Chapter 19
AMY
I’m sitting in the most luxurious airplane seat of my life, three hours from LA… and I’m hyperventilating.
No amount of muttering “penis” under my breath is helping this time.
God, I’m really doing this.
It wasn’t an impulse. Not really. It felt like it when I hit send—but the truth is, I’ve been miserable without him. Without Jake. Without Eli. And somehow, the video calls, the chats… they only made it worse.
Every smile, every stupid bad joke—it just chipped away at my resolve until there was nothing left to cling to.
And… he kept his word.
He fixed the narrative like he promised he would.
The photos disappeared. The story twisted itself into a harmless rumor—a misunderstanding, a publicity stunt, a hoax.
The few people I know who actually saw the pictures were easy enough to pacify—maybe too easy, if I’m being honest.
All it took was a dry laugh, a casual, “Have you seen him? Have you met me?” And they laughed it off.
Because, of course, right?
Why would someone like him ever want someone like me?
It worked, but it left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Maya was furious for the longest time, pissed that I didn’t just run after him. That I didn’t fight harder. But she doesn’t get it. She couldn’t.
I needed to let him go, if only to see if he’d actually stay gone. For me. For him. For both of us.
But sitting in that hotel room with him… looking at the wreck of a man I loved… I knew.
Jake Hollander was a good man. A decent man. A man driven by guilt, yes, but good.
And we needed the distance.
I needed time to figure out if I could really love him enough to step into this world. To survive it.
And maybe… he needed the time to figure out if he truly wanted me.
This isn’t a fairy tale. There’s no fade to black and happily ever after.
This is messy and terrifying and very, very real. And I’m about to land straight in the middle of it.
But the distance? It was never meant to punish him. I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I just needed space. Needed to breathe, to think.
And then his text came, and it was honest in a way that undid me completely.
I’m breaking, love. It shattered what was left of my resolve.
“You’re already miserable without him.” Maya had shrugged, tossing it out there like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Why not just try? Worst case—you’ll be miserable again. At least this way, you’ll know.” Maya might be chaotic, but she isn’t wrong.
Still, the closer I get, the more my resolve wavers. Doubt is creeping in, excitement humming right beneath it. I can’t stop replaying that kiss—soft and reverent. Shamefully, I think about it way too often.
I shift in my seat, exhaling slowly as I picture the moment I’ll see him again. I managed to wrangle two weeks off, no small feat, and Maya agreed to look after Pea. She calls him Satan, but we both know she loves that one-eyed menace.
The whole thing feels surreal, like I’m floating through someone else’s life. And yet, somehow… here I am.
I even managed a few hours of sleep, though it wasn’t easy. The anticipation kept me wired all night. But this flight? It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
I was picked up by a chauffeur—no hellish 5:00 a.m. Tube ride to Heathrow this time.
They took me through a private entrance, fast-tracked me through security and check-in, and then straight into an exclusive lounge with food I couldn’t even pronounce.
There were lobster rolls, for God’s sake.
I took a million photos for Maya because she’d never believe it otherwise.
And now… I’m here, sitting in a pod that feels more like a private room than a plane seat. The chair reclines fully into a bed, and there’s a mini fridge, a personal screen, and even a little bag of designer toiletries waiting for me.
I feel… like a celebrity or a celebrity’s girlfriend. I feel like his girlfriend.
The thought makes my stomach flip.
His entire mood shifted the second I told him I was coming. He called me almost immediately, his green eyes shining with unshed tears through the screen. And right then—right there—I knew. I made the right choice.
Somewhere along the way, I must’ve dozed off again because it feels like minutes later when the hostess gently taps my pod. She offers me breakfast with a polite smile and announces we’re starting our descent into LA.
“It’s ten a.m. local time,” she adds, still smiling. “A beautiful, sunny day. Seventy degrees.” My sleep-fogged brain struggles until she thankfully adds, “That’s about twenty-one Celsius.”
I blink at her. Twenty-one degrees… in February? Practically summer by London standards.
And sunny. Of course it’s sunny.
It’s LA—land of eternal sunshine, yoga pants, and lip fillers, as Maya would say. God help me.
I freshen up with the fancy products from the little amenity kit, attempting to tame my curls before finally giving up and twisting them into the only vaguely presentable knot I can manage.
We’re escorted off the plane first, guided through a private immigration booth where a perfectly polished assistant explains my luggage—everything but my carry-on—will be sent straight to my designated address.
And just like that, I’m ushered into a sleek, private lounge near the exit.
I don’t even have time to wonder who’s coming to pick me up or where we’re going—because he’s already there.
Despite the baseball cap pulled low and the black sunglasses, I know it’s him.
Jake.
And the second our eyes meet, he grins. That stupid, heart-melting grin.
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I run.
He barely has time to open his arms before I slam into him, knocking a surprised huff out of his chest as his arms close tight around me.
“God, I missed you so much, Fangirl.” He breathes into my hair.
I close my eyes and sink into him, soaking up the scent and the heat of him like I’ve been starving for it… because I have.
We stay there a little longer than necessary, but I realize now how much I needed to be in his arms.
He buries his face in my hair, inhaling deeply. And then, he whispers softly, “I would cross kingdoms, burn worlds, and battle fate itself… just to find my way back to you, Celandine.”
I freeze for half a second, the words hitting me right in the chest, before a laugh bubbles up—half sob, half disbelief.
"God, that was so cheesy," I mumble against his chest, but I’m smiling as I wrap my arms tighter around his waist.
And the worst part? It worked.
He moves back a little, and I hope he will kiss me, but he extends his hand toward me. “Ready to go home?”
My heart leaps as I slip my hand into his, our fingers threading together like they’ve always belonged. He smiles, grabs my carry-on, and leads me toward the sleek black SUV waiting by the entrance.
The moment we’re inside, the door shuts with a quiet thud, sealing us in our own little world. He pulls off his cap and sunglasses, and my breath catches when his bright-green eyes meet mine—open, raw, and so achingly familiar.
“Do you always wear a disguise?” I ask.
He smiles, his gaze dropping to my lips. “I didn’t think you’d want our reunion splashed all over the tabloids.”
I barely have time to react before his hand slides up and cups my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheek like he’s memorizing the feel of me.
“I can’t wait another second.” Then his mouth crashes into mine.
The kiss is nothing sweet—it’s molten, hungry, like months of longing finally breaking loose. His lips move against mine, rough and desperate, and when I gasp, he doesn’t hesitate. His tongue sweeps in, tasting me like he’s been dying for this—like he needs it.
A moan rips from my throat, and his answering groan vibrates against my lips as he deepens the kiss, his fingers tangling in my hair. He devours me slowly, thoroughly—tongue sliding against mine, teasing, coaxing me to chase him right back.
And god… I do.
I kiss him like it’s the last chance I’ll ever get, fingers clutching his sweatshirt, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between us.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard—foreheads pressed together, lips swollen, and hearts racing.
“God, I missed you, Fangirl,” he rasps. “You have no idea how long I waited to do that properly.”
I blink fast, my heart full and my lips tingling. “Worth the wait.”
He grins, leaning back as he turns the engine on. “Let’s get you home, Fangirl.”
The drive is quiet and comfortable. The LA skyline blurs past, the sun dipping low as he weaves through traffic like it’s nothing.
And then we’re there.
A wrought-iron gate swings open, revealing a house straight out of some Hollywood dream—modern lines, sprawling glass windows, perfectly manicured gardens.
But it’s not the size or the view that stuns me.
It’s… the warmth. The little pieces of him scattered everywhere.
A skateboard leaning against the wall. A stack of scripts on the console table.
A framed photo of him and Will grinning like idiots.
“I—” My voice cracks. “It’s beautiful.”
He shrugs like it’s nothing. “It’s just a house.”
I shake my head, swallowing hard. “No… it’s not.”
Because everywhere I look… he’s here. Not the version the world sees, but him, the man I met behind a screen.
A well-worn copy of The Song of Achilles sits on the coffee table—the spine cracked, a dog-eared page marking a scene I once ranted about. Next to it, there’s a framed photo of Pea—my Pea—his one-eyed glare immortalized mid-hiss. I blink fast, my throat tightening.
There’s a gray hoodie draped over the back of the couch—his hoodie, the one he used to wear on our video calls. And beside it? A crumpled receipt from a bakery I told him I wanted to try.
I let out a shaky laugh. “You have a lot of my life here.”
Jake shrugs, suddenly sheepish. “I missed you. And, uh… maybe I overcompensated.”
I shake my head, feeling overwhelmed. “No… it’s perfect.”
My feet move on instinct, drawn toward the massive glass doors at the far end of the living room. They slide open silently under my fingertips, and I step outside, blinking against the sunlight.
The view steals my breath.
An infinity pool stretches out before me, the water so clear it looks like glass. Beyond it, a stretch of private beach gleams gold under the sun, the waves kissing the shore in lazy strokes. The horizon feels endless..
“I—” I exhale, words failing me.
I’m still staring when I hear the soft pad of bare feet behind me. Then… the familiar weight of warm, solid arms wrapping around my waist.
He buries his face against the crook of my neck, breathing me in like he still can’t quite believe I’m real. “I used to stand out here and imagine you next to me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my skin.
I shudder, leaning back against him.
He presses a kiss to my shoulder before whispering, “Thanks for coming back to me.”
Something cracks open in my chest at those words. I cover his hands with mine, threading our fingers together. “I was always going to,” I whisper. “I just needed to be sure.”
His lips curve into the faintest smile against my skin. “And?” he asks, his voice low, as if he’s almost afraid to hear the answer.
I turn my head just enough to catch his gaze. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Jake exhales hard like he’s been holding his breath for weeks. He pulls me tighter until there’s not a sliver of space left between us. “Yeah… you are.”
We stand there, tangled together, the sun warm on our skin, the ocean endless before us.
For the first time in forever… I breathe easier.
And somewhere deep down, I know… This is only the beginning.
Maybe love isn't about perfect beginnings. Maybe it’s about choosing each other, even when it’s terrifying.