Chapter 17
‘Till this moment I never knew myself.’
Iflew back from Bangkok and landed at Heathrow, technically engaged. There were no rings. Chase still had to ask my dad for my hand – his idea – and before that, I needed to let my parents know I’d met someone, and that I was planning to marry him.
Even a cramped, rush-hour Underground ride couldn’t dent my Thailand glow. I arrived at Dom’s flat like some sun-kissed emissary from another world.
‘Hey, Flo!’ Dom called from the kitchen as I dropped my backpack with a thud. ‘I’m making Thai noodles in your honour.’
‘Fab!’ I shouted back, unzipping my boots and padding into the kitchen.
Dom was by the stove, wok in hand, but he wasn’t alone.
Leaning against the sink, wine glass in hand, was a woman about my age with a pixie cut and sharp cheekbones.
She wore designer jeans, a crisp striped shirt with the collar popped just so, and an expression of mild curiosity.
Everything about her screamed together, while I looked like I’d been dragged through a palm tree backwards in my oversized Serafine T-shirt and fraying jeans.
‘This is Tania,’ Dom said, giving me a one-armed hug.
‘Hi,’ I said, offering a wave, trying not to look too startled. How had he manifested her during the days I’d been gone?
‘Tania’s just got back from Madrid,’ Dom added. ‘She was studying Spanish.’
She gave a small smile. ‘Dom says you’ve been to Thailand?’
The way she said Dom’s name confirmed it; they were already a thing. I nodded, suddenly self-conscious. ‘Yeah. It was… great.’
What I wanted was Dom alone. I had too much to tell him – everything from beach-hut sex, to the proposal on a jetty.
But with Tania here, I sipped wine instead and made polite conversation about flight delays and jet lag.
Two glasses in, I was finally loosening up when the phone rang from the hallway.
Dom disappeared and returned seconds later. ‘Some American called Chase for you.’
I was up in a flash. ‘Chase?’
His voice was crackly but unmistakable. ‘Calling from the boat’s sat phone. I miss you. I should’ve got Captain Ryan to marry us in international waters while I had the chance.’
I pressed the receiver tight to my ear, my stomach flipping. ‘My parents would’ve fainted if I’d come back married.’
‘Well, make a plan to come out to California. I want to show you everything.’
‘I will. I miss you.’
The line died before I could say more. I stood there, the receiver pressed to my chest. Inside, my heart was hammering.
When I returned to the kitchen, both Dom and Tania were watching me.
‘Married?’ Dom asked, one eyebrow raised.
Apparently, I’d been louder than intended.
‘Not quite,’ I said, sliding back into my chair. But the dam broke and out came the whole story, from beach bar to boat deck to the proposal.
The next evening, I met Alice at our favourite wine bar near Clapham Junction, the kind of place with cracked leather banquettes and candles stuck in wine bottles. I told her everything, from the whisky-soaked kiss to the barefoot proposal.
‘You jammy cow,’ she said, refilling my glass. ‘So let me get this straight, you go to Thailand and you come back with your very own Californian Darcy?’
I nodded, grinning. ‘Do you think I’m mad?’
Alice clinked my glass. ‘Of course. But so was Jane Bennet when she walked through the fields to Netherfield. And that turned out all right in the end.’
Whether it was the winter gloom or just sheer surprise, no one seemed horrified. My parents, when I told them, reacted with stunned but supportive delight. Maybe they were just glad I wasn’t still ghosting around the attic in my dressing gown.
The romance made the rounds at the company like office folklore. Colleagues wandered in with mugs of tea, demanding every detail… ‘Thread to the needle, please, Florence.’ I left out the parts that might’ve scorched the furniture but tried to paint the rest in full tropical colour.
Chase had returned to San Francisco, where his announcement of engagement had apparently caused his mother to spiral into melodrama.
Relief followed, however, when she learned I wasn’t a Phuket bar girl but an English rose.
I was told to fly out in ten days. Bunny Fuller wanted to throw an engagement party.
Mum came to London so we could shop for an appropriate ensemble to debut me into California high society. We went to Peter Jones. We disagreed in every department. She wanted me to look like Joan Collins in Dynasty. I wanted Top Shop. We gave up and had lunch instead.
One week later I was back at Heathrow, boarding a flight bound for San Francisco. Jamie’s ring no longer hung around my neck; I had left it in the top drawer of my old desk at my parents’ house, tucked away with the locket. Some things were meant to stay behind.
I’d never set foot in the USA before, and as the plane descended I pressed my nose to the window, taking in the Bay’s dark water and the vast runway ahead – my new life stretching out like a sunlit script.
Chase was waiting at arrivals, casual in jeans, tasselled loafers, and a button-down shirt. The full preppy package. Alice would’ve screamed.
We zoomed onto the 101 in his convertible Mercedes, top down, one of his hands on the wheel, the other resting on my thigh.
The air was light and warm, the sky unnaturally blue.
I was trying to process the width of the freeway, the monster trucks rumbling beside us, and the endless, neat sprawl of the suburbs.
It was so surreal, it felt like a film set.
We pulled into a gated drive and up to a pristine, sprawling, white ranch house nestled in manicured perfection. Lavender borders, eucalyptus trees, and a pool glinting in the sun. He carried me inside like we were already married.
‘Welcome to your new home, nearly Mrs Fuller.’
Inside was straight out of Architectural Digest: cream and beige tones, low furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the view of the Bay. The room smelled faintly of cedar and linen. It was like I’d walked into someone else’s dream. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I whispered.
We kissed. He scooped me into his arms and carried me into the bedroom, where we rapidly undressed each other in a flurry of lust.
Then–
‘Woohoo!!’ came a voice, followed by the slam of the front door.
Chase groaned, reached for his cigarettes. ‘Oh God. It’s my mother.’