Free Up for Love in London by Willow. Bonaire Page B

been more understanding but I requested that he
apologize too. All he did was defend his actions, which wasn’t good
enough for me. So I wished him a Happy New Year, happy life and set
my mental attitude to “ignore.”
    In the lobby,
the clerk barely glances at me when she calls my name so I am
surprised to receive one of the penthouse suites again. I wait to
see if others have fancy rooms as well and it seems a few do. This
sometimes happens when the standard rooms are occupied during
special events.
    My knees weaken
when I open the door, half-expecting to see flowers, my red dress
or some other evidence that Charles still wants me. Though he had
really disappointed me, I felt we had connected on more than just a
sexual level. I knew even before my affair with Brad that I wanted
to settle down with a man who respected and loved me and shared the
notion we were both on the same path to commitment.
    The room,
beautiful as it is, seems sterile without the personal touches
Charles had placed there only last week and my stomach sinks to my
feet. I bravely channel my inner Scarlet O’Hara, reminding myself
tomorrow would be another day. Indeed, it would be a brand new
year.
    The long ride
in, courtesy of the horses, made me extra tired, so I slip off my
uniform, wash my face and climb into bed. Too lazy to even hang up
my clothes, I simply drape the skirt and jacket over a chair. I
could iron a fresh blouse before the flight tomorrow though the
high polyester content would probably make that unnecessary.
    I had set my
alarm for 3 p.m., to allow for a bit of shopping before the high
street stores closed. I didn’t want to face the frenzy of downtown
London, so a brisk walk to St. John’s Wood would revitalize me and
I could also have a quick snack at the local Starbucks.
    Now showered
and fully awake, I open the closet to hang up my clothes. I’m
overwhelmed to find a gorgeous black sequined dress along with
strappy black pumps. An envelope dangles from the hanger and my
hands tremble as I peel it open. Inside, a plain white card
embossed with the initials CPS reads, “Will you see me tonight?
Charles,” and his cell phone number.
    I remove the
dress from the hanger and carefully wiggle into it, engaging in
some gymnastics to close the zipper. I stand before the full length
mirror and run my hands down my hips, smoothing the front of the
gown. It’s a perfect fit, of course, and the shoes are a striking
complement. Even jetlagged, without makeup, I look fabulous. But
what does my heart have to say?
    Some women
might be tempted by his fortune, but not me. Though I adore all the
treats Charles has given me, I’d be just as happy with a walk
through the park and a bouquet of tulips from the greengrocers.
    My heart thumps
wildly in my chest and it’s hard to catch my breath. I have to sit
on the edge of the bed while deciding what to do. If I say yes, on
whose terms will it be? He’s so charming and so much fun but do I
want to risk another heartbreak so soon? Still in the dress, I dial
his number once, then hang up before it rings.
    My body
trembling, I dial again, afraid my voice will crack. But all I get
is his voice mail. I’m relieved and disappointed, and quickly try
to sound nonchalant. “Hello, Charles, it’s Lauren. I’m here in
London, and yes, I’d like to see you tonight. Text me. Bye for
now.”
    Suddenly calmed
by my decision, I change into casual clothes, and go for a walk.
The temperature has dropped and fog hangs in the air. As it the day
grows darker, the fog grows denser. By five, I’m back in my hotel
room, where TV announcers are moaning that tonight’s fireworks
display could be a total waste of time.
    By 5:45, I
still haven’t heard from Charles and my mood turns blue. I check my
phone and the hotel phone, both are working. At six I go downstairs
to meet the crew. After 45 minutes of drinks and chatting, I
consider joining some of the gang for dinner at the Greek’s. Hannah
assures they’ll