Filthy English

“Yeah.” Maybe I should call Declan back. “So what’s on the agenda today?”

He took a sip of coffee. “Lulu called.”

“Oh?” I guess they’d exchanged digits. Spider might be a smartarse, but women loved that on him. “You interested in that?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Then why bring her up?”

He shrugged. “She happened to mention they’re headed out to see some sights today, and I thought we might want to tag along—you know, as tour guides.”

“I need a break from Remi.”

“If you’re just friends, then what’s wrong with hanging out?”

My lips tightened. “Nothing. Just need some space.”

“You like her. A lot.” A knowing grin worked his face.

“No more than I like any other girl.”

“Uh-huh. Okay, that’s fine. I’ll text her and say we’re busy.”

I stood to put my plate in the dishwasher. “Good.”

“By the way, don’t you think you’re forgetting something this morning?”

I shrugged. “No. Why?”

He chortled in glee as he held out his palm. “Oh how easily he forgets . . . pay up, mate. You officially lost a bet last night, and I want my money.”

“Wanker. Whatever.” I rolled my eyes, dug around in my jean pockets, found a quid and slapped it on the table.

He picked it up. Inspected it like it was a Spanish gold coin. “Fucking best day ever.”

I gave him the middle finger behind my back as I wandered back to my bedroom to hop in the shower.

I WOKE UP around lunchtime feeling like crap. My head throbbed, my throat ached, and it looked like a family of mice had taken up in my hair. I cranked up Sia on my phone, popped a couple of Aleve that I’d packed, and showered for half an hour.

Today was about me.

And I wanted to take in London—even if I felt like death warmed over.

Because I was still breathing and that meant something.

After a breakfast of pastries and jam, I felt much better. Months ago, I’d set up a guided walking tour for Hartford and me, so Lulu and I kept the reservation. With other tourists, we started our pilgrimage at the iconic Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. I gazed up at the clock I’d only seen in pictures and inhaled the warm August air. It was a beautiful day, and I felt wonderfully overwhelmed by the history around me.

Eventually we made our way past quaint shops to Westminster Abbey, the place of coronations, burials, and royal marriages, containing over seven hundred years of British history. We spent two hours there, exploring the Royal Tombs, the Nave, and the Poets’ Corner. Although Shakespeare was buried at Stratford-on-Avon, the Abbey had a statue memorial for him, and I made sure Lulu snapped a pic of me in front of it, which I promptly sent to Malcolm, who loved the Bard.

After the tour ended, we took the tube to the London Eye for a ride in one of their luxury capsules—another activity I’d arranged. We munched on chocolates and sipped wine as we circled the skyline in luxury, taking in the breathtaking views over the city. Lulu and I giggled a lot, and I wouldn’t realize it until later, but I didn’t think of Hartford once. But Dax—he was always in the back of my mind.

Later we stopped at a pub called Hops, a cozy place with paneling and heavy wooden booths. The air smelled like ale, cider, and fried food. Perfection. We found a table and gorged on fish, chips, and local beer in a frosty mug. My throat still ached, but the drink was heaven—cold and wet as it went down. Feeling relaxed and happy, we sat there for an hour chatting about our successful day of sightseeing.

My phone buzzed after we left the tavern.

I saw the caller and let out a long exhale. I showed the number to Lulu and she rolled her eyes and mouthed, “Sorry.”

“Hi, Mom,” I said into the receiver.

She’d called three times already.

“Darling! I’ve been trying for hours. How are you?” I heard the underlying anxiousness in her voice.

“Good actually.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Have you heard from Hartford?”

My chest squeezed. “No.”

“Why don’t you reach out to him, Remi? You’re the one that left town.”

My hand clutched the phone. Breathe, Remi. “How’s Malcolm doing?”

She sighed. “He’s fine. Look, I know you’re upset, but you really should take care of this thing with Hart—”

“Sorry. I have to go. Tell Malcolm I’ll see him soon.”

I ended the call with her voice still in my ear.

Lulu tossed an arm around me, her eyes soft. She knew exactly how infuriating my mother could be. “What’s next?”

My eyes got caught on a ritzy hair salon across the street, and I mentally calculated how much money I had. “I’m going to chop off my hair.”

She grinned. “Meh. It’s better than your head.”

Two and a half hours later, my hair was minus eight inches and cut into a sharp, angled bob that barely covered my nape in the back but was longer in the front. A line of bangs covered my forehead just above my dark eyebrows.

Gone was the brown, and in its place was a rich color between copper and red.

Needless to say, it was dramatic.

I fingered one of the tresses. “I look like the magenta-throated woodstar.”

Lulu arched a brow. “I have no clue what that is.”

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