Blocked text from AugustDansworth:
Hello, Elizabeth. Please pick up. Again, I’ve been such a nasty bugger, and I’m sorry. You have every right to never want to speak to me again. But I really want to at least talk to you. Once. Pretty please?
Soon I’m nestled in a private booth at the back of a Stanbury pub with Everett, Bella, and Harry. No paparazzi. The three gave the hostess a generous tip to keep quiet about us being here. Still, Bella wears a glam baseball cap, the brim pulled low over her face. Her dressed-down style does little to mask her beauty, with long, black hair cascading in a ponytail down her back and her professionally applied winged liner highlighting her eyes. Both Harry and Everett sport sexy bed head and wrinkled sweatshirts. Even in the pub’s low light, I see the makeup sheen on their cheeks. I’d completely forgotten about the publicity shoot. The actors had just wrapped it upand were taking a little stroll themselves when they heard my screams.
Bella and I compare our lower back tattoos. Both are healing nicely.
“We really are like sisters now,” she says, smiling.
“Except you’re the one with the better eyebrows.”
She laughs. Then over pints, we joke about the awkward but serendipitous meeting. My relief outweighs my embarrassment. Thanks to these three, who scared off the ram, I walked away with an intact rear. And now it’s time to celebrate our wonderful news. Maybe it’s the British accents and long working hours, but despite our almost twenty-year age gap, they all seem more mature and far friendlier than my Willoughby colleagues.
After our meals arrive, Everett asks about Mr. Wells, and Bella suddenly looks mortified.
“I’m so sorry, Lizzie. I haven’t told them yet.”
Everett and Harry stare at her and then me.
“Philip... he passed away a little over two months ago—car accident.”
“Oh fuck. That’s awful,” Harry says softly. “I had no idea.”
I press my sore palm against the sticky table surface. “You couldn’t have known. I never put anything about it on social media.”
“He was so cool,” Everett says, staring down into his bitter ale.
“When Bella had that all-day indoor scene to shoot in LA, you know, the bad one where the sheepdog shat all over the set kitchen, we did shots with Mr. Wells at The Varnish. He stopped after two to call home to check on Heathcliff. He was such a bloody good dad. And he couldn’t stop talking about you.” Everett shakes his head glumly.
“I’ve never seen another couple as happy as you two,” Bella says.
“We were so young when we met. We didn’t know anything.”
“You knoweverythingabout love.”
“I’m not sure about that...” I mutter, moving my fork around the congealing sauce of my black sheep kidney pie.
“No, you did know everything about love. Even the shitty parts,” Bella says.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”
Everett takes a bite of fried haddock, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s the book.”
“Definitely,” Harry agrees.
Everett continues, “Our agents made us readWuthering Heightsas soon as we signed. I thought it would be boring, but it really gets to all the craziness love brings on. Then your book cranked it up a notch.”
Bella smirks at the guys. “We three have had some drama—some highs and some really fucking low times. Remember when I sobbed on your shoulder after our news appearance?”
I nod.
“That was one of my lowest points. That was when I learned you can really love someone even though you’re so wrong for each other.”
She meets eyes with Harry, and he smiles.
“And we’ve learned loads about ourselves through it all—it took poor Harry here most of a year to come out.”
“And they supported the hell out of me,” Harry says.
