Page 97 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
Chapter Twenty-Six
If you have followed my advice as instructed, it is likely that more than one Good Man will want to be your sweetheart, and thus you will have to turn someone down. Do so with sensitivity, kindness and respect. The heart is delicate and must be treated as such.
Matilda Beam’s Guide to Love and Romance, 1955
When the Van Gogh event is over, we amble out into the warm night, back through Trafalgar Square and onto the bustling road to wait for the town car that Leo has ordered to take me home. As we’re waiting, I watch the nearby fountains, now illuminated with brightly coloured lights. The twinkling running water is almost hypnotic, and not helped by the champagne I ended up drinking in an effort to extinguish the uncomfy feelings ignited by the deep-and-meaningful earlier on. I huff to myself, the sound of it getting lost in a sweep of evening breeze.
Leo slowly spins me around, reaches forward and nicks the sunglasses from where they’re resting on the top of my head. He props them onto his face. They look ridiculous.
‘Lucille, do I look hot in these?’ he asks casually. ‘Ifeellike I look hot.’
‘You look very hot,’ I say wryly.
‘I knew it.’ He walks a little down the street, doing an exaggeratedly masculine ‘T-bird’-type strut in the big winged Chanel sunglasses. A middle-aged tourist couple walk by. ‘Evening,’ Leo says in his deep, plummy voice. ‘Lovely night for it.’
The couple scurry away, muttering about London and deviants.
I giggle. I really don’t intend to genuinely laugh at anything Leo does, but . . . I must admit he’s kind of funny. And it’s such a bloody relief to laugh after the sad-sack tone upstairs in the Da Vinci room.
Taking the sunglasses off, Leo hands them back and stands right in front of me.
‘I like you,’ he says matter-of-factly as a red bus whizzes past behind him.
‘Oh, Leo, I like you too!’ I return immediately in the wimpy breathy voice.
He grins, green eyes narrowed. ‘You’re different. I mean … different from anyone else I’ve ever … ’
Screwed over?
‘ … dated. I love how comfortable you are with yourself. You’re unique and, and,alternative.’
Alternative. There’s that word again. Shit, he thinks because I’m dressed in vintage clothing and acting delicate and old-fashioned that I’m some kind of manic pixie dream girl. A sweet Zooey Deschanel -type in quirky dresses and hats. If it wasn’t so off kilter it would be hilarious.
I gaze up at him, feigning modesty. ‘Thank you. That’sverysweet of you.’
He steps closer to me, tucking one of my curls behind my ear. ‘I mean it, Lucille. I like how … how real you are. There are so many phoneys in this town, people who only care about money and status, where they can be seen with you and who your bloody father is. You’re … not like that. You’re just you. Do you know how refreshing that is?’
Oh God.
‘And I don’t want to get all Tom Cruise on the sofa right now,’ Leo goes on, shoving his hands deep into his chino pockets, ‘especiallywhen we’ve only met each other three times, but … I thought I ought to tell you, just, you know, how much I like you. And, well, I don’t feel that way a lot. Or … ever. That’s it, really.’
Taking his hands back out of his pockets, he grabs one of mine and moves his forefinger back and forth across my palm. Then he shrugs slightly and gives me a bashful look. ‘Do you think that’s absurd?’
Either Leo Frost is the world’s greatest actor or … is henervousright now? He seems sort of nervous.
I get a weird feeling in my chest. A fluttering. Like acid reflux, but not entirely unpleasant.
Leaning forward tentatively, Leo moves his head towards mine. His mischievous eyes flicker to my lips and he half grins. I look athislips, arrogant and full, red and … annoyingly inviting. He wraps his arm around my lower back, swiftly and confidently pulls me in so that we’re waist to waist, and with his other hand tilts my chin upwards. I move my face towards his, closer, closer and then … right at the last minute, I turn my head so that his kiss lands squarely on my cheek.
Just in time. Phew.
Phew. Definitely phew. Right?
My back stiffens as I realize that I don’t feel entirely ‘phew’ about halting his kiss.
Did Iwantto kiss him? No. Of course not. He’s a moron. A sexist pig. Mean slow-clap starter. Breaker of Valentina’s heart.
Leo recovers from my rejection admirably, taking out his phone and checking on the whereabouts of the town car.
