CHAPTER FOURTEEN
VIOLET HAD A horrible feeling that Tom was avoiding her.
They hadn’t talked much on the way home from Brighton, mostly because Tom had been passed out in the passenger seat after muttering something about the mini bar, a spring sticking in his back, a broken window and a dripping shower keeping him awake. Violet hadn’t slept much better, but since her room had been perfectly comfortable the only excuse she had was her own thoughts.
She did think, as she got back onto the motorway, that if he’d been that uncomfortable he could have always come and slept in her room...
Except she’d made it very clear that was off the cards, at least until she got to know him a little better. She’d been in a relationship before where the guy knew all her innermost thoughts and dreams and it turned out she didn’t know him at all, and look how that ended. But while she knew that was a perfectly sensible decision in principle, that hadn’t made it any easier to dismiss the thoughts of what might have happened if she’d just let him kiss her again.
In the days since then, he’d been nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t even joined them for dinner last night. ‘Working hard’, her dad had said with a wink. And Violet might have believed it if it wasn’t now Friday and she’d seen neither hide nor hair of him all week.
Oh, he’d been around, she knew that much. Locked away in the studio with her dad conducting more of the interviews he had, in fairness, travelled thousands of miles to do. She’d even overheard him talking with her mother once or twice—more interviews, she supposed—before she’d stopped listening at doors and got back to what she was supposed to be doing.
At least getting on with the planning for the Benefit Concert had mostly distracted her. With only a week left to go, she was reaching the hectic last few pages of Rose’s carefully made lists. Jake Collins had even sent in the signed rider, so she didn’t have to follow through on her publicity threats.
Things were good, and dealing with Jake had given her added confidence to get on with her job. She was on top of everything, had spoken with almost everyone involved, or at least their representatives, personally—without a single mention of the words ‘sex’ and ‘tape’ in the same sentence. She was making progress.
But, she had to admit, she missed Tom.
‘Miss him how, exactly?’ Daisy asked when she came over to try on potential wedding outfits the day before Henry Littlewood’s wedding. ‘I mean, he’s right here.’
Violet sighed, and tried not to think that Rose would have understood. Even her twin would probably have struggled with this one, especially since Violet wasn’t sure even she understood it.
‘I guess I’d just got used to having him around.’ She grabbed another dress from the pile of maternity eveningwear Daisy had brought with her. ‘How about this one?’
Daisy shook her head. ‘Lily Taylor wore that one to a gala last month. It’s already been photographed, and I don’t want to be in any of those “which mum-to-be wore it best?” comparison pieces.’
So why did you bring it? Violet wanted to ask, but didn’t. Pregnancy had made Daisy a little touchy.
‘And he’s still around.’ Daisy shifted on the bed, her hand cupped around her growing baby bump. ‘He’s just a bit busy interviewing Dad and Mum, I suppose. And me.’
‘He’s interviewed you?’ Violet stopped looking through outfits and stared at her sister.
Daisy blinked back blankly. ‘Well, yes. He’s interviewing all of us, isn’t he?’
‘Of course. Yeah.’ She’d just imagined that he might start with her.
Daisy shifted again to tug on Violet’s hand and make her sit on the bed. ‘Okay, seriously. What’s going on with the two of you? He’s coming as your date tomorrow, Mum said the two of you disappeared to Brighton, of all places, last weekend, and now you tell me you haven’t seen him all week. I know you’d probably rather tell Rose, but she’s not here. So, fess up—what’s going on?’
Violet bit her lip. In some ways, it was probably for the best that Rose wasn’t there. She’d have sussed out there was something going on by the time Violet and Tom went for that first lunch. As much as she loved her twin, maybe it was better that she didn’t have her über-protective identical sister around right now.
And Daisy...Daisy had always been a good listener, when they’d given her something to listen to.
‘To be honest, I have no idea.’ Violet fell back to lie on the bed, feeling lighter just for saying it. ‘He indicated that he has...feelings, I guess. For me.’ By kissing her and making her whole world spin.
‘And you said?’
‘That it was a bad idea.’ Which, now, a week later, felt like a fairly epic mistake in its own right.
‘Why?’ Daisy asked, eyebrows raised in astonishment. ‘He’s gorgeous, seems nice, Dad adores him, which is always a good sign, and you’re obviously a little bit besotted. So what’s the problem? He’s...oh. He’s a reporter.’
Rose would have got there half an hour ago, but in some ways it was more useful to hear the reasons why Violet should say yes. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
‘Actually, for a reporter, he’s kind of...un-slimelike.’ The admission didn’t come easy.
‘You really do like him, don’t you?’
Violet sighed. Did she? She thought back over the last couple of weeks. Even after their awful first meeting, when really what she’d most wanted to do was strangle him, there’d still been a weird connection when she’d taken his hand. And he truly had been a help with the Benefit Concert. The way he’d spoken to Olivia’s manager... He’d stood up for her, been offended on her behalf. And then he’d taken her out for lunch to cheer her up—and interrogate her, of course. Then he’d come all the way to Brighton and stood back and watched her deal with things herself, and knowing he thought she could had given her the confidence she needed to do it.
He understood about not trusting people. And she hoped he’d understood when she’d told him that she needed to know him better to trust him. Hoped he realised that just thinking she might eventually be able to trust him was a huge step for her.
Hoped he wasn’t actually avoiding her.
‘I do,’ she admitted. ‘I do like him. I just...he’s asking all these questions about my life and my family. By the end of this book, he’ll be an authority on all things Screaming Lemons and Huntingdon-Cross. I just want to know him as well. Does that make sense?’
‘Of course it does!’ Daisy stroked a hand down Violet’s arm. ‘Oh, Vi, I hope he opens up to you. And if he does...if he gives you what you’ve asked for...you’ll give him a chance, right? I know it’s risky—relationships always are—but we all want to see you happy, and if Tom can make you that way...you have to let him try. Okay?’
Violet nodded. Eight years was too long to hide away, anyway. She’d dealt with
pop stars, managers, suppliers and even the press covering the concert over the past week. She could deal with one date with a reporter who made her skin tingle. Right?
* * *
Saturday morning came almost too fast for Tom. He’d had a plan, a way to convince Violet that he was worth a chance. She wanted to know all about him? Fine. He’d tell her, up to a point. Nobody really needed to know everything about another person, right? She just needed to feel as if she understood where he came from, and that much he could give her.
Except, he realised quickly, he was always better with the written word than the spoken one. So he’d decided to find the time to write it all down, starting in a freezing, leaking hotel room in Brighton and continuing in between interviews and typing up his notes and a rush job on a short article for an editor who’d called and offered him a last minute slot.
Somehow, it wasn’t until Saturday morning that he realised that what he’d written was his own obituary.
Tom stared at the words printed in front of him. Perhaps not the most auspicious start to a relationship, but it did give her all the pertinent information. At least all the information he felt able to share. And it was a start, right? A sign that he could give her what she wanted.
And besides, it was too late to change it now.
A quick shower and Tom dressed in his best suit, ran some gunky stuff through his hair to try and make it behave, and hoped he’d be good enough for the Littlewoods. And Violet.
Rick was already in the kitchen pouring the coffee when Tom made it downstairs, and Daisy’s husband, Seb, sat at the counter sipping his own mug as he read the paper.
‘Ah, our third compatriot,’ Rick said, grabbing another mug and filling it to the brim with hot, strong black coffee. Tom took a sip the moment Violet’s father handed it over. Somehow, in the last three weeks, he’d actually converted to liking his coffee black. ‘This, gentlemen, is the part where we wait.’
Tom checked his watch. ‘Aren’t we supposed to be leaving soon?’
‘Theoretically? Yes. But in reality?’ Rick shook his head.