Chapter Thirty-Five
Thirty-Five
I spin on my heel.
It’s him.
Gus is sprinting towards me, a member of his security team hot on his heels. He stops when he catches me up, close enough to touch. I’m clutching the book to my chest, tears falling from my eyes. It’s not a good time.
What does he want?
He takes a steadying breath. “What are you doing here?”
His words are almost accusatory. It’s like a dagger to the chest. I press the book even closer as if it can protect me.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have come,” I say, turning away from him.
“Sara, stop,” he grabs my arm. “I’m just confused, I wasn’t expecting to see you, I’m just… surprised.” He frowns, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to embrace him.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“You told me you couldn’t be with someone famous.” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t know how to react to seeing you. But I don’t want you to think—”
The burly man, I recognise from Barcelona, dressed in a tight black t-shirt stops beside him, tapping him on the arm. “Gus! What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?”
“Give me a second, Carl.”
“You can’t run off like that. We’re in central London.”
“Carl!” Gus yells. “Give me a second!”
Carl holds his hands up, eyeing me as he steps back to give us space.
“I shouldn’t have come,” I say. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Right.” Gus laughs, exasperated. “I don’t know what to think either. I don’t know what to do. You’re here. But you’re embarrassed to see me?”
I can’t help looking around for spying eyes. It’s bad enough knowing some of his fans have been trying to track me down. Hunting me.
He notices, tensing. “Tell me to go, and I’ll go.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t want him to go. I also don’t want more photos of me online. More speculation.
“What am I meant to do with this?” he says, gesturing at the space between us. “You don’t reply to my message. I haven’t heard from you at all. You didn’t join me in Barcelona. What do you want from me?”
“I don’t know,” I say, voice shaky. “I’m confused. My sisters persuaded me to come and see you. They thought…but…” But I don’t know what to say. That we stood a chance? That it might be romantic?
Carl clears his throat, pointedly.
Gus runs a hand through his curls and groans. “Right. I have to get back.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Bye, Sara,” he says, shaking his head. “For the record, this is seriously fucking confusing.”
I know.
Because I can feel my pulse beating in my throat and words are evading me. My breathing is choppy, and I need to hide before another panic attack steals the last of my composure.
“And read the book,” he adds assertively.
As Gus walks swiftly back towards the bookshop, I escape too, deciding to head home without waiting for my sisters. They’ll understand.
I’m on the tube heading south by the time my tears really hit. Nobody looks my way as I attempt to hide that I’m crying uncontrollably. One man moves seats to get away from me but mostly everyone else minds their own business.
Once I’m on the train back to Brighton, I take the book out. When I open the page my heart stops for a beat.
He didn’t sign it.
He left a phone number and a note.
Sara, I’m not signing this for someone else. Please call me.
Gus
My brain scrambles. I’m still wiping tears away. There’s no way I can call him. I don’t even know what to say. I know what I want to say. Deep down, the voice from my heart has lots of words to describe how I feel. The voice in my head, however, is telling me to tread carefully.
But where has that ethos ever gotten me?
Instead of calling, I send him a message with my address in it. If we’re going to talk, we need privacy. And if he really does want to talk, he’ll come find me.
I don’t hear from him all evening.
My sisters on the other hand nag me for updates in the group chat. When I send them a thumbs down emoji and a short message to say I’m home, they leave it. Probably pitying me. Or not. The rascals. I’m sure they’re enjoying their night out in London.
After a light dinner, I climb into my pyjamas, brush my teeth and get ready for bed. It’s nearly midnight by the time I start turning the lights off. My eyes are dry from all the crying, and my chest is tight from the breathlessness.
My head hits the pillow when the doorbell rings.