Please.
Please, please, God, I hope Heath accepts it.
It only takes thirty seconds before a ping sounds back through.
Josh is grinning bright when he turns his screen to face me.
Heath has accepted.
Holy fuck, screw the coffee. I put it on the counter and rush over to Josh, leaping up to straddle him on the breakfast stool.
It was a bold move and it paid off.
We’ll be seeing our beautiful, caring, incredible, iconic, AMAZING lover… on Christmas day!
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I’m grinning my head off on my Christmas video call to my parents, wishing I could be there with them in person as we open our presents in tandem onscreen. Maybe next year.
They’ve got me some of my favourite perfume, white musk and cherry, and a box of pamper goodies fit for a queen. I hold up the face cream with a laugh, because it’s the exact same one I’ve chosen for Mum in her pamper box.
Dad is happy with hisBest Dad in the worldt-shirt, and his novelty Santa socks. He loves chocolate orange, and I got him a mega bar. He’ll be munching happily when the call is done.
But most of all, he’s grinning more than I am after I told him to check their bank account balance and Mum nearly fainted at the $200,000 Ausie dollars I sent them.
“You said you wanted a new car,” I say with a shrug.
“Your dad would never buy new,” Mum says. “The value…”
“Depreciates quicker than a rat up a drainpipe with a dingo on its ass,” Dad finishes for her.
I laugh. Mum swats his arm.
“Honestly, darling,” Mum says. “We can both get a new second-hand car with that kind of money.”
“And pay to get the pool repainted,” Dad adds.
I shrug again. “Glad to help. Merry Christmas to you!”
“How is the social media stuff going?” he asks, once the gift giving is over.
He always asks me this, paranoid of the impact my new accounts will be having, and I always reply with ayeah, cool, no biggie, but I’m about to switch it up and change my name back to the full Ella Edwards this new year, with a clear profile picture showing who I am.
It’s a bold move, but I’m ready for it.
It’ll mark the start of a new era, and the strike of midnight on New Year’s Eve seems a very apt time to do it.
“I want to be myself online,” I tell them both. “I don’t give a toss what people think anymore. The haters can go screw themselves.”
Dad pits his eyebrows at that, and it makes me light up inside to see how protective he is. How much he loves his little girl.
“What about psychos and stalkers?”
I laugh. “I won’t be putting my full address and postcode on there. And I may be known to the public, but I’m not exactly Taylor Swift. I’m just a hooker from London.”
He pulls a face at that.
“You’re anentertainer, Ella.”
