Anyone But You: A BRAND NEW feel-good celebrity, second chance romance (Love is in the Air Book 2)

Chapter Thirty-Two

As they trudged along the sand, Dylan barely spoke, but he glanced over at Scarlett numerous times, confusing her with his introspection.

She bit her lip, waiting for him to speak, fighting against the wind that had blown up as they reached the pier. She squinted into the distance. ‘Isn’t that your ginger-haired friend?’ she said, pointing a finger.

‘I don’t think so.’ Dylan raised a hand to his brow and peered towards where she pointed.

‘Well, he’s carrying a case that looks very guitar-shaped.’

‘There are enough of us guitar-carrying weirdos around to confuse everyone.’ He came to a standstill outside the chip shop on the edge of the pier. ‘Can we just stop here a minute?’

‘Here?’ Scarlett looked back towards the beach huts, then at the wooden tables and chairs laid out for outside eating, unable to see any reason why Dylan would want to linger.

‘Just for a minute, please.’ His eyes darted from left to right, as if he was looking for someone.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

His phone beeped, but he spared it barely more than a glance before he shoved it in his pocket, unanswered. ‘Sorry, yes, I’m fine.’ He ran a hand around the back of his neck. ‘We can carry on now. I was just a bit . . . err, a bit out of breath.’

Scarlett wanted to believe him, but she knew him well enough to know that something was up. She wondered fleetingly if he’d spotted Cara, or maybe someone else from his distant past. She hated herself for her thoughts, but guessed it was just another legacy of Sky. Damn him, and his womanising. She really needed to learn how to trust a man again.

They drew level with the Under the Pier show, and Scarlett expected Dylan to suggest they try out a few more of the silly amusements, but he still seemed deep in thought, and they passed by without comment. She felt unaccountably nervous and snuck her hand into his pocket, grateful for the warm fingers that locked around hers. Surely, he wouldn’t do that if he was about to impart bad news?

They reached the Clock Tower, and he drew her towards the balustrade.

‘Here we are.’

Frowning, she gazed out at the sea and the distant beach huts. ‘So, here we are, and . . . ?’ she repeated.

Dylan took a step towards her and placed his arms on either side of the handrail, effectively pinning her in place. ‘Scarlett, I’m aware of your hang-ups — no, not the OCD one. The one to do with unreliable men, or in particular, me, and I think it’s because of Sky . . .’

‘I do nothave an OCDproblem,’ shesnapped,too unnerved to be quiet.‘And I do trust you.’ She wrinkled her nose as she spoke, aware that she was lying.

Dylan gave her a look that said he’d go along with it, despite the fact that he obviously wasn’t buying it. ‘So, because of all of these problems . . .’ he said, his voice deadpan. A muscle in his jaw pulsed as his lips set in a grim line.

Scarlett’s stomach swooped with dread as she studied his granite-like features. She took in the serious eyes and met his gaze, steadying her nerves to prepare for the death knell that would end her world. Clearly, he too had thought through their long-distance problem and made a decision. He pushed his hands into his pockets, but pulled them out again, glancing at the sea and then up at the sky. He swallowed and shuffled his feet, opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

As she watched him in increasingly horrified silence, her mind closed down, as surely as if she’d put her hands over her ears and started singingla, la,la.

‘Scarlett, are you listening?’

‘No.’ She shook her head as she reached out to him, clutching at his sleeve, suddenly nauseous. ‘Don’t, Dylan, please don’t say it. We can try and make this work — somehow. Can’t we?’ Fear gripped her as she gazed into the beautiful blue eyes that she loved so much. ‘Reykjavik, America pftt! Easy peasy!’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Anything is possible now.’

‘Just, let me have my say, will you?’ He cleared his throat as if suddenly sure about the words that wouldn’t come moments before. ‘Scarlett, I want you to know that I will never deceive you, or risk what we have between us. I said it once before, but you left anyway, so now I want to seal it with something more than words. So, that you know.’

His gaze remained locked on her face, and the unbearable thrumming that had filled her head cleared. ‘What?’ She heaved out a shuddering breath of relief. ‘So, that I know what?’Wasit goodnews, after all?

Dylan didn’t have the chance to answer before the loud twang of a guitar interrupted their moment.

From the crowd stepped Curly Ginger and two other band members, their guitars slung low.

‘Dylan, what’s going on?’ Scarlett asked, as Curly Ginger handed Dylan a microphone.

Dylan grinned at Scarlett. ‘I’m going to sing my love to you, to prove that I will never be like Sky.’ He brought the microphone up to his mouth and spoke into it. ‘Testing, testing, one-two-three.’

Scarlett’s eyes widened. ‘Here?’

‘Yup,’ he said.

‘Please, don’t,’ Scarlett begged, but a smile of relief hovered around her lips.

‘Too late.’ Dylan’s voice reverberated into the microphone.

The wee-wee men peeing on the metal flowers were suddenly of no interest to the tourists as they gathered around Dylan and Scarlett with curiosity, settling in to enjoy the impromptu show.

Dylan began to sing, his voice rising above the noise of the waves as he threw his arms wide, exaggerating his gestures and showing off to the audience. ‘I know everything will beall right, as long as I have you in my sight.’He crooned to a mortified Scarlett, as her cheeks heated to an unprecedented temperature from being placed in the spotlight.

A woman pushing a buggy, her child clapping to the tune, shouted out, ‘Who is she, then, is she famous?’

‘Dunno. She’s hot, though.’ The young man who’d replied sidled up to the railings and snapped a close-up of Scarlett on his phone.

Scarlett reeled backwards, shocked and a little disconcerted. What the hell was Dylan thinking of, drawing attention to himself like this?

‘She’s off that baking programme, isn’t she?’ Another woman moved in closer, her brood of teenagers simultaneously videoing the show on their phones, as if it was up for public viewing — which it indeed appeared to be.

‘Yes, it’s that Bake Off girl, the pretty one. She has a wonderful blog page full of gorgeous cakes.’

‘I think you’re right. Isn’t he someone, too, though?’

‘Is it that Harry Styles from that old boy band?’ someone asked.

‘Nah, he’s got dark hair and a million tattoos,’ came a reply from the gathering crowd.

Scarlett tried to stay calm, as Dylan hammed it up like Bill Nighy in Love Actually, almost fallingoverashisknees touched the ground.

With his legs spread wide, he sang, ‘I want the world to know, I love you so.’ His overacting wastoe-curlingly bad, but theaudience seemed to loveit.

Curly Ginger grinned from ear to ear, as Dylan turned to the audience, reiterating his love for Scarlett by repeating the chorus.

It was the corniest song she’d ever heard, and she tried not to laugh, but Dylan’s lips were twitching and she caught his eyes twinkling with merriment.

‘Go on, tell him you love him,’ a man in a bobble hat shouted, edging his way closer to the action. ‘It’s that Dylan something, or other. You know, the popstar — I’ve got some of his songs on Spotify,’ he told anyone who’d listen, proud to impart his knowledge.

Dylan, having heard the man, turned to Scarlett, his microphone still on full volume. ‘Yeah, Scarlett, tell everyone that you love me.’

‘Dylan!’ Scarlett warned.

He lowered the microphone and stepped closer. ‘But you do love me, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course I do, you dummy. I wouldn’t put up with this sort of crap, if I didn’t.’ She turned on a smile for the crowd, and they cheered and whooped.

Dylan rewarded them with a flashing smile. ‘Tell everyone, then.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, I love you, Dylan Willis.’ She leaned forward to kiss him, but he stopped her mid-flow.

‘Would you mind just turning to the left a bit and saying it again, ’cos the nice lady from What Now magazine wants to takeour picture.’

Scarlett stared at Dylan, her eyes wild in disbelief, but she was grinning. ‘What the hell?’

Dylan shrugged. ‘It’s normal for me now. Sorry.’

‘A magazine has paid you to do this?’ She wasn’t sure whether to be outraged or flattered.

‘Kind of. Natasha phoned them up and asked them to cover it, so I can tell everyone that you’re mine, and I’m yours.’

She turned her head, and was met by a video camera pointing at her nose. ‘This is fame, indeed.’

‘How else am I going to pay for that ridiculously expensive flight — where I didn’t even get to eat the sandwiches? Plus, the lads’ll want at least twenty-five quid each for this.’ He patted his pockets as if he was trying to scrape some money together and shrugged. ‘Totally skint.’ He put his hand on her elbow and turned her to face the camera. ‘So, smile for the nice lady, and I’ll do the rest.’

‘Un-bloody-believable,’ Scarlett hissed out of the side of her mouth, but she grinned innately at the camera, turning this way and that, grateful that she wasn’t sporting the pink fleece.

She gazed at the new Dylan who coped with photo shoots and was confident enough to use them to his advantage.

‘There.’ He threw his arm around her shoulder, grinning at the camera. ‘Is this enough to convince you that I never want to hide you away?’

‘That was the most clichéd song the world has ever had the misfortune to hear,’ Scarlett said, through a fixed smile, stifling the urge to giggle.

‘Excuse me? I’ll have you know, it took me almost half an hour to come up with those words, and another ten minutes to persuade the lads to help me out.’

‘And I’m guessing my new coat wasn’t quite the spur of the moment present that I thought?’ She peeped coyly from under her eyelashes, as the video zoomed in once more.

‘Can’t have the crème de la crème of the gossip magazine showcasing images of my gorgeous girlfriend while she’s dwarfed by a psychedelic pink fleece, can I? I mean, what would it do to my image?’ Dylan laughed.

Scarlett hit him playfully on the arm, but he deflected it, caught her hand, and pulled her into his arms. She smiled up at him. ‘I love it, whatever the sentiment, Dylan. And I love you for . . . for being you.’

‘That’s enough, thanks, Dylan. We’ll be in touch.’ The cameraman stuck his thumb in the air and disappeared into the crowd.

‘Cheers for that.’ Dylan shouted to the retreating back of the cameraman and turned back to Scarlett. ‘There is one more thing to do, now the show’s over.’ He dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a flat envelope, tipping out the contents into his hand, as Scarlett watched, intrigued. ‘I actually have two of these, but it’s up to you whether we use them both.’ He slid out a flat oblong piece of metal from its tissue paper and laid it flat on the balustrade where there was a gap between the plaques.

Scarlett glanced up at Dylan and down again, frowning at the small metal shape. ‘Read it, then,’ he said, those blue eyes once more pinned on her face.

‘Dylan Willis proposed to his one and only love, Scarlett De Verre, on this pier. Oh.’ She snapped her gaze up to Dylan’s. ‘What . . . what are you proposing?’

He smiled ruefully. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think it’s lovely.’

‘Great.’ He ran a hand around the back of his neck. ‘Could do with a bit more than that, though, really.’

‘Dylan, what are you asking?’

‘Isn’t it clear?’ He pointed at the plaque again. ‘Like, will you marry me? Not now — God, I’m far too busy — but . . . you know.’ He waved the other square of metal in the air.

‘Dylan, that’s so lovely, but we haven’t been seeing each other for very long, not really.’

‘Only because you keep fighting with me. I mean, we first met ages ago, and I’m pretty sure . . . I mean, I did track you down and drive all the way up to Liverpool to find you, and . . . well, you know what I’m like. I said, the first time I saw you, that . . .’

‘What’s written on the other one?’ She interrupted him, amused by his sudden shambolic ramblings.

‘Oh, I have to hold on to this one, hoping that you agree to marry me, but if you don’t, well, it’s no problem. I can just use it as a paperweight, or throw it in the sea.’ Despite his words, he unwrapped it from its tissue paper and placed it on top of the other plaque.

Glancing at Scarlett, he read out the inscription carefully: ‘Dylan Willis married Scarlett De Verre in Southwold and it was perfect. In love, forever.’

Scarlett read the inscription and shrugged. ‘I suppose. I’ve always fancied the idea of a perfect wedding.’

‘Okay. I know you’re trying to be cool, but okay.’ He grinned.

She couldn’t help it and beamed up at him. ‘Yes, then. Yes, please.’

‘That’s good, then.’ He gathered her into his arms and whispered in her ear, ‘You could be my official groupie. The first and only one that I have sex with, if you act quickly and take the job offer.’

‘Is that a proper job title? Only, if I don’t go to Reykjavik, I will, actually, be unemployed very soon.’

He nodded enthusiastically. ‘Best job going. Although, the salary is crap — paid mostly in kind, if I’m honest.’

‘Well, yes, I guess. How could I turn down such an offer?’

‘Smartest decision you’ve ever made.’ Dylan winked. ‘Scarlett Willis sounds so right to me. Absolutely, best decision.’ He tucked her hand into his pocket. ‘Let’s go and buy us a dog.’