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“Thanks, darling.” Harry winked at the hostess with the guest list as he and Alex sailed through the front door of Bridgewater House. Alex craned her neck, gawking at the ornate glass domed ceiling of the Great Saloon and the huge murals adorning a far wall. This place was no ordinary London address. The Victorian mansion overlooked Green Park and shared its posh neighbourhood with several royal residences, including St. James’s Palace and Clarence House.
“I knew you were good at this stuff, but I didn’t realize how good,” said Alex in a hushed tone, her eyes washing over his Richard James pale blue linen suit. “Should I call you Prince Harry from now on?”
Harry chuckled and got down to business. “Look, here’s the one rule you need to know for tonight. Have your elevator pitch ready. There are all sorts of producers, directors, and theatre money here.”
Alex gulped and wrapped the delicate chain of her clutch around her finger.
“Don’t worry, Alex. Just be your charming American self. They’ll love you.”
The wide cement patio and lush green garden of the imposing building reverberated with laughter, conversation, and plenty of clinking glasses. Harry whisked two champagne flutes off a passing silver tray and handed one to Alex. She took a large sip, keen to quench her thirst while gaining some much needed courage. The bubbles tickled her nose and throat. A Coke or mixed drink was more her style, but she didn’t want to leave Harry’s side to search for the bar.
She stuffed her clutch under her arm and adjusted the gaping v-neck of her light blue and purple dress. At least if she fell out of it, no one would notice—the only advantage of small boobs. Harry picked up on her fidgeting. “Don’t fret. You look lovely.”
His kind words coaxed Alex’s pale pink lips into a smile, but her outfit was in a lower league than everyone else’s. The other women in attendance looked immaculate. Not all wore designer threads—far from it—but the many who did lived on another planet as far as Alex was concerned. Stilettos were a popular choice, despite the garden party theme.
She glanced down at her own feet clad in simple black flats. “Don’t these women realize they’re going to sink into the grass wearing heels?”
“I think that’s the least of their worries. They’re here to be seen. Fashionable, rich, and a supporter of the arts—that’s their M.O.”
Harry squinted through the crowd, somewhat agitated, as if late for a meeting. “Most won’t leave the safety of the patio. That way they’re closer to the booze and their Jimmy Choos can live to see another party.”
“I’m surprised you know what Jimmy Choos are,” said Alex.
“You can’t date a woman like Olivia and be in the dark about such things.”
A muffled ping escaped from Alex’s clutch, then another …and another.
“Is that yours?” asked Harry, watching the door.
She snapped open her bag. Like an attack of hiccups, her phone interrupted every few seconds.
“Sorry. Can you…” She handed her champagne to Harry. “Thanks. Must be spam. I’ll mute it.”
She caught a photo of Mark dodging fountains at Somerset House. Then one of herself hugging the ice cream van outside The Tower—each text message, a different shot taken by Mark: Alex pointing at The Monument, Mark lying on the ground where Sherlock fell at St. Bart’s, Alex in front of the gates of Buckingham Palace…The final text included a message:
‘Alex, a few mementos from our London adventure. Shame I didn’t capture that toddler face-planting into his ice cream! I hope you had as much fun as I did. London is definitely better with you in it! See you soon, Mark’
She re-read his last sentence— ‘London is definitely better with you in it!’ She blushed and relaxed into a smile that was more genuine than all the other grins circulating around her, but Harry stepped away, tapping his foot, his eyes scanning the garden. Now wasn’t the time to share her snapshots. She dashed off a brief reply:
‘Mark, love the photos! Thank you for being so kind and making a lost American feel at home. Strawberry Tears Forever! Alex’
She slid the phone into her clutch and retrieved her glass from Harry.
A waitress paraded past, handing out pamphlets listing the items up for auction. Alex accepted one, and began fanning herself with it. The late day sun sizzled and showed no signs of leaving the party.
“Ah, there she is.”
Harry rushed to the far end of the patio where Olivia, perfectly presented in a Christopher Kane lilac lace dress, held court surrounded by a gaggle of women. Alex followed a few steps behind, keeping his blue elbow within reach. He greeted his girlfriend with a discreet kiss on each cheek, conscious of her current company. In turn, she inserted herself under his right arm, claiming ownership. The ladies swooned over the glamorous pairing.
Noticing Alex, Olivia stiffened, throwing her an incredulous stare. Her mauve lips pinched briefly, before releasing into a plastic smile worthy of a beauty pageant contestant.
Alex blinked several times, confused by Ms. Chadwick-Smythe’s disdainful welcome.
Olivia tilted her flushed cheeks back towards her boyfriend, fluttering her false eyelashes and stroking his face. “I’m so glad you made it, darling. It means a lot, taking the night off from Bespoke to be here for me.”
Harry pressed his lips tenderly against his girlfriend’s forehead. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
Olivia beamed at her faithful female audience and absorbed their rapt appreciation. Her confidence seemed effortless, like she was born with it, another win in the genetics lottery along with long legs and blemish-free skin.
