“Why? I know your mum thought I was a dumb klutz, but I wasn’t even there.”

  “Not in person, maybe, but you were still in my life. I refused to change the alarm code, for starters. That annoyed Ros. I never missed an episode of Whispers in Willowbrook. And then there’s this…”

  Before I could process, he whipped off his shirt, and holy cannoli, the man had abs. Abs and pecs. And was that…was that… I tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea made me rethink that idea, so I beckoned him closer instead.

  “You tattooed a gummy bear on your chest?”

  “On my heart. It was always you, Serena. Ros had to look at it every time we…” His cheeks turned red. “…you know. She kept telling me I should get it removed. Said it was childish.”

  The tears were back. I tried to wipe them away with a hand, but the stupid IV tube got caught. Owen stepped in with a handkerchief.

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, beautiful, I know it’s been eight years, but I’m still crazily in love with you and no other woman will ever measure up’? I didn’t want you to run a mile, and besides, you’re already spoken for.”

  “I am?”

  “Marc di Gregorio?”

  “Oh, no, no, no. I’m not dating Marc. I’ve never even kissed him outside of work.”

  “You looked remarkably cosy having breakfast this morning. The pictures were all over the internet.”

  Now it was my turn to blush. “I just wanted to make you jealous.”

  “Mission accomplished.”

  My brain was struggling to keep up. Owen wasn’t engaged, and Rosamund wasn’t the love of his life. Perhaps I was? He had a freaking gummy bear inked over his heart, and it was a red one. My favourite. It matched the one he’d gifted me all those years ago. All those years ago when he used to eat the yellow ones because they were the flavour I liked least and leave the raspberry ones for me. Almost unconsciously, my fingers went to my neck, but the familiar comfort of the waxed cord was missing. My heart stuttered, and the machine beeped faster in sympathy.

  “It’s in my pocket,” Owen assured me. “One of the nurses took it off.”

  Thank goodness. “You…you love me?”

  “That will never change.”

  “Ditto. When you offered to go to the prom with me, that was the best moment of my life, and then it all went so wrong, and I just… I just…”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Is it? I still haven’t paid you back for the cost of the solicitor.”

  “He was a family friend, and besides, I think I can cover it. HC offers great stock options. And if it’s any consolation, I nearly got arrested last night when I insisted on staying with you. Technically, it’s past visiting hours and only next of kin are allowed.”

  “How did you convince them to make an exception?”

  “I didn’t. After I explained the Rosamund situation, Marc di Gregorio charmed the nurse manager. Apparently, she’s a fan.”

  “Marc came too?”

  “Briefly. He’ll be back in the morning. He helped out on the condition that I apologise, so here I am, telling you I’m so fucking sorry for everything that happened. I wish we could turn back the clock.”

  “Me too. I’m still not entirely sure what did happen last night. One minute, I was fine, and the next…lights out.”

  “Someone roofied you.”

  Had I heard him right? They what? “Roofied me?”

  “Rohypnol. The medical team pumped your stomach and gave you a drug that reverses the effects of benzodiazepines.”

  “But who…? How?”

  “It was in the water you drank. Priscilla actually did get arrested, but she’ll probably be out on bail by the morning.”

  That…that was almost unbelievable, but when I screwed my eyes shut, a fleeting memory came back. Priscilla complaining about my coughing. Priscilla handing me her glass of water. Why would she roofie me? True, we couldn’t stand each other, but didn’t she realise that if she got caught—when she got caught—it would only harm her career in the end?

  “I think… I think it was her drink. It wasn’t meant for me.”

  “So she claims, but one of the production people—Feather?—said she saw Priscilla drop something into the glass after she poured it.”

  Another memory… Priscilla suggesting I might be an alcoholic. Had she simply been trying to make me look bad in front of everyone? Was she aiming for woozy and got the dosage wrong? She wasn’t a bad actress, just a horrible person.

  “What will happen now?”

  “With the play? I’m no expert, but don’t you both have understudies?”

  “Stand-ins, yes.”

  “So Priscilla’s stand-in will take over, I imagine, and you’ll go back on stage when you feel well enough.”

  “And what about…” I closed my eyes for a moment and braced for disappointment. “What about us?”

  Was there even an “us”?

  Owen didn’t answer, not in words. No, he leaned closer, closer, and brushed his lips across mine. Heat zinged through my veins, and for crying out loud, would someone shut that bloody beeping off?

  “Come home with me. You can meet Moose, and then we can burn all the towels.”

  “I love you,” I whispered. “Even more than gummy bears.”

  “I love you too.”

  He kissed me again, and this time, he rivalled Marc’s on-stage persona. No, he surpassed it. A little tongue, a lot of fire, and if a nurse hadn’t cleared her throat from the doorway, my paper gown would have ended up in shreds.

  “Sir, we’re already bending the rules for you to be here. I’m going to have to ask you to put your shirt back on.”

  “I do apologise.”

  A giggle threatened to burst free. I tried to swallow it and ended up having a coughing fit, but thankfully this time, Priscilla wasn’t on hand with water. Owen passed me a plastic cup with a straw, and I sipped until I could breathe steadily again.

  Tonight, I’d go home with Owen. Although I was already at home. He was my home. My safe place, my rock, my best friend, and now—with luck—my partner for life.

  I’d just have to remember to unblock his number on my phone.

  Fifteen

  There was drama off stage at Friday’s performance of The Other Woman as one cast member allegedly drugged another. Priscilla Prentice, rumoured to be embroiled in a bitter feud over the affections of Marc di Gregorio with her co-star, Serena Carlisle, is said to have slipped a date-rape drug into Ms. Carlisle’s drink right before the final act.

  The show concluded an hour later than planned with a stand-in, but some disgruntled audience members have requested a refund. “I didn’t pay fifty quid to sit around listening to sirens for an hour,” said one man who wished to remain anonymous.

  We understand that Serena Carlisle will be rejoining the cast on Monday, but Priscilla Prentice has been sidelined for good.

  Seemed celebgossip.com was on the case. I’d been given the weekend off to recover, not so much from the drugs but from the soreness in my throat. The audience deserved to have actors who could perform without coughing their guts up. The doctors had discharged me early this morning, which gave me two and a half days of R&R before Monday’s performance. I was under strict instructions not to talk too much, and what better way to heed medical advice than to snuggle up with Owen and watch Netflix?

  We had ice cream, chocolate, and gummy bears, plus doggy treats for Moose. Owen had fired his dog-sitter, so Moose would be splitting his time between home and Owen’s office for the next few weeks. Luckily, nobody at HC Systems minded well-behaved pets, and Owen said one of the programmers even brought a pair of sugar gliders to work in her pocket. But at the moment, Moose was stretched out on the sofa with his head resting on my thigh, snoring softly.

  “I always thought Netflix and chill meant, you know, watching Netflix and chilling out,” he said.

  “No way.”

  “Yes way. When colleagues asked me whether I had plans at the weekend, I always wondered why they looked at me funny when I answered. I’m surprised no one reported me to HR.”

  “How did you find out what it actually meant?”

  “Luke’s sister.” Owen covered his eyes with his hands. “She asked what I was doing at the weekend, I said Netflix and chilling with Ros, and Tia said she didn’t think Ros was the type. So I said that actually, she was a big fan of Bridgerton. Then I was informed of the error of my ways.”

  And I was hooting with laughter. Which did nothing for my cough or my headache, but did feel pretty damn good after everything that had happened.

  “Just so you know, I am the type for Netflix and chilling, but I prefer romcoms.”

  Owen moved his hands. “Oh, really?”

  “I’m not trying to rush you or anything, but…yes.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “At this moment? I’m feeling like I’ve been waiting eight years to see you naked. If I have to wait a few extra days, then I will, but I don’t want to.”

  Owen leapt to his feet in one smooth move, and a second later, I was in his arms. My favourite place in the world. The journey home had been bumpy, but now that I’d arrived, the potholes faded into the background.

  “Let’s focus on the ‘and chill’ part for today. Moose, stay here.”

  I tossed him a biscuit. “Good boy.”

  Owen carried me all the way to his bedroom, to the king-sized bed with pale grey sheets and a padded velvet headboard. I’d always avoided looking directly at his package in the past—unless his attention was elsewhere, anyway—but now I was free to stare openly. Sheesh, he was hard already. And roughly the size of London’s Gherkin if the outline in his grey sweatpants was anything to go by.

  “When you said ‘chill,’ how cold were you talking?” I asked. “Pimm’s at a garden party? Slow, sedate glacier? Or full-on beastly liquid nitrogen?”

  “Liquid helium.”

  “Uh, so I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

  “It’s colder than liquid nitrogen.”

  Of course he would know that. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

  We stared at each other for a beat and then began tearing at each other’s clothes, years of pent-up frustration coming to a head in the ripping of fabric. My fingernails and determination versus Owen’s raw strength meant we ended up naked at the same time, and he threw me onto the bed. Threw me. I’d never been so turned on in my life. Or so wet. My thighs were slick, and he’d barely even touched me yet.

  Holy Toledo, he had hip grooves, a deep V pointing the way to his perfect specimen of a cock. I lay breathless, drinking him in, but not for long. He only gave me a second before he parted my legs and showed me that his cock wasn’t the only magic part of his anatomy. The sight of his head buried between my thighs nearly made me come on the spot. I arched off the bed as heat surged through me, gripping the sheets with both hands at my sides.

  “I’ve been waiting forever to taste you,” he murmured, his breath ticklish. “The wait was worth it.”

  “And I’ve been waiting forever for an Owen Cadwallader orgasm, so don’t stop.”

  His chuckle sent another ripple of pleasure through me, and I gasped. I’d never been this sensitive before. Every touch, every stroke set off fireworks. The pleasure built and built, coiling inside my belly as my breath came in pants, my thoughts jumbled. When our gazes met, the intensity in Owen’s undid me. Mine. He rolled his hips one final time and the dam burst. I cried out as the orgasm blazed through me, and a moment later, we heard the scrabble of claws on tile.

  “Shit!” Owen rolled off the bed and grabbed Moose before he could join in the fun. The dog thought it was a game and jinked sideways, and I laughed so hard I was practically crying as a naked Owen chased the excited mutt around the bedroom. Finally, he managed to wrestle Moose out the door, and this time he locked it.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he said, panting slightly. “That’s never happened before.”

  “It’s a first for me too.”

  And then we were both laughing, but it was okay because we were Serena and Owen. Owen and Serena. We’d been friends forever, and above all, friends had fun. I grew serious again when Owen kissed me like he meant it, and the dog drama hadn’t affected his dick. It was still as hard as granite.

  “Don’t you have somewhere you should be putting that thing?”

  “You’re not into foreplay?”

  “I’m into everything, but if there’s a choice right now, I’d rather you were into me.”

  “Then I’ll find a condom.”

  I hesitated, but only for a second. “I’m on the pill.”

  “Are you saying…?”

  “Just hurry up.”

  He sank into me bare, the first time I’d ever let a man do that, but it was the right man and the right time. The stretch made my breath hitch, and he gave me a moment to adjust to his size.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  “With you? Always.”

  He moved slowly at first, peppering my cheeks with delicate kisses. But as the pleasure built, that glorious tension, he thrust harder, his hands gripping my shoulders as I clawed at his peach of a backside. This time, the orgasm rolled over me like a wave and he followed me into the abyss, his gaze locked on mine.

  Then we heard scratching at the door and dissolved into laughter again.

  If the past five weeks had been a roller-coaster, the last fortnight had mostly been spent on the smooth sections. Fun, exhilaration, and a few bumps. Priscilla was gone, replaced by Tamara, who didn’t have quite the same edge as Priscilla on stage but was a heck of a lot easier to get along with. The audience seemed to like her better, so I’d only had to perform the final scene with Marc eight times. In truth, it had been nice to share the load. Carla was still working out how to handle the change of actress in her study, but she’d been writing plenty of notes. I suspected that at some point, she’d pen a book about the drama behind the scenes and the psychological pressures of showbiz because that was where the real story lay. Meanwhile, the guy making the accompanying documentary had been walking around with a Cheshire cat grin for the past month.

  A grin I mirrored. Because Owen had cleared out half of his closet and asked me to stay with him, at least until we knew what was going on with my career, and I’d said yes. Yes to living in Broxbourne, yes to waking up beside my best friend every morning. I hung up the phone, and Owen turned from the coffee machine, two mugs in his hands. The mugs had come from the gift shop at the theatre, and they had my freaking face on them.

  “That didn’t sound hopeful,” he said.

  “It was the police liaison officer. They’re not going to charge Priscilla.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  We’d talked about it a lot. We’d talked about everything. There were no more secrets between us, only trust. I was in two minds over the Priscilla situation because while I wanted her to face justice, I’d also been dreading having to testify at a trial. Honestly, I just wanted the whole mess to go away.

  “I’m okay with it. She’s lost her job and been blacklisted by every producer in the business, which for her is probably worse than a prison sentence anyway. Not that she’d have gone to prison. They’d only have given her a fine or community service.”

  There wasn’t enough evidence, the liaison officer said. Yes, Priscilla had passed me the drink, and yes, Feather thought she’d seen her drop something into it, but she couldn’t be certain it was even a pill. The documentary crew had caught me falling off the chair on tape, but not Priscilla pouring the glass of water or adding any foreign substances. No more drugs had been found in Priscilla’s belongings, and she’d hired a good lawyer.

  Owen nodded slowly. “I think it’s the best outcome.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “There’s something else on your mind, I can tell.”

  This phase of our relationship might be new, but I’d known Owen for half my life, and in many ways, he hadn’t changed a bit.

  “This might be an unpopular opinion, but I think Priscilla’s innocent.”

  “What? But last week, you offered to hire a law firm and bring a civil case.”

  “I did some more digging.”

  “Huh?”

  “I might be in management now, but I started off in coding, and I still know my way around the interweb. Plus I have friends in low, low places. We wanted to make sure you weren’t in any further danger, so we ran a few checks.”

  “What did you find?”

  Owen took a seat opposite me and slid a mug across the kitchen table. The coffee was still too hot to drink, so I picked it up and blew on it, waiting.

  “Feather’s full name is Birdie Feather Lorratt.” His quiet snort told me what he thought of the name. “Her parents were both ornithologists. She decided to take a different path, and she used to go by Birdie. Six years ago, she was working as a stagehand on the Broadway adaptation of The Hobbit when she clashed with a young actress named Priscilla Prentice.”

  “What kind of clash did they have?”

  “Someone found a baggie of cocaine backstage, and Birdie got the blame. She claimed it was Priscilla’s, but nobody believed her.”

  “Yikes. I mean, I can understand why—Priscilla can be very convincing.”

  “The director’s sister died from an overdose, and his stance on drugs bordered on militant, which meant the police got involved. But there wasn’t enough evidence to charge Birdie. The upshot is that she got fired, and she found it difficult to get another job with that blot on her résumé.”

  The little pieces began to slot into place. “So she reinvented herself.”

 

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