Page 70 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“Fuck the papers. Fuck social media. And fuck his track record.” My head jerks at the unexpected string of f-bombs from Jenna’s careful mouth. “That’s history. Don’t you think you should give him a chance to prove he can change?”
“That’s what he’s asked for. But what if I give him a chance and he blows it? You know how easy it is to spin a lie when you want to convince someone you’re better than you are. You do it professionally.”
“Yeah,” she admits. “Sometimes I help cover my clients’ mistakes. But more often, I’m helping them show who they’ve grown into, not who they were. The young rugby player provoked into a bar fight who’s now the gentlest father you’ve ever seen. The athlete who was always grumpy with the press, learning to laugh in interviews. People change, Rache. They don’t deserve to be judged only by their past.”
“So how the fuck do I know if he really could be different? If he means it this time?”
“You make him prove it. Not with words—with actions. And you know what? If he’s serious about you, he’ll understand why you need that proof.”
I stare at my reflection in the dark window. The woman looking back wants to be reckless, wants to risk everything despite knowing how badly this could end. She’s considering putting her heart on the line again, even though it’s barely healed.
“What if it’s too soon after Pierre? What if I’m not brave enough?”
“Then you’ll regret it forever. And honestly? I think you’ve already decided. You just need someone to tell you it’s okay to want this.”
By 9amTuesday morning, there’s an email from Jenna. She’s sent a final version of our carefully constructed list of ten tasks for Teddy—a test to see if he’s more than just a playboy dabbling with the idea of something more lasting. It’s impressive, even if I say so myself. Some are fun and light-hearted, others deeply personal, and a few very public—things that will leave no doubt he’s put aside the string of women rotating in and out of his life. The world will know: Teddy Hargrove has a serious girlfriend, and he’s chosen me.
My hands are actually shaking as I read through it again. This isn’t just asking him to prove himself—it’s me admitting I want this enough to risk everything. Some of these tasks will put us in the spotlight. Am I ready for that? For photographers and gossip and his fans hating me?
I text her immediately.
Me:Time to talk?
Jen:Always time for you hun
She answers my call on the first ring.
“You like it?” I can hear the pride in her voice.
“It’s perfect,” I say. “Just one question. What do I do? Send him one at a time? Or the whole list and let him choose?”
“Let him choose,” she says. “That’s a test in itself. How he prioritises them will tell you how far in he is. If he picks all the fluffy fun stuff first, he’s hesitating. But posting about you on social media? Introducing you to his family? Taking you to an industry event? There’s no coming back from those. He chooses even one of those early, he’s all in.”
It’s a brilliant strategy, but it terrifies me. Probably not as much as it will terrify Teddy, but still. Is there a point where I’ll know he’s not committed enough and I’ll have to walk away? And more importantly—will I be strong enough to do it if that moment comes?
Part of me wonders if I’m setting him up to fail, the way Pierre did. But maybe that’s the point—I need to know he won’t. I’m not just asking him to prove he wants me. I’m asking him to prove I’m worth changing for.
“Help me word this,” I say to Jenna, before I lose my nerve. “I need to send it now, or I never will.”
We craft the message together, Jenna suggesting I keep it simple but clear.
You said you’d do anything to prove you’re serious about me. Here’s your chance. Pick whichever ones feel right to you, but you have until Christmas. That’s three weeks, Teddy.
I paste the list into a text. My finger hovers over the little arrow. Once I press this, there’s no taking it back. No pretending I don’t want this as much as I do.
I press send.
Chapter 26
I’matmydeskafter lunch, pretending to face the mountain of work, but really I’m re-reading Teddy’s reply for what must be the tenth time.
Teddy:Game on. But for the record, I didn’t need a list to want Christmas with you. That was already the plan. Tonight we tick off number one. You free?
I can practically hear the cheeky confidence and can’t help smiling. I’ve memorised the list, and I know what it says without looking:Take me on a date somewhere you’ve never taken anyone else. Not just a newly opened restaurant or the latest show, but somewhere special.
The last thing I need at the moment is to be distracted from my work, but I can’t focus. I’m glad he’s chosen one of the big items; a proper date out in public together. I’m mentally rifling through my wardrobe trying to decide on something to wear—not an easy task when I have no idea where we’re going—when I spot Esther,our receptionist, heading my way, dwarfed by the most enormous bunch of flowers I’ve ever seen.
The scent reaches me before the colour: eucalyptus’ clean snap and a deep, honeyed rose. She carries an arm-filling sheaf bound in gold velvet: white phalaenopsis spilling over crimson garden roses and cream cymbidium. A single burn of bird-of-paradise flares against winter greenery; magnolia’s dark gloss and sprays of silvery eucalyptus glint like tinsel.
