Chapter 59 Anna
Anna
“How long do you think we have?” Gemma asks from the passenger seat.
“These kinds of interviews usually run for about forty minutes,” Max says, careening out of the street and through the busy London traffic. “Maybe fifty if we’re lucky.”
I check the clock. “Okay, we still have time.”
“Shit.” Max slams his fist on the horn as a car cuts us off. “Move!”
“Can you go any faster?” I’m leaning between the two front seats, watching traffic crawl.
“Does it look like I can go any faster?” Max murmurs, swerving around a bus.
We fly down narrow streets, horns honking behind us as we weave in and out of the traffic like a needle. My pulse is thudding with every turn.
“How much further?” I ask.
“Five minutes,” Max says.
“Go faster!” Gemma yells.
“I’m not going any faster!” Max shouts back.
Finally, the station appears ahead. We’re almost there.
Max jerks the car into a parallel park around the corner of the BBC Studio. We fling our doors open and bolt.
“Oi, you can’t park there!” an inspector calls out.
“You can’t handle the truth!” Gemma yells over her shoulder.
I’m running so fast I have to cup my chest to keep my boobs from giving me a black eye. It’s very romantic.
“Do you know where to go?” Gemma pants beside me.
“No,” I gasp.
Max isn’t even breaking a sweat, the bastard.
“How are you so fit?” I heave.
“Gemma helps me work on my cardio,” he says, breath even.
My face crumples. “Ew! You could have at least lied!”
Two security guards are positioned at the station’s entrance, stepping forward when they see us approaching.
“This is a restricted area,” the taller one says, raising his hand. “You can’t just—”
“Oof!” Gemma barrels straight through him, taking him out. They hit the ground with a loud smack and Max and I both freeze, mouths agape.
“Gemma, what the fu—” Max starts.
“GO ON WITHOUT ME, I’M NOT GONNA MAKE IT!” she yells dramatically from on top of the guard.
“Stop them!” the shorter one calls out, looking around helplessly.
“NO! She’s having her Notting Hill moment, you prick!” Gemma says.
Max and I lock eyes.
“Go,” he says, waving me forward. “I’ll handle this.”
I nod as Max turns toward Gemma and the fallen security guard, and then I’m flying, chest heaving as I book it through the corridors, following the signs to the main studio.
I creep through the double doors. Everyone’s eyes are still trained on Liam as he answers the interviewer’s questions.
“I’ll be returning next week. I’m excited to get back on the field and finally put this behind me,” he says.
“Can I ask where you and this woman met?” the interviewer asks.
“I HAVE A QUESTION!” I yell, throwing a hand in the air.
Every head in the room whips around. Camera operators, makeup artists, sound technicians, and a guy in a navy suit who looks to be some sort of director. There are at least fifteen people staring at me.
I’m doubled over, one hand on my knee, dragging in ragged breaths. My hair’s everywhere and I’m about as sweaty as a plumber’s crack.
Liam’s gaze darts around the room, searching for the voice. Then he finds me.
Our eyes meet and I forget how to breathe.
I try to straighten up. My lungs are still screaming. My tits hurt like hell. He’s frozen in his chair with an unreadable expression. His coach is glaring at me.
“Er… this is a closed interview, ma’am,” the interviewer says.
“Can someone please remove her?” a well-dressed man says.
A burly gentleman dressed in black steps toward me and I recoil.
Liam lifts his hand to stop him. “I’d like to hear her question, Jed.” That must be his new agent.
A man in headphones clicks his fingers at one of the camera operators, and ever so slowly, the large camera swivels to me. He dashes forward and passes me a long microphone, which I accept.
Crap. I didn’t think this far ahead.
My gaze snaps to Liam and, unfortunately, I blurt the first thing that comes to mind: “I ran here.”
Liam’s mouth quirks. “I can see that.”
I stare straight down the barrel of a camera lens, red light blinking. “Holy crap. This is on television.”
“It is,” he confirms.
Off to the side, navy suit glances around the room, his expression questioning. One of the camera operators shrugs, and navy suit rolls his arms in a slow circle, signaling to keep filming. I spot Roman tucked against a far wall and he tosses me two thumbs up, grinning like an idiot.
I try again, “I—uhh—”
“Ma’am, if you have nothing more to say—” the interviewer begins.
“Let her speak, sir,” Liam says, leaving no room for argument.
Right. Okay. I can do this.
“This woman in the video . . .” I start, my voice shaking. “If this woman you love fucked up in a major way by pushing you away, but then realized her mistake, what would happen then?”
“Ma’am, this is daytime television. You can’t swear,” navy suit says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Oh, shit,” I murmur, my hand flying to my mouth.
Amusement dances in Liam’s eyes. He pauses briefly. “I’d tell her she didn’t mess up, and she didn’t make a mistake.”
“Right, and—”
“If we could please get back to discussing this week’s game,” his coach says, scanning the room.
“Just a second, Coach,” Liam cuts in. His gaze is locked on mine. “Please. Continue.”
I swallow hard. “If… if this woman were to come out publicly and declare that she loves you too . . .” My eyes dart around nervously before finding his again. “What would happen then?”
A smile blooms across his face, popping that dimple that makes my knees weak. He braces his forearms on his thighs, leaning in. “I’d tell her it was about bloody time.”
The room goes eerily quiet.
“That’s her! The woman from the video!” someone shouts.
Voices break out and another camera spins to face me. But Liam’s already moving, standing from his chair and stepping away from the set.
“Attaboy, Liam!” Roman shouts, cupping a hand over his mouth and pumping a fist in the air.
Liam just laughs, shaking his head. He’s crossing the room, threading through the sea of staff and, before I know it, my feet are moving too. We collide in the middle of the studio, his hands framing my face when he reaches me.
“How did you know I was here?” he asks, eyes searching my face.
“I called you. Roman answered,” I say, choking down the emotion in my throat. “I’m so sorry I pushed you away, I love—”
“Come here,” he says, capturing my mouth in a bruising kiss.
“This is going to be online everywhere,” I murmur against his lips.
“Good.” He grins, kissing me again. The room is going mental, cheering, shouting, and whooping. Some people are even applauding. I kiss him back like my life depends on it.
Liam loops a protective arm around me, turning to face his coach. “Are we done here?”
Coach is shaking his head, but he’s smiling. “I think you’ve given them enough for one day, Murphy.”
“Grand.” He looks down at me. “You wanna get out of here?”
“God, yes.”
He leads me to the exit, Roman trailing behind us.
“Roman,” I say over my shoulder by way of greeting. I notice his phone held tight in his hand, and he flips the screen so three smiling faces fill the screen—Zoey, Finn, and Melody. “Hi!” they all shout in unison.
“Miss Anna!” Finn exclaims, waving madly. Liam chuckles when I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob.
“It’s good to see you, Anna,” Roman says warmly.
Liam tugs on my hand, guiding me further down the corridor toward the entrance.
“We’re gonna piss off if you’re good from here,” Liam calls back.
“Better than good, mate,” Roman shouts, beaming.
We make it to the main foyer, where Gemma and Max are watching a television mounted on the wall, showing the interview. Gemma’s mascara is smudged, her shirt rumpled.
When they spot us, Gemma pulls on Max’s arm excitedly, and he just nods at me, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.
“Go get ’em, Anna Scott and Will Thacker!” Gemma shouts after us as we leave.
“Who’s that? Is she talking about the characters from Notting Hill?” Liam asks.
I wave my hand. “Yes, they are. And that’s my best friend Gemma, and my brother Max.”
Liam tries to turn me around. “Oh, shite. I should probably—”
“No, no. Not right now,” I say, hurrying him forward. “We have plenty of time for proper introductions later. Right now, I just want you to myself.”
We push through the doors into a large crowd of reporters and journalists. I blink like mad as camera flashes explode like fireworks.
Click-click-click-click-click.
“Liam! How did you two meet?”
“Is this her? The teacher?”
“Ma’am, what do you have to say about Liam’s suspension?”
“Have the two of you reconciled?”
“Liam, is this the woman you’re going to marry?”
“Give her a kiss!”
Oh God, these photos are going to be horrendous.
Onlookers whip their phones out, aiming them at us.
Liam yanks me in until I collide with his chest, his hand cupping my chin, guiding me into a kiss that leaves my head spinning. He draws back, his hands framing my face. His voice drops to a whisper. “Are you mine?”
My head jerks in a quick nod. “For however long you’ll have me.”
“Always,” he says without hesitation.
“Always.”
His lips tilt and warmth spreads through my chest. “I can work with that, love.”