Chapter 55 Andrea
Andrea
The queue ran along the riverside outside Battersea Power Station, fenced off with black hoarding. We stood in a narrow file, plastic armor knocking against blaster pistols. It was past eight, but the air was still warm, and sweat was starting to pool at the base of my spine.
Ahead, security was moving people forward in bursts.
I’d got there later than I’d planned, of course.
The stupid costume had been a fraction too tight and a nightmare to get on.
People fiddled with their outfits around me, several stormtroopers, a blubbery Jabba the Hutt, and a very fat Darth Vader.
Nobody looked like they’d stopped at a fancy dress shop on the way.
Then it was me. “Pre-reg,” said a woman in all black holding an iPad.
I fumbled with my gloves, pulled one off, and showed her the screen. Her colleague circled me slowly, inspecting the stitching.
“Screen-accurate,” someone behind me muttered approvingly.
The man straightened. “Turn, please,” he said.
On the other side of the barriers, a flash went off. Thank God nobody could see my face. I was a grown woman dressed like a floor-length carpet sample, about to be humiliated in public.
“Is that some sort of … Ewok?” another voice behind me whispered. “Why is it so … short?”
“Don’t be stupid,” someone scoffed. “Not related. Not even the same planet.”
“Lanyard for the Bonsai Wookiee,” the man inspecting me called to the desk.
Thirty heads turned.
“Go,” he said. “Before I change my mind.”
I grabbed my handbag and strode toward the entrance.
Liam was somewhere in here.
And I was going to find him.
I scurried through the atrium, my thighs rubbing together like a pair of horny plushies. If I kept this pace up, I’d be a fire hazard.
Heat gathered inside the helmet, my own breath coming back warm and close.
Where was he? Would he even talk to me after what I’d done?
I had to at least try.
For a moment I had the strong, irrational feeling that security might still tap me on the shoulder and escort me gently back to reality, but nobody did.
Across the floor, a glass case held an original film prop, two men in immaculate suits leaning over it. A stormtrooper accepted champagne without removing the helmet.
So this was where the rich nerds liked to hang out.
I tightened my grip on my bag and forced myself to keep moving.
Then my eyes connected with someone.
Ohhh, fuck. Bonnie. She was looking directly at me.
I froze.
Her eyes swept over the costume, head to toe, and my heart hammered against my ribs. Could she tell it was me? I definitely wasn’t following the rules of her etiquette guide now.
Then she turned away and walked toward a group of investors in suits. I exhaled. Right. I looked like a luxury taxidermy project. She had no idea.
I ducked past her and kept moving, weaving between clusters of bodies, past a row of high stools where someone dressed as Sonic the Hedgehog was talking to a woman wearing a Lucasfilm badge.
I wasn’t sure if I was more scared about seeing Liam or being too late.
If only I knew how he felt about the letter I’d written.
Did he think I was mean and scheming, that I’d lied to protect myself at his expense? Did he think—God, I was going to throw up—that I hated him?
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Ahead of me I heard controlled applause, someone finishing speaking. I recognized the voice immediately.
“Worlds don’t build themselves,” he said. “They take imagination, money, and an unreasonable amount of stubbornness. Luckily, we’ve got all three in this room.”
Laughter. I edged closer to the crowd and stood on tiptoe, peering over shoulders.
“Thank you for coming, have a brilliant night.”
Liam stood near the center of the room, just stepping back from a low stage. He was putting on his jacket and smoothing down the sleeves.
Someone said something, and he nodded. Then Bonnie appeared next to him.
He glanced at his watch.
Oh no. He was leaving. This was it—my only shot.
But … I froze. I couldn’t do it.
I was wearing a too-tight Wookiee costume at one of London’s most exclusive events, about to publicly accost the man I loved—again—but that wasn’t even what was holding me back.
Yes, I loved him. I’d known it for a while now.
I’d known it since France, maybe before that. All the little times he’d protected me, smoothed things over for me, made me feel safe …
It was just who he was—a really good man.
What held me back was fear.
What if he looked at me now and felt nothing at all? What if I’d been the only one falling this whole time? What if it was just me who thought this meant something more than either of us had said, something real, that could last? What if this was when he finally stopped being kind and turned away?
“What counts is doing what you need to do anyway, even if you’re afraid. Especially if you are, actually.”
Where had I heard that? A sweet, funny gym instructor, lying in my bed, who’d saved me when a lift fell, and bought me lunch on the way home.
Being scared was just an excuse. It always had been.
I tried to look through the heads in front of me—he was still there, but he was moving. Security had opened a clean path through the crowd toward the stairs on the other side of the hall.
I started walking faster, but the suit was so tight I could barely bend my legs. If he made it to those double doors, he’d be in a car, then Heathrow, then gone. But he was already halfway there.
I could hear my own panting inside the helmet as the sound of clapping faded out behind me.
He was at the edge of the room, three steps up, almost at the doors. Someone stepped into my path. I moved left. They did too. Then right. Shit. I stuck my stiff, furry arms out and darted around them, but it was too late. He was already stepping through the doors.
“Liam!”
A wounded Wookiee sound echoed across the hall like a dying animal.
The clapping slowed.
Liam paused but didn’t turn.
I tried again, quieter. “Liam.” A mournful, broken growl.
A security guard’s head snapped toward me. Liam turned, scanning the crowd.
“It’s me. It’s Andrea.” I stepped into Liam’s line of sight as the voice screeched painfully through the modulator.
Was this what actors felt like when they were badly dubbed into a foreign film?
“I think it’s part of the show,” someone whispered on my left.
I grappled with the helmet, but the gloves were too thick to find the clasp.
“Security—” Bonnie said.
Liam watched for a second, then pushed open the door, the guard closing in behind him.
No. He was going. He couldn’t. Not now.
“Liam!” I shouted. “It’s Andrea! I wanted to tell you I was sorry, that I made a mistake. And now I’m stuck inside this feral fucking fur bag and I can’t even—” My voice cracked. “Please … just … don’t go.”
The Wookiee voice resonated across the room, loud, pleading, painful.
He stopped and turned back.
“Hang on a moment,” he said, holding up a hand to Bonnie.
I pulled off a glove and reached around to release the clasp. The helmet came loose with a soft tearing of Velcro, and I lifted it off my head, my hair springing around my face.
“Andrea?” he said. “Is that … you?”
I sniffed, feeling the sweat run down from my hairline into my eyebrows.
He took a step toward me. “Jesus. Andrea. You look a bit—?”
“I am.” My voice wavered. Human again, but not quite normal.
I wiped my face with the back of my bare hand, smearing makeup and sweat together. He stared at me for a moment, then crossed the space. He was right there, in front of me.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” he said quietly. “Where there are fewer people.”
I nodded.
He took my hand and led me away from the crowd, through a quiet door marked VIP, and into a lift.
We rose in silence, me trying to catch my breath in the stupid Wookiee outfit.
The lift doors opened onto the rooftop, and we sat at the glass edge.
A jug of water appeared, and ice clinked as Liam poured, the space around us quiet.
“I thought you didn’t want to see me, Andrea,” he said. “I phoned and messaged, but you’d told me to leave you alone and—”
“I was wrong, Liam,” I said, my eyes filling. “I fucked up. I fucked everything up. That letter I filed with HR—”
“Please,” he said gently. “You don’t have to—”
“I need to tell you.” There was an edge of hysteria to my tone. “Writing that letter was wrong, Liam. I should never have done it in the first place, and after I got to know you, I should have shredded it. I meant to, but somehow—”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I know—”
“But that doesn’t change anything,” I said. “I’d already written it. I’d said all those mean things about you, and it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t true, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Andrea—”
“It came from the same place as everything else.” I paused and drew a breath. Liam was right. It didn’t matter if you were scared. You just had to ignore that and do the right thing anyway.
“I was making excuses to myself,” I said softly. “So I could stay safe. Because it felt more dangerous to want something and … risk losing it … than to tell myself I didn’t want anything at all.”
His arms around me, his gentle protection, a future.
“Do you know what I mean?” I asked.
“Of course I do.”
Did he?
Since we’d met, he’d always been there for me, constant and unafraid, with a hoodie to sit on, a gentle touch on the arm, an apology when it was needed. He didn’t make excuses. When he saw what was wrong, he tried to make it right.
“What were you making excuses about?” He took my hand quietly and held it in his lap.
“I don’t know. Everything. My painting, what I wanted.” I met his eyes. “But mostly about you.”
The cool London air filled my lungs, like every last corner was being cleared out and sharpened.
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
He shifted closer and put his arm around me.
“I told myself you were controlling everything,” I said. “That you were making all the decisions, so I could keep you at a distance.”
I looked down at my hands.
“But that wasn’t it. I just didn’t want to want you that much. Because if I lost it …” I let out a breath. “That would have hurt more.”