Paxton was back.
All those people that she needed to keep the hell away from Blossom Baker.
She could lose herself in this world again, no problem. She wasn’t kidding herself. It was strange being back, unpleasant even, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t do this. It would take no effort at all.
But as she looked out at the city, all she could think about was a small village, a cafe, a woman who had never asked her for anything, never demanded a thing, who had wanted nothing. Except that Lilah stayed.
And she had walked away.
It hurt deep inside her bones and Lilah really, really wished that she could cry. But the tears wouldn’t come. The hotel room was empty, every room from now on would be empty, because no room would have Blossom in it. It was that simple.
???
The morning customers had come and gone, but Blossom had barely noticed. The familiar rhythm of the cafe, the hiss of steaming milk, the clatter of cups, the murmur of conversation, all felt so hollow. She went through the motions, smiling at customers, making coffee, plating pastries, but the warmth that usually came with it all was missing. Her life felt so empty.
