With Love from London

I swallowed hard. “Oh, Edward, how I wish you would have found me sooner. How I wish…”

“But I’m here now,” he said, inching closer to take me into his arms. I felt as if I’d melted in his embrace. I’d dreamt of a moment like this since the day I first set eyes on him, and when his lips met mine, it was just as magical as I’d imagined it would be, and more. I’d found my hero, my love—every ounce of my being told me so. And yet…it was too late.

I pulled back from his kiss, forcing myself to look away. “Oh, Edward, I want this so much—more than anything.”

“And you can have it,” he said, offering me his hand, a symbol of now and, I knew, the future.

I shook my head as I wiped a falling tear from my cheek, then lightly placed my hand on my abdomen. Frank didn’t know yet, not even Millie. No one detected the tiny new life growing inside of me. It was my secret, and mine alone, but now it was Edward’s, too—our burden to bear.

“I see,” he said, releasing his gaze from mine and looking ahead into the distance.

I pressed my head against his shoulder, soaking his starched shirt with my tears. He wept, too, quietly, and I could feel him willing away his heart’s grip on mine. Time passed quickly in those final moments, but I tried to memorize every second. The angle of his nose. The faint shadow of stubble on his face. The way his hand caressed mine. And when it was time to go—Frank would be here in minutes, even—he kissed me once more.

I walked home alone, and found Millie crying on the sofa. I nestled in beside her. There were no words for a moment like this, so we bathed ourselves in silence—savoring our last minutes—before I walked numbly to my bedroom to finish packing. I’d already sorted through the books I’d be bringing to California, and those were neatly organized in my trunk. But I hadn’t gotten to my wardrobe yet, not that it mattered. Nothing mattered. There was no rhyme or reason to my selections. I merely emptied my drawers and threw in this dress or that. It was all a tangled, jumbled mess.

When I heard Frank’s driver honk on the street below, announcing his arrival, I heaved my luggage out to the entryway, then looked around the little flat a final time. Millie wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me so hard, it almost hurt.

“I’ll write you,” she cried. There was a strange tone to her voice, which I chalked up to grief. I was grieving, too.

My nod was merely mechanic. “Millie, I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything,” she said, wiping away a tear.

I opened the door to the hall closet and pointed to Edward’s jacket inside. “Keep this safe for me.”

“El, I don’t understand.”

I closed my eyes tightly, then opened them again, glancing at the door over my shoulder. “I can’t take it with me to California, but I don’t want to lose it either—ever.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know I’m not making any sense, but I don’t have time to explain.”

Millie nodded. “What’s his name?”

“Edward,” I said. The word flew out of my mouth. “Edward Sinclair.”

“You love him, don’t you?”

Tears stung my eyes. “I do, Mill. Oh, I do.”

She shook her head in confusion. “Then why—”

“It’s too late.” I bit my lip as Frank appeared on the stairs to help with my bags.

“Hello, darling,” he said, before waving to Millie, oblivious to the conversation that had just been cut short. “My driver says we might run into traffic getting to Heathrow, so we should hustle. We don’t want to lose those first-class seats.”

When Frank’s back was turned, Millie nodded to me. It was all I needed.

“Ready, my love?”

“Yes,” I said, feigning cheerfulness.

I took one last look at Millie before turning to follow Frank down the stairs. My legs felt leaden, and each step oozed of irony. I’d spent my whole life dreaming about the day I’d finally leave the East End, kissing my past goodbye, and now that it was happening…all I wanted was to stay.





“It’s ringing,” I whisper to Liza, my pulse racing after I dial Daniel Davenport’s number.

“Hello?” a youngish-sounding woman says. Her voice is urgent and perhaps even a bit annoyed, but it’s hard to tell over the commotion in the background—dishes rattling, water rushing from a faucet.

“Oh, um, hi,” I mutter. “I’m so sorry, uh, I was calling for…Daniel.”

“Daniel? Daniel who?”

I clear my throat. “Daniel Davenport.”

“Daniel Davenport, huh?” She laughs. “That’s a good one.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“You’re calling for my ex, obviously,” she says. “Tell me, what kind of man gives out his home phone number when attempting to cheat on his girlfriend?” She sniffs. “Yeah, no cellphone—he missed too many payments. First it was Clyde Humphrey, then Ben Calloway, and now…What was it again? Oh yeah, Daniel Daven-whatever.” She laughs. “It’s not your fault, sweetie. I feel sorry for you, and all of the poor women he’s duped—including me. But now the joke’s on him.” I shake my head at Liza, who’s hanging on my every word. “He was arrested last week for mail fraud. They finally got him. Good riddance.”

“Oh,” I say. “I’m…sorry. I…”

“Don’t be,” the woman replies. “Just learn your lesson like I did and don’t fall for a sociopath.”

“Yes, right,” I mutter. “Thank you.” I end the call quickly and set the phone down on the sofa, staring at it like it’s a stick of dynamite.

“So?” Liza asks, wide-eyed. “Tell me everything!”

“Wrong number.” I sigh. “Either that, or our Daniel Davenport is a cheating sociopath who is currently in prison.”

“Let’s go with the first scenario.”

I shrug.

“Don’t lose heart,” Liza says.

“I think I already have,” I say, yawning. “But for now, I need to get some sleep.”

Liza reaches for her sweater and casts me a cheeky smile from the doorway. “Good night, honey. May you have the most romantic dream about the handsome and mysterious Daniel.”



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