Valentine Nook: Chapter 6

TANNER: How’s the straw roof?

HOLIDAY: Stopped leaking, thank god.

TANNER: Can you seriously believe they make their houses out of straw?

HOLIDAY: No, yet here we are.

TANNER: And you’re definitely staying?

HOLIDAY: I’m staying. I like it.

TANNER: Then we’ll be over to visit as soon as the season is over.

HOLIDAY: You better. And can you send me some more pictures of my nephew in the meantime please? I haven’t had any this week.

TANNER: In the morning, once I’ve had more sleep. Love you.

HOLIDAY: Love you too.

I’m about to toss my phone onto the bed when it rings, and my agent’s name flashes on the screen. It’s eleven o’clock here, which means it’s six o’clock in New York, and while my brother was awake for his son’s morning feed, it’s been rare I’ve heard from anyone before lunchtime the past couple of weeks.

I hit the button right before it cuts out, and Marcy’s face fills the screen.

Marcy was my first agent when I entered the industry fresh out of high school. Straight black bob, hitting just below her jawline, and a face pumped so full of Botox that I have no idea how old she is because she looks exactly the same as the day I met her.

She taught me everything I needed to know about standing on my own two feet, and I owe my career to her. On the flip side, she likes me working, and I know she’ll have been slowly driving herself crazy from declining any offers coming in for me.

From the looks of it, she’s already in her office, and I’m ashamed to say I’m still in bed. I woke up, made a coffee, and decided to get back under the comforter. I’ve had a delightful morning trying to read a book while listening to the birds and the occasional clip-clop of horses’ hooves.

“Hey Marce, how’s it goin’?”

“Holiday, honey, boy, are you a sight for sore eyes,” she crows, though her face doesn’t move.

“Oh yeah?” I laugh.

“Yeah. Tell me everything. I want to hear it all.”

I pause for a second. I haven’t done much more than sleep late and read. I’ve jogged. Clemmie and I have been to the pub (pub, not bar as Eddie corrected me). And after a trip to the local grocery store, I’ve eaten whatever I’ve wanted.

I’ve been here almost two weeks, and I’m starting to feel like myself again.

Ashley has been an excellent gatekeeper, so in the absence of dozens of emails and calls she’s fielding every day, it’s also been incredibly relaxing. And freeing.

But bizarrely all that pops into my brain is Lando, the moody one.

In the end, I go with, “Oh, you know, I’m still getting used to the time difference and that everything is the wrong way around.”

True story. I almost got hit by a car yesterday because I was on the wrong side of the road and not looking in the right direction. I mean I was looking right, but I should have been looking left. Even in the English countryside, where everyone seems to be super chill, that really pisses people off.

“Not ready to come back?”

I shake my head and settle back into the pillows. I’m not even ready to get out of bed.

“Nope, not ready.”

Marcy takes a breath, sucks her cheeks in, and her lips purse. “I thought as much, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t check. However, you are a very popular woman right now . . . I told you this would happen . . . I told you after the award season, everyone would want you. And they do, but it’s fine. I got you.”

If this is going to be a call about how dramatic Marcy thinks I’m being, then I’ll hang up right now.

If I’m not careful, I’m going to get to thirty / forty / fifty, and my entire life will have gone by in a flash with nothing to show for it but a bunch of movies no one can remember.

“Now, the reason I’m calling you is because I had an enticing offer come through⁠—”

My finger hovers over the end call button. “Marcy⁠—”

She holds her hand up. “Just listen.”

“Okay.”

She pauses again and sits back in her chair. It’s the same as the chair she has in her LA office, with high wing backs that almost make it seem like she’s sitting on a throne. Because in case you didn’t realize when you enter her space, Marcy is important, and she makes shit happen.

“L’Oreal wants you to join their global brand ambassadors lineup. Five-year contract, eight million for the first year, and the potential to renegotiate higher for years two through five. But it won’t lower. Minimum forty mil. Half up front.”

I watch Marcy’s mouth moving, but I can’t hear anything else. My jaw drops. Holy crap.

Forty million dollars.

The only time I’ve stepped outside of acting was to front a fragrance campaign for Gucci, but it was nothing of this caliber.

I might have twenty-five films under my belt and won a couple of awards in the process, but I still feel like that struggling young actress auditioning for her first role. It’s there every time I step onto set, and they decide I’m too young to know what I’m talking about, or when I walk into a meeting with an executive, studio head, or film director and know I’ll have to prove myself all over again.

But this? This is more money than I’ve ever been offered in one go before. Even after all the percentage cuts for my lawyers, manager, Marcy, and tax, forty million dollars is enough to make it work for me.

I wouldn’t need to start another movie next year.

I could set up my own production company. I could direct.

I’ve always wanted to do theater, even though the thought terrifies me more than anything else in the world, and this contract would allow me to be more choosy with the roles I take on and free up the time to do so.

Marcy takes the silence as hesitation.

“You can have a couple of weeks to decide where you want to negotiate, but this is a good offer, Holiday. You need to meet with them in Paris in a couple of months’ time for some initial shots, which they’d pay extra for. I’m gonna fly over so we can discuss it in person.”

I balk. Marcy and the countryside would not mix. For one, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her out of five-inch heels. For another, the air is way too fresh.

“You’re coming here?”

“Yeah, you said you’re not ready to leave.”

“To the English countryside?”

“Sure, why not? Send me a list of all the clothes I need to buy,” she says, and she’s dead serious and more enthusiastic than I’ve ever seen her outside of a conversation about making money. Though this is still about making money. “It’s all tweed and shit, right? I look great in tweed.”

I stifle a laugh. Now that I think about it, I’ve not seen any tweed. Maybe it’s one of those ideas perpetuated by movies. I’m almost tempted to share the rain boots I ordered only to see what she’d do, but then I change my mind.

“Why don’t I meet you in London?”

I can almost feel her sigh of relief. “Thank god. We’ll do Claridge’s. I’m sending the proposal now. Read over it.”

My email pings, and I nod silently. “Thanks, Marcy. Thanks for looking out for me. You’re the best.”

“I know. I know.” She grins. “Anyway, gotta go, I have another meeting. I’ll leave you to your English peace. Call me if you have questions.”

“I will.”

The second she hangs up, I open the email.

It’s fairly top line but laid out in black and white is what I need to do for forty million. Photo shoots, filmed campaigns, press. A total of ten full days per year, which would work around all other commitments.

Easy. And huge. Hell, this isn’t just good. It’s a dream deal.

Since the first movie contract I signed, I typically get a surge of excitement coupled with acute anxiety whenever a new job offer comes in, but this is different.

Adrenaline rushes through me until I’m shaking. Tears prick my eyes.

Someone somewhere has deemed me worthy to join the lineup of incredible women who currently serve as ambassadors to the world’s largest cosmetics company. Women I’ve looked up to for years. Idolized. Wanted to be.

Me. Holiday Simpson from Augusta, Maine.

The years and years of auditions followed by rejections are too ingrained in me to believe this is real, that I’ve earned it through my hard work and nothing else. For a split second, I forget I’m not still that little girl putting on plays in my parents’ backyard and forcing the whole neighborhood to come watch.

I glance back at the screen.

I’m tempted to message Clemmie and ask her to meet me for lunch. But I also want to sit with this news for a little bit before anyone weighs in with their opinions.

Therefore, I’m going to do what I always do whenever I get an offer. Buy myself a coffee and a donut and go for a manicure.

I’m deciding what donut I’m going to buy when I round the corner, and right there next to the fountain is Lando, deep in discussion with Eddie from The One True Love.

The first thing I notice is he’s not scowling, and his smile is kind of nice. Full mouth, straight white teeth, and his beard has been trimmed such that I can make out the hard line of his jaw. The shadow from the peak of his baseball cap only enhances it.

Yeah, this guy is all kinds of hot.

On second glance, he’s also cleaner than I’ve seen him before, aside from the nakedness. But I don’t think about that.

I’m so engrossed in watching him that I don’t notice the enormous black horse standing calmly next to him. I mean, enormous.

This one might look chill, but I’m not about to chance it isn’t.

Unfortunately, the wide berth I take means I walk right into the eyeline of Eddie.

“A’right ’Oliday,” he greets. “How’s it goin’?”

Lando spins around. His eyes widen a split second before he catches himself, and the surprise is replaced with amusement.

Now what’s his problem? I have no idea what to do with this guy.

I’ve met him three times, and he’s either naked or yelling. And don’t get me started when he turned up at the cottage covered in blood with a story about baby cows. At least he seems to have washed since then.

I’m usually good at reading people but this guy’s impossible, because right now he almost looks happy to see me.

I tear my eyes away from Lando’s, trying not to frown, and focus back on Eddie. “Hey, Eddie. I’m all good. How ’bout you?”

“Can’t complain. Can’t complain. But while you’re passing, maybe you can help us out. I’m telling His Grace here about the bunting⁠—”

“Bunting?”

Eddie thumbs behind him, and the pair of them turn around so we’re all facing Valentine High Street.

It’s as busy as it usually is, but since I was here yesterday, the entire length of the street has been festooned in multicolored flags strung up from lamppost to lamppost traversing the road. Down on the far end, I spot a couple of guys up on ladders, adding the final touches.

It reminds me of the Fourth of July and brings a huge smile to my face.

“It looks so cute.”

“You think?” asks Lando. “It’s not⁠—”

“Your Grace, we always have the bunting,” Eddie says with more than a little exasperation. “It’s the summer fair.”

“I know, but this is my second year in charge.” Lando shrugs. “I wanted something better than bunting.”

“What’s better than bunting?”

I’m wondering that myself when I glance between them and realize they’re waiting on me to provide it.

“Oh . . . um . . .” I hate being put on the spot. “I dunno. Balloon arch?”

Eddie sighs because obviously a balloon arch is not better and turns back to Lando. “You want to come and check out the rest of the decorations?”

“Sure, lead the way,” he replies, his gaze flicking to mine. “Um . . . d’you mind? Can you hold Thunder for a second?”

Before I have the chance to say absolutely fucking not, he tosses me the reins and takes off after Eddie followed by a chocolate Labrador I hadn’t noticed.

Now what?

I’m not great with horses.

A few years ago, I was riding a horse during filming when it got spooked and took off down a path, but only after deciding he didn’t want me tagging along. I could have been competing in the rodeo for his attempts to buck me off, and I was catapulted through the air onto the road.

Luckily, I didn’t break anything, but the concussion and overnight hospital stay put me off ever getting back in the saddle.

I’m frozen in place, figuring out what to do when I realize a couple of girls are standing near the fountain staring at me, but because of this monstrous beast, I can’t do what I usually do when people stare at me, which is drop my head and walk away.

I push my sunglasses firmly up my nose instead.

“Your horse is gorgeous.”

“Oh . . . thanks. Yeah, he’s not mine.” I smile back, wishing I hadn’t replied because it only encourages the girls to step forward and stroke him.

Even though Thunder—Thunder, I mean, that’s not the name for a super chill horse—has barely moved an inch, I don’t know how he’s going to react to two strangers touching him, but he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. Of the two of us, I’m the one fending off a panic attack.

The first girl holds her hand out, allowing him to nibble at her palm, and I catch a glimpse of his giant horse teeth chomping on nothing but air. What a tease.

Even I feel disappointed for him.

“How old is he?”

“I’m not sure.”

I’m trying not to be rude, but I’m also staring at the door Lando disappeared through because where the fuck is he?

From the corner of my eye, I notice the second girl tilting her head as she stares at me, but I’m too focused on the pub entrance to feel the weight of it.

“You seem so familiar,” she says eventually. “Did I see you at the polo last weekend?”

I shake my head. “Nope, not me.”

She’s about to ask something else when the pair of them turn around, and a little way down the street is a small group of girls calling and gesturing them over. I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thanks for letting us say hi to your horse.” Girl one smiles. “Bye.”

“He’s not mine,” I mutter and follow it up with a “see you around” out of habit just in case she remembers where she knows me from.

Because having the gossip sites say I was super nice is always more preferable than being called a miserable bitch.

I figure Thunder would go back to standing still, but the tiny attention he just received seems to have piqued his need for more. He nudges me hard in the ribs, running his soft velvety lips all over my shirt pocket.

“Dude, this is clean. Don’t eat it.” I step back before his teeth make contact with my skin, but I’m talking to half a ton of horse, and of course, he follows me, nibbling at the soft cotton. “What are you after?”

Pushing his face away, which is harder than it sounds, I reach into my pocket to find a tin of breath mints from the plane ride over. Huh, maybe this shirt wasn’t clean.

“Is this what you want?”

Given he tries to eat them before I open it, I’d say so.

Maybe he’s expecting something different because when I tip the tiny white pellets into my hand, he stops what he’s doing and stares at them, disappointed.

“Sorry, pal, it’s all I got.” I hold my hand out.

His hot breath blows over my palm, and he leaves a trail of saliva as he licks the mints up and crunches down.

“What are you doing to my horse?”

Spinning around, I find Lando sauntering across the street, all thick thighs and broad shoulders, with the same amusement as before sparkling in his eyes. There’s an insolence to it, giving me the feeling he’s laughing at me, not with me.

I snap the tin shut. “Nothing.”

As he steps between us, the scent of wood and amber dances through the air. Holy shit, it’s all I can do not to run my nose along his collar. Because Lando smells good. Better than he has any right to.

Cupping his hand around Thunder’s nose, he pushes his fingers up into his long, thick black mane. Thunder is more interested in the mints or my shirt, it seems.

“He likes you.”

“He likes the mints.”

“True, but he wouldn’t be rubbing his nose over you if he was only after mints.”

My cheeks warm under his gaze, and I step away, only for Thunder to crane forward for further investigation of my shirt, causing Lando to raise a thick brow at me. His point is proven, and it’s followed by a twitch in his cheeks suppressing a smile.

“Buddy, I don’t have anything else for you,” I tell Thunder as he moves on to sniffing my hair.

I take another step back. My shirt might now be covered in horse slobber, but I draw the line at my freshly washed hair. Then I realize there’s no reason for me to still be standing here, holding the reins and staring at Lando while he laughs loudly.

I should be on my way to get a coffee and a donut. Yet I’m not because I’m watching Lando’s hands stroke Thunder’s silky neck and wondering what else he can do with them.

My moment of insanity is broken when Eddie reappears carrying a large box, followed by the Labrador ambling behind him who promptly lies down between Thunder’s legs.

“Right, Your Grace, we’re settled on the bunting, and we’ve got the ribbons for the lampposts. Anything else you want?”

That’s the third time Eddie’s called Lando something other than his name. Or the name Clemmie introduced him as, and I’m a little confused. What I should do is hold my tongue or walk off in search of my coffee and donut. But I don’t, obviously.

“What did you call him?”

“Who?”

My eyes slide toward Lando. “Um⁠—”

Eddie’s brows crease together, and his thick mustache droops even lower because I’m obviously making no sense. “His Grace?”

“Yes, that. I thought your name was Lando.”

Lando’s—or whatever his name is—cheeks redden. “It is.”

“Then—” I look at Eddie for some explanation. I shouldn’t have asked. This is one of those complicated English things where everything is called something different.

Eddie nods at Lando. “His Grace ’ere, is the Duke of Oxfordshire. You address him as Your Grace. Same way you and me are like mister or missus. Or whatever they say in America.”

Duke.

I’m normally much smarter than the last week or so would suggest. Maybe if I’d read Ashley’s notes, I’d already know this, but I should have figured it out the day I spent at the pool with Clemmie. I’ve watched Downton Abbey. No regular person lives in a palace-sized house.

Address him? “Am I supposed to call you that? Grace?”

Next to me, Eddie snorts, and the ends of his mustache twitch while Lando looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. It’s odd because even the few times I met him, he doesn’t strike me as the sort of person to be uncomfortable in any situation. His self-assuredness is both incredibly alluring and infuriating.

“No, you may call me Lando,” he replies eventually.

“Lando,” I repeat.

“It’s short for Orlando.”

I remember enough of my schooling that I know Orlando has to come from Shakespeare rather than just being a name or a destination. He totally fits that broody, handsome sulky hero thing he has going on.

Lando is the guy I’ve met. The moody one.

So this uncomfortable, almost bashful expression he’s wearing right now looks all wrong, and I hate it.

Therefore, I’m going to put things right.

“Orlando? Like Disney World?”

Lando’s thick brows drop, giving me the exact reaction I was hoping for.

Eddie barks out a laugh and slaps his round belly. “She got you there, Your Grace.”

“Hey, your name is Holiday,” Lando shoots back, ignoring him. “Or how you Americans like to say—vacation?”

His eyes narrow, and I’m guessing he expects me to get all offended and storm off. But Eddie’s chuckling next to me, and it’s all I can do to stop my own laughter from escaping, especially as Orlando’s gone back to glaring at me.

“That’s a terrible American accent.”

Lando opens his mouth, only to close it again and drop his head in defeat, but not before I catch the curve of a smile. “You’re right, it is. I’m sorry. I’ll leave the acting to you.”

“My English accent isn’t much better,” I concede. “I try my hardest, but my dialect coach would tell me I overpronounce my consonants.”

“Sounds okay to me.”

I’m trying not to stare, but standing this close, I can see how clear the blue of his eye is. Not a fleck or swirl of green present, just pure blue. It’s hypnotizing.

“If you two don’t mind, I need to find someone to deal with all these ribbons,” Eddie says, clearing his throat. “Your Grace, you want anything else added?”

Lando shakes his head, breaking our connection. “No thanks, Eddie, this’ll all be superb. I’ll pop back later, and we can discuss the cricket.”

“No problem. See you later. Bye, ’Oliday.”

I lift my hand to wave goodbye, only to find I’m still holding Thunder’s reins, and I pass them back to Lando.

Thumbing over my shoulder, I say, “I should go⁠—”

“Where are you heading?”

“To find a coffee.”

“Then you need to go to The Beanery. We’ll come with you.”

I glance down at the Labrador and up at Thunder, then back at Lando. Surely, he doesn’t mean all of them? But he does, and the four of us start walking down the street in silence, except for the clip-clop of Thunder’s hooves.

I’m silent because I’m figuring this must be a super weird sight for anyone passing us, though no one seems to notice. They’re too busy darting between stores or admiring the hanging baskets overloaded with blooms. But I don’t know why Lando’s silent, and it’s got me curious, especially as I’m sure he keeps opening his mouth to speak only to close it again. Get full chapters from Fɪnd-Novel.net

I figure I’ll just wait. I’m waiting until we almost reach the coffee shop.

“Actually,” he begins. “I’m glad I ran into you, I wanted to apologize for you know . . . my behavior. I should have done so yesterday. I was exceptionally rude to you the other day, and I’m sorry. And you’re welcome to have lessons with Pierre whenever you want. I’m sure he’ll welcome the change.”

Air hisses through his teeth as he puffs out his cheeks like he’s been holding his breath through his entire apology.

I’m so taken aback by his sincerity that I stop walking. I don’t think anyone’s ever apologized to me so earnestly. And yes, he was kind of rude, but I work in an industry where you need a thick skin to survive, and it was nothing compared to some of the vitriol I’ve been on the receiving end of, so I’d almost forgotten about it.

But I don’t tell him that. Instead, I accept it on behalf of all the apologies I should have gotten over the years and didn’t.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles and nods toward The Beanery. “What would you like?”

There’s no way I’m standing out here while he goes inside and leaves me with Thunder. Plus, I want to choose the donut. And I also want to pay.

“I’ll go, but you tell me what you’re drinking.”

He doesn’t do a very good job of hiding his surprise at my offer, he looks like no one’s ever bought him a coffee before. “I’ll take one black, please.”

“You got it.”

It takes me no time to order and even less time to choose my donut because there’s only one option. A round ball filled with raspberry “jam” and covered in sugar. It’s not what I wanted, but a ritual is a ritual, and I’m superstitious enough that if I don’t celebrate with coffee and a donut, things will go wrong.

I expect Lando to leave once I’ve handed his coffee over, but he doesn’t. And the four of us continue making our way along Valentine High Street, where the final yards of bunting are being fastened.

I haven’t ventured this far down before. I don’t even know where we’re going, but it’s not like I have anything else to do. I’m still getting used to all this free time I have, and that I can spend it exactly how I choose to.

Eventually, we walk past The Cupid’s Arrow, the other pub in the village. I have yet to go in. I’m too scared Eddie will catch me, and considering he was one of the first people I met here, I have a sense of loyalty.

“Has Eddie got you playing cricket, or are you part of the opposing team?” I ask because I’m not walking in silence any longer. If he wants to keep me company, then we’re talking.

“Neither. Sadly,” Lando replies. “I should be playing for Eddie, but I’m chairing the summer fair committee again. So I can’t.”

The way he says again makes it sound like the task should have fallen to someone else.

“Do you not normally head it up?”

“No, our family takes it in turns every year.”

“Who dropped out?” I ask with a chuckle, expecting him to say Clemmie because I can see Clemmie being a person with expert powers of persuasion to get her out of things she doesn’t want to do.

He rubs along the back of his neck. “Um . . . actually, that would be Caroline.”

“Oh, I don’t recall Clemmie mentioning her. Is she another sister?”

“No, she would be my fiancée.”

I don’t know if I gasp or if Lando isn’t used to not having a fiancée yet, because he immediately follows it up with, “Ex-fiancée.”

I remember Clemmie telling me her brother had broken up with someone, but she’d made it seem like a casual girlfriend, not someone major. Someone he was going to marry. Someone he planned to spend his life with.

“I’m so sorry,” I say eventually, which is more of a reflex than anything because I have a weird reaction to hearing him say ex-fiancée.

It’s followed by curling in my belly, wondering if that means he’s single.

Lando shrugs.

It might be a small movement, a casual brush-off, but it thickens my throat anyway.

As if sensing Lando’s mood, Thunder maneuvers himself between us and nudges my arm hard enough that my coffee spills.

“Hey, what was that for?” I grumble, shaking my hand dry.

He does it again, only gentler this time, and I realize he’s trying to get the paper bag containing my donut.

“Do you not feed your horse or something?”

Lando grins, the last thirty seconds forgotten about, and tugs on Thunder’s bridle. “I do. But obviously not enough.”

“This is my celebration donut,” I say, opening the bag and taking a deep inhale. It smells divine. “You can’t have it all, but I’ll share it.”

Jelly oozes out as I break it in half and pass it to Thunder before realizing I probably should have asked Lando if it was okay to give a horse a donut.

“Celebration? What are you celebrating?”

I lick the rest of the jelly off my fingers, wondering if I should tell him.

“Oh . . . um, I got an offer this morning for a contract.”

“Well, that does sound like something to celebrate. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. It’s a big deal actually. For me, anyway.” I pause and take stock. Think about what my therapist would say to me. “No, it’s a big deal for anyone. Not just me. It’s huge.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Forty million over five years,” I blurt from nowhere.

What am I doing? Why am I telling him this? It’s so obnoxious. It’s braggy.

His full mouth rolls into a line. “I don’t know anything about movies or your business, but if you’re happy, then it sounds like a good deal. And I’m certain you’re worth every single penny. Or cent, in your case. Very Hollywood, either way.”

I nod. It’s not a platitude. He’s not trying to be nice. He believes what he’s telling me. This almost stranger, who only shouted at me before today, thinks I’m worth it.

And his validation does something to me. For me.

“Thank you.”

We stop at the wide stone arch, which marks the end of Valentine High Street. Unlike the fountain with its elaborate carvings, the arch is plain except for words running along the top.

Amor Principum.

“What does that mean?” I ask, pointing at the inscription.

“Love is the beginning,” he replies quietly, his eyes locking onto mine so intensely I feel like I’m swaying. “Anyway, I need to be going. Thanks for the coffee, Hollywood. And the donut.”

Hollywood. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. Two can play at this game.

“Anytime, Gracie.”

The laugh he belts out almost has him toppling out of the stirrups as he mounts Thunder. And dear god, this guy on a horse . . . it shorts my brain.

“See you at the fair.”

I stay there, under the arch, watching him ride off as I finish the remainder of my donut. Which is way more delicious than it looks.

Not the only thing deceiving today.

Lando, not quite as moody as I originally thought.

Quite the opposite.