Chapter 27
Elizabeth
The weeks blur together and I spend them mostly alone, sadness sitting heavy in my chest. With my notebook in my hand and a pen that doesn’t stop moving, I can feel a fire building inside me, demanding to be written.
I need an outlet, one that I have been desperately searching for since coming home from London.
It is time for me to take back my creative side.
As winter threatens to arrive outside my window and the fireplace crackles in front of me, I feel a spark return.
I put my notebook to the side and open my laptop, fingers hovering over the keyboard in anticipation.
Writing becomes my therapy, helping me navigate the complicated emotions that have been trapping me.
At first, they feel like chains wrapped around my chest, but the more I write, the more they loosen.
I find myself writing until the early hours, unable to stop.
I sleep, drink tea, and write, only eating when my stomach grumbles or the baby kicks in protest.
Theo becomes real on the pages. Our relationship is no longer hidden.
I spill it into every single sentence. My lust. My commitment to him.
The beautiful moments that have my tears dripping onto the pages.
The heartbreak. His absence. I refuse to hold back.
I owe myself honesty, no matter how much guilt twists in my chest. I have kept him anonymous, but he will know.
If he ever reads my book, he will recognise himself.
Then one evening, at 11:36pm, I type the words I thought I would never reach.
The End
I press print and watch my heart on the pages, one after another, print out in black and white.
After the last of nearly four hundred pages slides out of the printer, I gently lift the pile and tuck it inside of a brown envelope.
I write my agent’s name and address on the front and place it on the kitchen counter, ready to take to the post office the next morning.
I fall asleep, full of nerves. I haven’t had a book published in almost ten years. Especially one as intense as the pages I have just printed.
When I wake in the morning, I wrap up warm and message James.
Elizabeth: I need to go to the post office this morning. Are you free for tea and a chat at the coffee shop?
Thirty seconds later, my phone pings.
James: I’ll meet you there!
I clip Bear’s cosy dog coat around him, fasten his lead to the collar and head down the cottage pathway for the first time in what feels like months.
The world outside has changed. The concrete is icy, crunching under my feet.
I walk the beach trail, the wind nipping at my ears, until I get to the town square.
There, standing outside the post office, is James.
Just as he had promised. He’s waiting for me.
“Morning, you two,” he says, bending to stroke Bear behind the ears. “What are we posting?”
I hold up the brown envelope, heavy with anticipation.
“My new manuscript. I’ve been writing for months, but the last few weeks I couldn’t stop.
I think this is a good one, James. I can feel it.
” I can feel myself glowing. We both go inside and send it by ‘signed delivery.’ I find myself trembling.
My nerves are making me feel the cold more than I usually do.
We slowly stroll to the coffee shop, the smell of dark roast coffee beans flooding through the door.
James opens it and waits for me to enter.
I stare ahead, suddenly unable to move. My legs have stopped working, my breathing is getting quicker as memories of me and Theo meeting here flood my vision.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. A tray of mugs crashes to the floor inside, and I instinctively grab James’s arm.
“What’s happening Elizabeth?” he asks, letting the door close. He walks me over to a bench and kneels in front of me, lightly touching his hands on either side of my arms. “Elizabeth, talk to me.”
“It’s just…” I feel so silly. This was mine and Theo’s place.
James patiently waits for me to compose myself.
“I haven’t been here since me and Theo spent so many days coming here to meet.
It is where it all started.” James brings me into his chest and holds me.
A sudden sense of familiarity hits me. The same feeling I had when my dad died.
Grief. “I think I need to go home, James.” He takes my hand and walks me to the beach trail where we quietly stroll, side by side, my comfort blanket beside me.
I can sense James is struggling with the anger. Theo has broken me. I can’t deny it. This was supposed to be the happiest nine months of my life, and Theodore Masters has picked me up and thrown me in the cold. He has split me in two.
Every time I recover, even just for a fleeting moment when I forget him, the memories rear their head, surrounding me and bringing me back to my knees.
We arrive back at the cottage, and James sits me on the sofa, lights the fire, and puts the kettle on. He prepares me a cup of peppermint tea, and we settle by the fireplace warming my toes, letting the aroma of burning cherry wood soothe me.
“I can’t escape him, James, but I’m also not sure I want to,” I say sadly.
“This love I have for him feels dangerous. My mind feels like a cloud of dust when he’s around, whether it’s him standing in front of me or the memory, like today at the coffee shop.
How bloody stupid of me. I couldn’t walk into a coffee shop and place a simple order.
” He sits looking at me, and I see a flicker of rage inside of him.
He wrings his hands as his fists wrap tightly around each other.
“If he turned up at my door now and told me he had left her, I would take him back. In a second.” James breathes deeply, willing himself not to say anything he’ll regret.
“I hate what he’s done to you, Elizabeth.” He goes silent with his eyes closed, controlling his breathing. We sit in silence together, both of us on the edge of saying more, but the words stay trapped inside.
James comes by every few days after that. I seem fragile to him, like glass that is moments away from shattering.
Days pass and I attempt to pick myself up. Slowly and not punishing myself, I tuck my memories of Theo back in their box and try to continue with my life.
James and I take a walk along the beach, Wellington boots on, treading the wet sand.
The tide is out, so we head out as far as we can go, stepping over little crabs and collecting cockles on the way.
When we turn, the cottage is just a dot on the hill.
Suddenly, my phone rings, startling me. My agent’s name lights up across the screen.
“Elizabeth speaking.” James watches me with intrigue as my face lights up like a spark.
The glow of the sunset wraps my body in gold.
“Are you kidding? Grace, please don’t joke with me.
” I press the red ‘end call’ button and squeal.
I run to James in pure happiness. It’s the happiest he has ever seen me.
I realise he has never seen me happy. Since we met on the beach all those months ago, true happiness has never been part of our time together.
“Elizabeth, I love hugging you, but do you want to tell me what we’re celebrating?”
“I got a deal… and not just a little one, James. Massive. Huge. The type of deal that only comes around once in a lifetime. I’ve done it, James.” I’m a bundle of excitement, nerves coiled tight, ready to burst. He picks me up and spins me around on the beach while I laugh.
Placing me gently back down, he asks, “I assume you’re talking about the book.” The smile in his tone is pure joy. I can see the pride in his expression. Proud of the achievements I have made. The milestone I have been dreaming of for years.
The weeks after my book deal are a blur of edits, cover reveals, and emails.
It feels like my life has been split into two parts.
Before the deal and after it. I spend the rest of the month marketing my new book – Forbidden Love.
Pre-orders are piling up as social media stars are sent advanced copies to read and review.
It’s all over TikTok and Instagram, and people seem to be loving it.
The success of the book is starting to seem pretty unbelievable.
My agent calls me close to Christmas, I can hear she’s breathless, excitement pulsing down the line.
“Elizabeth, you’re being invited onto Good Morning Britain.
They want to interview you about the book.
” Terror sweeps through me. I hadn’t expected I would have to discuss it on national television.
My mind runs wild with what ifs. What if the newspapers figure out who I am?
Or someone tries to figure out who the mystery man is?
“Grace, I don’t think that’s a good idea. That can open a massive can of worms that I am not ready to deal with.” I reply, “and I am terrible at public speaking.”
I hear her groan down the line.
“Elizabeth, do you realise how hard it is to get authors booked for interviews like this? It takes months, but someone dropped out and I managed to pull some strings to get you in. You need to take this. I don’t want to push you, but…
” she pauses, and I can tell she is choosing her next words carefully.
“You will regret this if you don’t take it. I’m not asking. I’m telling you.”
After a lot of back and forth, my agent wears me down and I eventually agree. When I get off the phone, the interview is set for Friday, and I have three days to prepare.
Friday comes so much quicker than I am ready for.
The December sky is clear but bitterly cold.
I arrive at the studios in London, my fingers trembling with nerves and my mouth dry, no matter how much water I seem to drink.
I caress my bump, wearing a red oversized jumper to hide her away.
The guilt of hiding my baby eats at me. Am I really any better than Theo?
I need them to keep the focus on the book, not my private life.
I am escorted to a room at the back, and I pause at my name on the dressing room door. My finger gently brushes over it before my name is called, and I’m shocked out of my trance.
“Elizabeth Marlowe?”
A young woman with a headset on and a clipboard in hand is looking at me with slight exasperation in her words. I nod, unable to speak.
“Come with me.” I follow her as she strides through the hallway until we get to the entrance of the stage.
I stand at the edge, watching the cameramen, laser-focused on the presenters.
The heat of the lights is making me warm, and I am certain my cheeks are flushed the same colour as my jumper.
The director calls cut, and I hear the adverts playing as make-up artists rush the stage.
I’m gently escorted to the couch, the feeling of bile rising in my throat as the presenters greet me, shaking my clammy hand.
Why did I agree to this?
****
Theo
I’m sitting at the kitchen island in my home, coffee in hand, watching the day’s news. Olivia comes in, baby attached to her hip like the prop it has become. She picks up the remote, switches the channel, and then throws it at me. It clatters on the island as I dodge it just in time.
“Is that who I think it is on my TV?” Olivia spits.
I slowly lower my newspaper and lean forward.
There she is on my screen, absolutely glowing.
Her beauty is radiating out of the TV, and it makes me smile like I haven’t in months.
She is shining as the cameras and lights catch the piercing blue of her eyes.
Television looks good on her. Olivia’s venom fills the air, but the complete and utter pride coursing through me fights the tension.
“Looks like she used you just enough to not need you anymore,” Olivia whispers in my ear. I turn my face to glare into her eyes. We are nose to nose, and I reply slowly to ensure she hears me clearly. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to.
“Why don’t you just fuck off, Olivia?” she gasps and stumbles backwards as if I just slapped her. The baby grizzles, but Olivia doesn’t soothe it. She’s still staring at me.
I have never spoken to her like that before.
Yes, I have shouted and yelled; we’ve had arguments that would have people running for the hills, but this is different.
She sees the anger and hatred in my eyes.
She continues to step back, watching me move my focus back to the television, watching Elizabeth with nothing but love and admiration. The way she wishes I had looked at her.
Elizabeth’s popularity is soaring, and I couldn’t be prouder of her.
I always knew the world would love her as much as I do.