Interlude [Book 2] Read online

  There are times when secrets need to stay that way, undisclosed.

  Roman James had spent the past seventeen years of his life living in solitude in a small flat in Kent. Living modestly, he lived a quiet life, without fanfare, without family. It was a sad existence. All to protect his only child. And he had urged, rather, implored that his daughter never learn his secret.

  “I’m dead to her,” he said quietly.

  In that room, I made a dying man a promise−one that my father didn’t agree with. I believe he had every intention of telling Lina of her father’s existence before his heart attack.

  Last week, Roman James passed away in a hospice, alone. My trip to London- the trip Lina believes I am scheduled to take because of another woman−is to bury her father.

  Struggling to keep my composure in front of the woman I love was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. Relaying the news of his best mate’s death to my father was devastating. I could only imagine what it would do to his daughter.

  Lina had lost him years ago, and I wanted to protect her heart, even if it meant breaking my own.

  Here I am with another secret, and it’s one I’ll take to my own grave.

  Forty-Four

  My father interrupts my thoughts. “I understand your concerns.”

  “Please. It’s what Roman wanted as well,” I say, reminding him that it was a promise I intend to keep.

  I hear my father sigh on the other line.

  “Father, once all the estate has been handled, I prefer that we never speak of this again.”

  “Although I don’t agree with you, I’ll respect your wishes as well as Roman’s. He was more of a brother to me than my own,” he reveals.

  A few seconds of silence ensue before I say, “I’m sorry you had to relive this again.”

  I hear Father’s nurse, Christabel, in the background, summoning him. And right before ending our call, the man who has always loved me unconditionally offers, “You’ve done all you can. I’ll fly to London without you and take care of the arrangements. I love you, Julian. You know what needs to be done. Don’t allow more time to pass you by.”

  My body aches for her. If I don’t do something, I’ll crack. I head to my master bedroom closet to change into running gear. The scent of Lina’s almond body oil assaults my senses. Some of her clothes greet me, and I touch each garment one by one, remembering all the times she wore them. I slowly fall to the floor, and all I want to do is crawl into bed and wait. Wait for the day to be over. Wait for her to walk through the door and admit she’s made a mistake.

  I stare at the mirror. She loves me. She’ll find her way back to me, I remind myself. I exhale and change into my running gear. Turning around, I find Mugpie staring at me with a chew toy dangling from his mouth. It’s one of those toys that squeak. It’s also a toy that Lina bought for him yesterday. “Wanna run with Daddy?” I ask. And my usual slow-walking, chubby bulldog sprints quickly toward his bed. Who am I kidding? Mugpie is never in the mood to run with me.

  The need to burn off this steam escalates. Think straight. She only left a few hours ago, but it feels like an eternity. How am I going to survive if she doesn’t come back?

  I look at my watch and realize I only have thirty minutes to run before my next conference call. It’s fine. It’s enough time to clear my head.

  I run along Broadway and think about all that has occurred over the past few months along with important matters that need immediate attention.

  I need to sign the Sea Cliff House contract.

  The night I showed Lina the house in San Francisco, my heart was beating so fast I’m surprised I didn’t have a cardiac arrest. From her facial expression, she knew it was special as well. That house mesmerized her. How could it not? It stood proudly on the cliff.

  The truth is, most of the things I’ve done in my adult life, I have done for the woman I love. A few years ago, I came across a postcard from Lina’s father to my parents dated a few days before his disappearance. In Roman’s handwriting, he had mentioned visiting a mid-century house on a cliff in San Francisco’s Sea Cliff neighborhood that his deceased wife had inhabited while in school. I immediately made an offer to purchase it for Lina.

  The next few hours go by slowly, and once I finally get in bed, I pray. I admit I’m not one who prays. God knows I haven’t always been the poster boy for good behavior. I’ve prayed a total of four times in my life; as my mum lay dying in my arms, at her memorial, after my sister was pronounced dead because of a drug overdose, and most recently, when Father had a heart attack. Tonight, I pray that God will allow the one woman I’ve loved all my life to be with me. I pray He will give me the guidance to bring her back and make her happy. I pray I’ll be the man to give her the family she has always wanted. I pray to be worthy of her love.

  Sleep evades me all night. I spend hours listening to Lina’s compositions on my headphones. I peruse my phone, seeking photographs of her … of us. I toss and turn and spend the rest of the night and the early morning hours staring at the ceiling. In the darkness, I still see vivid images of her: some from our childhood, and some as recently as yesterday while she cried.

  I stare at the floor-to-ceiling window and it’s still dark outside. It’s early, but I call Cecelia anyway. “I’m not flying out today.” On the other end of the line is my not so happy assistant. In a hoarse voice, she greets me with, “Julian, it’s five in the fuckin’ mornin’.”

  “I apologize. I haven’t been able to sleep, and I want to be here just in case.”

  And before I can finish my sentence, she interrupts me. “Mr. Caine called me yesterday and told me you wouldn’t be traveling with him. Your name’s already deleted from the manifest,” Cecelia pauses. “Julian, she’ll be back. Or you can cast your pride aside and go to LA. Get your own flight because I’m going back to sleep.”

  From the moment I first saw her, I knew she would be the one for me. Seven years old and I was already infatuated. Her light brown hair was in a messy ponytail. Her emerald eyes shone brightly when she smiled at me. That smile did me in. I had just arrived from London with Caroline, Miss Pendleton and my mum. I was a nervous boy who left all that I was familiar with in London. As soon as she introduced herself, she took my hand and whispered, “No need to be afraid. I’m here for you. Now let’s go get some cupcakes.” We saw each other every day for six years. As soon as I woke up, she was the person I wanted to see. I can’t ever remember a time when I didn’t want her company.

  During our fourteen years apart, there wasn’t a day I didn’t think of her. Some may call my tendencies a bit obsessive, but I needed to know she was okay. I promised myself that if she was truly happy, I would leave her alone.

  Years went by. With bated breath, I waited to hear of Lina’s marriage, of her kids, of her growing family. But the news never came. Andrew Nielsen was still in the picture. The house they rented was in her name only. Almost sixteen years together and they weren’t married. His mistake.

  I made my move. That’s the thing about love−it must be nurtured. Anyone can come in and take it away, and that was my every intention.

  And although I’ll never deserve Lina, I couldn’t stay away from her any longer.

  Without her knowledge, I had been traveling to Santa Monica at least once a month for the past three years. I knew Lina’s address by memory. I’ve passed her house several times. At times, I stood right across the street, just waiting for my chance to claim her.

  Six months, three days ago, I had been in Santa Monica visiting a prospective investment. My childhood friend, Allegra Emerson, and I had just finished having lunch. After we parted, I strolled around Lina’s Ocean Park neighborhood. Cecelia had given me the latest dossier on Lina, and nothing had changed in the weekly report. She was still living in a small bungalow that was not charming at all. It reminded me of something out of a horror film. She was a high in-demand film composer. And unknowingly had composed film scores for three movies funded by my pro
duction company. And no, I didn’t hire her because I was in love with her. I just mentioned her friend and publisher to the director. Her musical talent is the reason she’s successful and the reason she recently won an Ivor Novello Award for best original film score.

  I remember that day as if it were only yesterday. It rained that afternoon. Allegra had teasingly joked that Los Angelenos run inside when it rains. After living in LA all these years, I assumed Lina would be inside her home. Well, there she was, in front of her house, staring up at the sky and grinning. Stopped me in my tracks. I hadn’t prepared to see her like this.

  Just like the ridiculous corny romantic movies she and my sister used to watch as teenagers, I was the lovesick fool enthralled with the woman in front of me. I stood there, only a few feet away from her as she enjoyed the rain. Like Labrinth’s song, I, too, became jealous of every single raindrop that touched the woman I love. Her light brown hair was plastered to her face, her gray dress completely soaked, her lips formed a contagious smile … and she was breathtaking.

  It took every ounce of willpower not to run and hold her. I had been an awful friend for not returning her calls, her letters, and even her e-mails. As years progressed, it became more difficult to read the hurt and the anger in her words. I deserved them all, but I didn’t know how to respond. Rather than acknowledge all her correspondences, I simply stored them away, with the exception of her last letter. It is in my possession at all times. Witnessing my mum’s murder had broken me. Believing I instigated her death still breaks me.

  As Lina welcomed the rain that fell upon her, I felt alive.

  That moment changed my life. I no longer wanted to be on the sidelines watching her with another man who didn’t deserve her.

  I continued to entwine my life with hers. I purchased the movie rights to the book she loved. Her best friend, Patti, had mentioned the book to me and Cosima Carp during a meeting. She had exclaimed, “Oh My Gawd, my friend Lina and I spent the night talking about Disappear. I think she’s read it like five times already. She’s really into these stalker novels. I am, too. We fucking loved it.” Although Patti and I barely knew one another, she never failed to voice an opinion. She turned to me. “You should option the film rights for that book. I’ve slept with the author and can introduce you to him. Don’t wait too long; he’s already had interest from other producers and just started writing a screenplay. Jennifer Lopez would be perfect to play the lead. And, Cosima, you know my girl Lina would write the most amazing score for it.”

  Patti was correct. Lina’s score for Disappear is brilliant. I watched several scenes, and it’s her best work to date, easily rivaling her favorite composer’s scores.

  I’ve orchestrated everything. When you spend your life running away from the only woman you love, you’ll do anything to make up for lost time.

  Father’s birthday celebration was meant to reconnect me with my childhood friend.

  I intentionally stayed at Shutters−a hotel her best friend favors.

  I frequented Lina’s favorite café hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

  Even with careful planning, an unforeseen event catapulted everything. Roman’s return was unexpected, and it’s the secret that may keep me away from the woman I love.

  I’m the seven-year-old boy who fell in love with Lina James.

  I’m the twelve-year-old boy who had asked his mum for her engagement ring. I break a little inside, remembering my mum’s words, “When you’re ready, this will be yours to give the girl I also love.”

  I’m the twenty-seven-year-old man waiting for the woman I love.

  I had an elaborate marriage proposal planned out. Lina and I would be on the Elisa, sailing en route to the Sea Cliff home, and I would finally ask her to be my wife. When she admitted she was returning to him, I had to act fast. There was no time to waste, and I couldn’t take the chance of having her marry Andrew in a matter of days.

  Lina refused to believe my words, and I needed to show her my true intentions. More importantly, she had to acknowledge that what she had with Andrew was completely over. He was her past, and I’m her future.

  Was I a fool for being so confident in what I had with her?

  Forty-Five

  With heavy footsteps, I walk along my duplex and make my way to the kitchen to grab something to drink. Miss Pendleton is already awake and bustling away with her copper pots and pans. As always, one of her playlists is blasting through the Bluetooth speakers. I watch her in awe, dancing along to her favorite country singer, Keith Urban. I have to admit it took me a few years to warm up to her love of country music. She stops in her tracks and stares at me. She’s sad for me. Midway through the song, she hits stop. She tries to comfort me with her words. “Julian, have faith.” She scrolls through her playlist and another Keith Urban song plays. I watch one of my favorite people in the world sing along to a song about being a fighter. Once the song is over, she tiptoes and wraps her arms around me. “You’re her fighter. Don’t wait.”

  The clock on my nightstand reveals it’s too early to call. But fuck it. Fuck my pride. I told her I would respect her wishes, but it’s something I can’t do. I refuse to do. Miss Pendleton’s words, “You’re her fighter,” hit home. With trembling hands, I call her mobile, and it automatically goes to voicemail.

  I may have been a fool to place my mum’s vintage engagement ring in the inside pocket of Lina’s bag without her knowledge. Who knows how long it would take for her to find the ring box if I don’t call her? That monstrosity of a bag is enormous. It’s large enough to feed a country.

  I take a deep breath. You’re going to fight for her. And with everything in me, I leave her the message.

  “Darling.” You can do this. “I could pretend you don’t exist, that I have never loved you. I could pretend the past few months never happened. I could pretend I haven’t loved you all my life.” I pause, my heart racing. You’re her fighter. “Or I can live my life the way it’s meant to be lived … by being with you … by loving you. Although you’re thousands of miles away, I feel your heartbeat as if it were my own. Your melodies play in my head. Your voice and music are all that I long to hear. All I can hear. I close my eyes and see your emerald eyes. I have loved you all my life, and nothing could have ever prepared me for this.”

  You need her back. You want to give her everything.

  I take another deep breath, “I’m scared out of my mind. Frightened you’ll think this is a phase I’m going through. I don’t know what it’s going to take to make you trust me. I broke it off with Shira before Father’s heart attack.” I broke it off with her and all the other women as soon as you told me it was over with Andrew. “She’s been relentless with her texts, but not once have I responded since breaking it off with her. But I know what I’ve always known, that it is you and only you. I said I would respect your decision when you chose Andrew, but I refuse to accept it. I’ll always fight for you. I’ll always fight for us.” You can’t live without her. “Please look at the inside pocket of your handbag. It was always meant for you. Only you. I love you, Evangelina Darling James.”

  Only she can mend this broken heart.

  Was I also a fool to leave a note inside the box? I didn’t have much time to write anything too deep. I needed to get to the point. I silently chuckle at the memory of what I had written.

  It was never meant to be an interlude.

  I want a family.

  I want to give you babies.

  I want everything.

  I want forever.

  Only with you.

  When she revealed Andrew’s infertility, it took everything in me not to beg her to carry my child. Every time we made love, I silently prayed that her birth control would fail. I had even dabbled with the idea of throwing her pills away. But I’m not that crazy.

  How long shall I wait before I get all cave man on her? Another day? Another week?

  Time is ticking. And every second that goes by, I become a time bomb.

  My
admirer tendencies have not diminished one bit. I place a call to Michael Spear, another guy I hired a few months ago.

  “Good morning, Michael. It’s Julian Caine.”

  In his California surfer boy accent, he says, “Dude, it’s going well. Nothing to report, but it looks like Miss James hasn’t left the house.” He yawns. “Oh man, it’s only four in the morning here. I’ll call you if she leaves the house. My shift doesn’t end for another six hours. My brother, Mason, is taking the second shift. He knows to call you as well.”

  “Thank you. Please have Mason stop by Magnolia Bakery on West 3rd Street.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I need Mason to pick up a dozen vanilla cupcakes with chocolate icing and have it delivered to Lina.”

  “Dude, there are bakeries near the promenade. It’s closer. The Grove area is quite a ways. Come on, this is LA. Traffic here is ridiculous.”

  “Michael, the cupcakes have to be from Magnolia Bakery. Only Magnolia. You’ll both be well compensated for this.” And before he can argue, I hang up and think of how much my woman loves their cupcakes. That should hold her over for a day or two.

  I make another pressing call that should have been made a few months ago. I leave a curt message, “Shira, I don’t know how you managed to create that photo. It doesn’t matter. If you ever try to contact Lina, my family members, or Cecelia, you’ll be sorry you ever met me. My attorneys are in the process of getting a restraining order. Do not take this call lightly.”

  There’s not much more I can do. As I sit in my home office, I review the signed copy of the contract for the Sea Cliff home. The letter from MOMA sits next to it, confirming that the pastel will be delivered in two weeks. I turn on my sound system and press play. One of my favorite compositions by Lina begins. It’s Prelude from her first film score. I open my desk and retrieve the letter I’ve held onto for the past six years.