CHAPTER TWO
The first time I clapped my eyes on Daniel Lewis, I fainted.No, really. I temporarily lost consciousness after accidentally head-butting him in secondary school, right outside the headmaster’s office, in front of first-year students, sour-faced teachers and not-so-prosocial popular kids.
In my defence, I never expected someone to come around the corner of the stairs the exact moment I did. Daniel was unmindful of the lackadaisical pace of directionless imbeciles, too, when bounding through the school like a force to be reckoned with, his entourage of familiar faces in tow
Daniel wasunfamiliar, though. A new kid in town, heart-meltingly pretty, heavenly blue eyes and the wickedest of smiles. I somehow managed to marvel at the boy’s handsome features and impressive panache for all of two seconds when, to my complete and utter embarrassment, I fell backwards—multi-coloured ring binders and sheets of lined paper dropping from the sky like an invasion of dead birds—whacked my head on the step and passed out on the floor.
Not my finest moment in history.
Daniel’s face was the first thing I saw through the visual strain of blurriness when my eyes flew open. There he loomed, with a ring of light above his head, like a guardian angel, watching over me, his blond, luscious hair falling over his brow in stylish disarray. He exuded an effortless charm with his impeccable sense of style, pearly-white teeth and selfless concern for others. I melted, inside and out.
It was love at first sight, souls colliding and emotions entwining.
At least, that’s what I told myself when he checked me into the nurse’s office and jokingly told me to lay off the alcohol for a while.
But then, with a level of ignorance, no less, Daniel went about his day and forgot about the clumsy, awkward introvert in the stairwell, the one he inadvertently sparked out with the violent blow of his head.
I never expected us to be best buddies, but you would think the happenstance of our near-death experience would have, at the minimum, put me on his radar. You know, a friendly smile, every so often, or a bit of recognition and acknowledgement.
Alas, I did not impact Daniel the way he had impacted me. Whilst I found myself daydreaming about him during lectures, wondering if he would ever invite me to one of his famous house parties or ask me to sit with him and his friends for lunch in the cafeteria, he never batted an eyelid at me.
Each passing day was an embarrassing reminder that he did not look at me the way I looked at him. I was a forgotten memory, a random person, an unmemorable face in the crowd.
I wish he were so easily forgettable. But, no. He had to go and make himselfunforgettable, completelymemorable, the newest addition to my list of obsessions (I may or may not have a persistently disturbing preoccupation with several confectionaries). I was smitten by him, spellbound, concerningly infatuated and borderline stalkerish.
That summer, I learnt everything there is to know about Daniel Lewis. He is the youngest of three siblings, with two older sisters by the names of Darlene and Davina. His mother, Virginia Lewis, the lady of leisure with a life of luxury, thought it would be a good idea if all her children had matching initials. His father, Walter Lewis, is a British millionaire, media baron and successful entrepreneur.
The Lewis family owned a timeless Georgian property in the heart of South West England, an imposing manor—flanked by artfully arranged trees, an impressive fleet of classic supercars and nosey neighbours who pretended to walk their ankle-biting chihuahuas just to get a glimpse of the owner’s only son—splurged across acres of manicured greenery and picturesque views of the Cornish coast.
Even when our parents became friends and forced us (Well, I hardly protested. I practically fell over myself to be fashionably on time for dinner parties at the Lewis property) to be in the same proximity for social events, he acted as though it were beneath him to be an amiable conversationalist. I received a grunt, at most, or a standoffish nod.
Walter, the aristocratic owner of multiple British tabloids, who inherited his great-grandfather’s well-established media empire, is responsible for our family ties.
When Walter first arrived in town and opened a new branch office for his international news organisation, he hired my father, Ezra, to serve as the company’s editor-in-chief.
My father’s editorial independence earned him a seat on the board of directors and, ultimately, a close association with Walter Lewis.
Within no time, the inseparable duo attended business trips and golf tournaments together, and whilst they closed deals or hit golf balls, Walter’s wife, Virginia, and my mother, Gloria, the modern lady and luxury expert, luxuriated in nearby spas and bonded over overpriced champers.
The Lewis’ adored my parents, so therefore, I am loved by association. But I seldom saw Daniel when our families forgathered for special occasions, not unless his father threatened to confiscate the keys to the Jag. Only then did he reluctantly make an appearance.
I have a close relationship with Daniel’s older sisters, though. Or rather, Davina. She and I are like two peas in a pod. The eldest, Darlene, only tolerated me in small doses. My little crush on her baby brother irritated her, and she was not afraid to slap me on the chin if and when I drooled around him.
Regardless of Darlene’s short fuse, I loved both sisters dearly, especially because, growing up, I longed for a sibling relationship (My parents had no intention of having any more children).
Being an only child is the worst form of loneliness. I idolise my mother and father and commend their work ethic. They worshipped the ground I walked on and would do anything to ensure I was happy, loved and financially stable (I have one hefty trust fund to prove it), but they travelled a lot over the years.
A hierarchy of house staff (butlers and nannies) is the foundation of how I was raised. I spent most of my childhood gazing out the window, wishing I could play with the neighbours’ kids. Or I sat alone in the day room with no human interaction, pretending the oversized teddy bear was my brother, Augustus (Yes, I named him after “Gusto” from the Gummi Bears), who accessorised with bald dolls (I went through a phase of hairdressing) and hosted tea parties.
Moving on.
New Year’s Eve was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the final nail in my ignorant crush’s coffin. I had to stand in the Lewis’ grand ballroom with a fake smile on my face whilst Daniel fawned over his plus one. Little Miss Sunshine, with her cute hairstyle and her even cuter dress sense, came along and stole his heart right in front of me.
And that’s okay. Daniel was not mine. Jealousy did not belong in our non-existent friendship, anyway. But it still hurt me to watch, to witness the adoration in his eyes when they stared at each other or the blush on his cheeks when she whispered in his ear.
Sunshine was Daniel’s first love. They did everything in each other’s company: dinner, cinema, bowling, discos, horse riding and ice skating. I even walked past the beach once and saw the pair of them flying a kite. In their swimming costumes, I might add. It was a traumatic experience for me, to say the least.
Evidently, I had to protect myself. I stayed in contact with Darlene and Davina and was polite to Virginia and Walter when they visited my parents’ house, but I took a huge step back and declined all invitations to the Lewis property. It was not personal to the rest of the family. But how do you recover from a crush who is madly in love with someone else?
Avoid them and move on.
Luckily, I got over my obsession with Daniel just in time for college, where I met the captain of the football team, Leon Tranter.
Don’t get me wrong. I still carried a torch for Daniel. But I accepted that he would never look at me the way I looked at him and readied myself for the full college experience.
Leon was beautiful, had a fit physique, confident demeanour, strong jawline, big, puppy dog eyes, and the type of smile that reduced me to putty in his hands.
In all honesty, he was perfect: kind, funny, thoughtful and charming.
And out of my league.
Or so I thought until he unexpectedly hauled me into the janitor’s closet one afternoon and asked if I wanted to attend an outdoor concert that weekend. With him as my date, I would like to add.
Yes, I seized the opportunity of live music and discounted beer. I had the time of my life, enjoyed every minute of the loud music, sweaty crowd and, needless to say, the company.
A kiss goodnight.
A text the following morning.
An array of first times together.
Leon and I secretly dated (first red flag) for five months, stealing glances at each other in college (second red flag) when passing through the halls and making eyes at each other during lectures.
I could not tell anyone about us and vice versa because he was not allowed to date.
By all accounts, his father was uncompromisingly strict. Education took precedence over girls.
Leon swung by my old family home when my parents skipped town for business trips. He spent the night often (my mother would kill me if she found out), watched horror movies, wore patterned pyjama bottoms, ate popcorn aplenty, stole the remote control from my hand and hogged the duvet (third red flag) when it was time for bed. He also helped himself to the kitchen and made me breakfast: fluffy pancakes, fresh raspberries and golden syrup.
I was all in, hook, line and sinker, ready to take on the world with him at my side.
Fate, the meddlesome bitch, had other ideas.
The final red flag was stumbling into the campus library one morning to see my boyfriend’s dick in some other chick’s mouth the day after I gave him my virginity.
The same morning I planned to tell him I loved him.
Yes, I threw up and broke down into a teary ball of pitiful foolishness. But I get a free pass for acting like a fool. I was just shy of eighteen. It’s okay to make mistakes at that age.
I learned never to trust a quintessential player again, so that’s all that matters. If an adorable-looking athlete, who is renowned for playing the field, so much as smiled at me in college, I ran in the opposite direction.
See? Progress.
Anyway, Leon Tranter. He had the nerve to chase me out of the library with unbuttoned jeans tangled up around his ankles, a thin, blue rubber dangling from his semi-hard penis.
I later realised that flavoured condoms were an actual thing and never looked at blueberries the same way again.
Leon was persistent, not quite ready to say goodbye to his favourite pastime, albeit done in private.
He called every morning and texted every night, and when I continued to ignore him, he knocked on my front door and threw stones at my bedroom window.
He begged me to forgive him, and as if the situation could not get any worse, he promised to tell the football boys that he was not single anymore.
We can go public now.
I can be his girlfriend.
Right, becausethatkick in the teeth could solve all of our problems.
Thank God, I never told him how I really felt. It would have made loving him so much harder.
Leon Tranter was my first love, the messiest love, the most painful love. I never forgave him for keeping me in the shadows—some might say he was ashamed of me—or cheating on me with a fellow student. Rather, I acted as though he no longer existed, and after a while, he treated me with the same respect and proceeded to make a fool out of the next gullible idiot.
Do not ask me her name.
I never cared enough to take notes.
It would be four months later when a blast from the past resurfaced and pieced up the pieces of Leon Tranter’s betrayal.
I worked part-time at the local cinema, serving customers, checking tickets and operating the sweetshop for the national minimum wage, when Daniel Lewis, with his neatly styled hair, endearing smile and dreamy eyes, walked through the main doors. No Little Miss Sunshine. No group of friends. By himself. Alone to watch a movie.
Yes, the overturned bucket of popcorn was supposed to be on the floor. It’s not like I dropped it when I spotted him or anything.
Daniel came to the concession stand. He smiled at me, taking his time to eye the price list of overpriced snacks.
“Olivia.” A twenty-pound note slid across the counter. “How’s it going?”
You have got to be shitting me.
“Punk,” I spat out like vomit, the cheeky bastard deserving a swish of lemonade mixed with contempt in his ridiculously gorgeous face. “Sorry, I don’t know why I called you that. Please do not get me fired. I need this job.” Not for money. I was born into a wealthy family. But that big old house and its empty halls felt lonelier at night. “It’s good for my sanity.”
Daniel grimaced, tugging on the sleeves of his ribbed crew neck jumper. “Punk?”
“Would you rather I called you a bitch?” And this is why sweet guys like Daniel avoided girls like me. I am an abomination to modern society, a disgrace to womanhood. “No, you know what? You are a punk-ass bitch. We have known each other for years, Daniel!Years. We attended thesamehigh school and ordered from thesamecafeteria five days a week. Our mothers do chardonnay and brunch together on Saturdays. Our fathers meet up and play golf on the last Sunday of every calendar month. I have sat across from you at family dinner, for goodness sake!”
His protruding Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.
“Yet, you have not said two words to me since the first day I met you. You remember, don’t you? I sustained a mild concussion from you and your big fat head. And what did you do to make everything better? You palmed me off to the pervert that used to call himself a respectable headmaster and then went on your merry way with Little Miss Sunshine.” My finger aimed at him. “So, do not come in here and pretend we are friends. Go back to ignoring me like you usually do.”
He was slack-jawed.
“Here.” Picking up the popcorn tub on the floor, half-full and smattered with God knows what, I dumped it on the counter. “Anything else?”
“Olivia...” He stared at the begrimed popcorn with evident disgust. “Did you get that from the floor?”
Yes, I did. And I would do it again. “Why are you here, Daniel?”
“What do you think?” His head cocked as he waited for me to fill in the blanks. “To watch a movie.”
Yeah, right. I have never seen this boy venture anywhere without an army of boffins treading on his ankles. “On your own.”
“Yes?” He scratched the nape of his neck. “You think I am strange.”
I glared at him with a critical eye. “It’s a bit odd.”
“Yeah, I agree.” His stare dipped to the germ-infested popcorn on the counter. “You should know that I am not going to eat that.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“I will take a large Coke instead.”
A large Coke is prepared, as instructed.
“Thank you.” Despite his vacillation, he grabbed the tall paper cup on the counter and sipped generously to slake his thirst. “You can join me if you want.”
“Huh?” My heart just fell out of my ass. “Join you, where?”
“You know...” He swept his eyes over me, fidgeting somewhat nervously, then looked away, to the trio of colleagues operating the ice cream parlour, in an attempt to hide what could only be described as embarrassment on his ruddy cheeks. “For the movie.”
“Why?” If I was not suspicious before, I am now because there is no way, not in a million years, that my secret obsession—the one I told myself never to acknowledge again—invited me to watch a movie with him. I mean, come on. I smelled as stale as the popcorn, and the chequered shirt, misbuttoned blazer and ownerless baseball cap were unsightly. “I work here. I have seen every screening at least fifty times. Plus, I do not think my boss would appreciate it if I slacked on the job. Laziness is not a good look.”
“That’s fair.” He smiled sweetly at me. “Maybe we can meet up later, then. I hear there is a new diner in town. A bitch ass punk is allowed to eat with another bitch ass punk, right?”
Olivia, if you do not act cool, I will murder you myself. “That sounds like a hot date.”
“It’s just a burger joint.”
And, as you would expect, the beautiful asshole downplayed the seriousness of a potentially romantic engagement with his big mouth. “A burger joint is still considered a date.”
“Then call it a date.” His smouldering eyes, dark and mysterious, bore into me. “I don’t mind.”
I bet you don’t, Casanova. “You have a girlfriend.”
“Rosaline?” He was coy about sharing details. “Yeah, I broke up with her a while back.”
“Oh?” Little Miss Sunshine had a name. “Well, then, I might be hungry for a burger.” Another tub of popcorn fell out of my hand before I could place it on the counter. I snarled at the sugar-coated kernels. “I think you should give popcorn a miss tonight.”
He gave me a two-finger salute. “I planned to.”
Did I have high expectations for our first date? No, I was not optimistic, not in the slightest. Optimism, more often than not, led to unfulfilled dreams and emotional disappointment, and Daniel, to my dismay, did not have a good track record when it came to being, shall I call it, civil? I half-expected him to waltz out of the cinema and forget about me. Again.
But Daniel did come back for me that night. He waited for me to finish work, draped his jacket over my shoulders like a true gentleman, walked alongside me to the diner and even paid for my food when the waitress slapped the bill on the table. Nothing fancy. A big slice of pepperoni pizza, a basket of rosemary seasoned fries and a lime-flavoured slush-puppie.
Butterflies came alive when he offered to walk me home. I don’t know what changed between us, but one round of greasy food later and I am holding his hand and praying that he does not revert to ignorance the following morning.
Daniel got me home in one piece and asked if I wanted a kiss goodnight. So, I slapped myself in the cheek, which he found most disturbing. I had to be sure the excitement I felt was not a dream. It would not be the first time I stood by the front door, imagining that cute, ignorant asshole’s lips on mine.
Daniel’s eyes lingered on my mouth. “Why did you hit yourself?”
“I might be stranger than you,” I whispered, a sharp inhale of breath lodging in the back of my throat when his palm cupped my cheek. “Can we get this over with? I am prone to fainting.”
“I kinda wanted to savour it.” His warm breath, with a hint of spearmint gum, grazed my lips first, then our mouths connected, soft and unsure, an imperceptible movement. “It takes two, Olivia.”
Daniel’s low, strained voice coaxed my lips to part for our tongues to acquaint with gentle exploration. It was the perfect kiss, deep, slow, passionate and intimate. I surrendered to him completely, throwing my bag somewhere behind me, locking my arms around his neck and leaving my dignity on the doorstep.
We dated for six months—got to know each other and spent quality time together—before I agreed to trust him sexually. I might have gotten over Leon Tranter, but that did not remove the indelible scars he left on my heart or the trust issues I had accumulated in his wake.
Daniel was patient. He understood and was happy to wait until I was ready, and I appreciated him for that, for allowing me to have some space and making sure I had zero doubts before I gave myself to him wholeheartedly. He was not ashamed of me, not like Leon. He never hid me from his friends or looked at another girl inappropriately, not when I was present and not when I was out of town.
My crush finally noticed me.
We have been inseparable ever since.
Every day.
Lovers and friends.
Somehow, I became his everything, his only purpose in life.
If someone had told me back then that I would attend the same university as him, graduate with him by my side, or put a down payment on a beautiful house with the money we clubbed together, I would have laughed in that person’s face.
I certainly did not believe one winter’s evening, I would meet him at a nearby restaurant, where he would slide a ring across the candlelit table and ask me to be his wife, or that I would wear a beautiful white dress and meet him at the altar.
Olivia Lewis.
She used to be happy with him.
I thought I knew them, him and her.
But nothing made sense to me these days.
“Olivia?” Daniel’s reflection appeared in the vanity mirror. God, he really is beautiful, handsomely rugged. I did not deserve him. I am not sure that I ever did. “You are not dressed.”
I am sitting in front of the vanity table, naked yet unbothered, with rollers in my hair, make-up on my face and a damp towel bunched around my waist. My underwear is folded neatly on the bed alongside tonight’s outfit.
“Are you okay?” A look of concern crept over his face as his hands touched my shoulders. “Look, I can cancel dinner if you are not up for it. There is no rush.”
“I have to face everyone, eventually.” My voice is a hoarse whisper. “Besides, I already prepared tonight’s menu. It would be a shame for all that good food to go to waste.”
His worried eyes stared back at me in the mirror.
“Is it wise to drink, though?” My heart thundered against my breastbone as we gazed at each other. “We fought the last time. You were angry at me.”
Daniel’s fingers traced my shoulders and smoothed down my arms until my waist sat perfectly in his hands. He went to one knee behind me, his lips leaving kisses along the length of my spine. “Do you remember why we argued?”
I shook my head, knowing that he would not prompt my memory, not against the doctor’s advice, no matter how much I begged for cognisance. “Do you?”
“It does not matter.” His lips paid homage to my shoulder blades. “Anything else?”
His hopeful question was like a knife to the chest. I felt guilty for forgetting so many precious moments together, especially when he craved those recollections more than life itself.
“You stayed,” I said lowly, blurry images flashing through my mind, where he yelled at me and punched the wall. I was terrified that he might leave me, but for the life of me, I could not understand why. He kissed me instead, a raw, savage, desperate kiss. “We had sex.”
A sigh left his mouth. “Did you enjoy it?”
It was a blur. “I don’t know.”
Daniel mulled over our conversation. Then, with a deep breath of encouragement, he placed one final kiss on my back and rose to his feet.
“Here.” He held out his hand, grasped my fingers and encouraged me to stand. “Allow me to get you dressed.”
“I can dress myself,” I said irritably, wishing he would stop fawning over me. His hand stilled atop the dress on the bed. Again, I felt guilty for shutting him out. His only crime is bending over backwards to help me recover. “It’s not you, Daniel. I am not myself lately.” Since the accident and the never-ending loop of nightmares. “Do you still love me?”
“Of course, I love you. You are my wife.” He came back to me, close enough to touch me, but he refrained from doing so. “But I miss you, Olivia. I miss us.”
I chewed my bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”
“Do not apologise. You have done nothing wrong...” He glanced toward the hallway when the doorbell rang. “Our guests have arrived. I can still cancel.”
“No,” I assured him that I would be fine. “Go and offer them a drink. I had wine delivered this morning.” That’s right. I barely left the house. Everything is ordered online and brought straight to the front door. “Let me get dressed. I won’t be too long.”
Daniel headed for the bedroom door. He paused by the threshold, mentally processing something, and then he spun around and stormed back to me with a spring in his step. Not a word of utterance passed between us when he seized the nape of my neck and burnt my jaw with a firm kiss. He lingered there, savouring the rarity of our intimacy.
“Our story is a love to remember,” he said in a rich yet raspy tone of voice, breathing heavily against my lips. “Take your time, Olivia. I am not going anywhere.”
