He waves his phone. “Her friend has been posting about this party she’s throwing. If we leave right now, we’ll make the train in time to crash it.” He waves at the posters scattered across the dining room table. “Means we’d have to give up campaigning, but…”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say decisively. “We go to her.” The campaigning wasn’t working, anyway. It’s time to come to terms with the fact that I’ll probably lose Lochview. There are a few other farm owners that I trust scattered across the UK. I can make sure the sheep have good homes. The animals are all that really matters. If I lose the land, so be it.
“We should plan to be there a while,” Cameron says slowly. “We can’t just appear in London and expect her to come back with us.”
“I’ll call Lewis in the village,” I agree, snapping into work mode. Now I’ve made the decision, all of the next steps feel obvious. “Isla said that she’d help out in a pinch. Dr Kenzie…” I run through a mental list. Honestly, it feels like half of Dalbrae has offered to help out on the farm at some point or another. I check my watch. “You two should pack. I’ll meet you out by the front in thirty.”
SEVENTY-ONE
SUMMER
“Oh God,” Lulu says as she pushes into my messy bedroom on Saturday night. “This is worse than I thought.”
“Wha,” I mumble around a mouthful of pearl-tipped pins. I’m hunched on my floor in my dressing gown, surrounded by piles of clothes and half-empty energy drinks. In my lap is my latest creation.
It’s a dress. You could call it an 18+ princess dress. Sleeping Beauty in her clubbing era. The skirt is a scandalously short burst of pink tulle, and the tight silk bodice is laced down the back with pink ribbons. The whole thing glimmers under my bedroom lights. I absolutely adore it.
And it’s finally finished.
“Can you pass my scissors?” I ask.
Lulu removes my dress from my lap, carefully laying it on my armchair, then hauls me to my feet. “No. Listen, you know I support your random bouts of hyperfixation, and that dress isgorge—but you need to move. We’re going to be late to your own party.” She leans in and sniffs me. “Good. You’re showered, at least.”
I blink a lot. “Oh. Yeah. The party.” I glance at the clock.
Tonight is my five-million-follower party. Lulu was right, as per usual. I’m due to hit the milestone at about midnight. I was halfway through getting ready for the club when I got distracted by my almost-finished dress. I sat down to make one little adjustment and lost track of time. Oops.
“Sit, sit, I can do it.” Lulu shoves me over to my dressing table and picks up my concealer. “Are you okay? You’re all pale.”
“Haven’t been sleeping much,” I mutter as she starts applying my makeup at lightning speed. It’s hard to sleep alone these days. I’m so used to sharing a bed with multiple warm bodies.
I’ve been back in London for four days now. I miss the guys so much it physically hurts.
I miss Fraser’s massive bear hugs. Cameron’s grumpy grunts. Alec’s cool voice. I miss feeling warm and safe and happy andwanted. It’s more than a broken heart. I feel homesick. I miss open skies and fresh air and swimming in lochs and food from the earth.
But this is my home. This is where I belong. Not Lochview. Not with them. Ever since I got back, my phone has been constantly ringing with offers and messages. I’ve been inundated with PR packages. Everyone wants to hop on the #SadGirlGlam trend.
I’ve ignored it all and spent almost every minute sewing. Making my dress is the only thing that’s kept me sane. I’m too scared to post right now, so I’ve buried my head in fabric samples instead.
Lulu finishes my mascara and leans back, assessing my face. She looks as gorgeous as ever in a gold minidress, bangles jangling up her arms and mini jhumkas tinkling at her earlobes.
“Good enough,” she declares. “Dress time. You’re going todie.” She hops over the piles of mess on the floor and picks upthe garment bag she’s laid on the bed, unzipping it. “Do youlove?”
I stare at it. It’s a tiny black dress. Strapless. Skintight. And completely translucent. People will be able to seeeverything.
“Er,” I try. “It’s not really my style? I’m really into, um, opaque clothes at the moment.”
“It’s your new style,” she says cheerily. “I’ve done your eyes all dramatic and smudgy, and paired with this, it will beverysad girl glam.Silver Louboutins, please.” She considers me, tilting her head. “Okay. We don’t have a lot of time, but before we leave—do you want to tell me why you look like a tragic little ghost girl?”
“What?”
She narrows her eyes. “You’ve been miserable ever since you got back. You’re refusing to let me post for you. You’re hiding in your room eating exclusively chicken nuggets. I’ve been trying to give you space, I know you sometimes need a few days locked up alone, but it’s been long enough. You are eventually going to have to talk to me.” Her glossed lips turn down. “It’s those men, isn’t it? You miss them.”
I examine my reflection in the mirror. The day after I got home, I gave Lulu a brief summary of my time up at Lochview while she helped me unpack. She was utterly unfazed that I slept with three men simultaneously. Just nodded understandingly and said, “Holiday foursome. Yeah. Of course. We’ve all done it.”
I may have skimmed over some details. I didn’t go into just how deeply I ended up caring for the men. I don’t have the energy. And what is there to say, really? It’s over. I’m back in London, and I’ll never see them again. So.
“I’m fine,” I say.
