Chapter 33 Alexander
Alexander
“This is, by far, the most interesting building I’ve ever been in. And I had no idea it existed. It doesn’t feel like we’re in England anymore.” Ivy’s eyes are huge as they dart around the Royal Pavilion.
“It doesn’t,” I agree.
“Do you know they do weddings here? I saw that on the website. I wonder how much that costs.”
“So, you’re thinking destination wedding? That’s fine. I’ll do whatever you prefer.” Was I going too far? Sure. But while we’re pretending, I might as well.
She rolls her eyes. “Alex.”
“I’m pretending to be your boyfriend, and isn’t that something a boyfriend would say?”
Ivy shakes her head, sending her curls bouncing.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I’m sure it’s my agent. He called three times when we were driving. I might as well take it while we’re waiting for our tour to start. I hold up my phone. “I’ll be right back.”
I walk to an area free from people. “Hey, Isaac. What’s going on?”
“I’ve got good news.”
“Wait. It’s just after four in the morning there. Why are you up, calling me?”
I hear papers rustling on the other end of the line. “I couldn’t sleep. You know how I get when things are really happening.”
“Yeah. I do.” My agent never stops. I don’t know how he lives the way he does.
“So anyway, I got a call last night from a casting director. He’s working on a film based on what I’ve learned is the most popular fantasy novel in the world, and they want you for the lead.
This would be your biggest role yet, and it’s a series.
And the money. We didn’t talk specifics, but it would be multi-multi-millions per movie. And there are five books.”
He’s wanting me to do five major movies?
I glance over to where Ivy stands several feet away studying the design on the wall.
If I’d been given this news a week ago, I would have been excited.
I enjoy working and the process of creating.
But now? My priorities have had a sudden shift.
Still, if Ivy is set on pushing me away after this, why shouldn’t I take this?
“How long do I have to think about it?”
“What’s there to think about? I’ve been looking into these novels for most of the night. You’d be perfect for this, trust me.”
I do trust him. He’s never let me down or led me astray, but things have changed.
“I do. But that’s a big commitment. I want to think it through.”
I hear Isaac sigh. “Alright, man. Take a month. They’ll wait for you. But if you know sooner, please go ahead and let me know.”
“I will. Thanks, Isaac.”
We begin our tour, and I enjoy watching Ivy’s expressions as we move from room to room.
Her eyes are wide and her mouth often hangs open.
We’re standing in The Banqueting Room. Everyone’s silent, apart from our guide who is telling us about King George IV’s feasts, when I feel the need to sneeze.
The thing is, I don’t just sneeze. I do it in such a way that if I’m indoors, people worry the building might fall down.
So far, no one has given me a second glance.
There is so much to look at here that I’ve gone unnoticed.
Ivy would give no credit to my hat and glasses.
My eyes water and nostrils burn as I try to stop the sneeze.
Unfortunately, my anonymity is about to go out the window.
The sound reverberates off the walls—of what has to be the most echoey space in the building—and every head in the room turns to me.
There is a chorus of “Bless Yous” and “Gesundheits”, half of which fade out toward then end as, I’m assuming, they realize who has been lingering at the back of the group this whole time.
“Alexander Henry?” an older and, if I’m not mistaken, French man asks.
“Ah, yes. Hello everyone.” I give a small wave to our group of fifteen or so. The tour leader looks at me like I have stolen his audience, and he isn’t pleased. “So sorry. You were telling us about the chandelier. It is truly remarkable.”
“Oh, yes. Please tell us more,” Ivy adds, and thankfully that was all the encouragement our tour guide needed.
After our tour, we take photos outside the palace with many of the members of our tour group, including the, for some reason, all-important group photo.
These people acted like we had become best friends during a week of summer camp and were saying goodbye.
We have a woman take a photo of just us in front of the palace and I send it on to Mr. Crawley, who, of course, doesn’t respond.
“What now? We could make it back to London by half five or so.”
“I’d like to see more of this place.”
“I’d love that, but … are you sure?”
“Yeah. I want to go to the pier,” Ivy says, looking at her phone where she has already searched for the attractions in Brighton.
“I’m sure you can’t see the nude beach from there, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
Ivy bursts out laughing, which fills my entire body with happiness. “That is too bad. I was very much hoping to see a large amount of sagging skin today.”
It takes us less than ten minutes to walk to the pier, Ivy holding my hand the entire time. She laughs when we arrive.
“What?”
She points to a sign near the entrance: Fish and chips. Of course.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, but she is already pulling me in the direction of the food.
“No. But we have to try it. We’ll share. It’ll be an afternoon snack.” She paused. “Tea! It will be our tea. Totally English.”
He laughs. “Sure. Totally English.”
We get our food and head onto the pier. The wooden deck is covered with games and rides. An arcade sits in the middle. The whole place is rather wild, yet Ivy’s first comment is:
“It’s so funny to me that it’s called a toilet here. I mean, I get it, you aren’t going in there to rest or take a bath, but still. It seems so crass. Toilets are gross.” We watch as a woman walks out of the toilet. “Does that woman look like she just stepped out of a toilet?”
I just laugh. “Come on. Let’s find something more exciting than a restroom to look at.”
“Does such a thing exist?” She laughs, and I desperately wish I could snatch the sound from the air and stick it in my pocket so I could pull it out and hear it anytime I wanted.