Fauxmance (Showmance #2)(22)
She gave a tiny laugh, and it pleased me to see her smile, even if it was only a small one. “Indeed. I can’t believe Bernice gave you my ticket. Like I said, you’re a complete stranger. What was she thinking?”
“My friend Rose was with me at the time. She has a very trustworthy face.”
Ellen arched a brow. “Not you?”
“Nope. I have the face of a rapscallion.”
Her tinkering laugh was light and airy, the laugh of someone relieved not to be feeling so anxious anymore. It felt good to put her at ease. “Do you know what, you do! I really don’t know why I let you into my house. I need to get my head checked.”
“Looks perfectly fine to me.”
“You haven’t seen inside it.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a mess in here.”
“I like messes. They’re interesting.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’ve got an answer for everything?”
“It’s my party trick. So, you and Elodie grew up in Devon. What was that like?”
She looked away, took a sip of her tea. I wondered at the shutters that suddenly closed behind her eyes. “It was quiet. Peaceful. Too quiet sometimes.”
“I can understand that. Rose lives most of the year on a remote Scottish Island. When I visit it’s so quiet, I have trouble getting to sleep. I’m used to the constant buzz of city noise.”
She appeared interested by this. “You don’t find it stressful? I mean, I hate too much quiet, but the noise can be just as bad.”
My expression sobered. “I guess I sometimes prefer the noise because then I don’t have to listen to my thoughts.”
She leaned closer, her brown eyes unfathomably big. “What kinds of thoughts?”
I met her gaze levelly. “Bad thoughts.”
A beat of silence fell. We both startled when there was a ding on her doorbell. Ellen stood. “I better go get that.”
She left, and I looked around her kitchen, a feeling of discomfort in my chest. Ellen wasn’t the only one who felt a pull, because I’d revealed more to her than I did to most people. There was an innocence about her, an openness that felt safe.
I heard the front door open and indistinct voices. I got up and went over to admire Ellen’s lovebirds again, smiling to myself. Unlike most, I didn’t judge others for having different beliefs to mine. In fact, I respected people more when they believed in something fiercely. Monogamy was an idea almost as old as my profession. It was something I’d always struggled with personally, and for years I berated myself for not being able to conform, to simply pick a woman and settle down. That sense of shame was something I had to disconnect from if I didn’t want to drown in it.
Now I allowed myself the freedom to live in a way that felt right for me. It was the only way I knew how. Still, the simplicity and innocence of the idea of searching for one true love, for a soul mate, was something that always made my chest ache.
It was like believing in angels. You wanted them to be real so badly, but your common sense wouldn’t allow you to indulge in the folly.
I wished love at first sight, soul mates, and being destined for one single person was real, because it was a romantic, idealistic fairy tale. And I envied Ellen for her ability to believe.
But I, well, I’d had my eyes opened too many times in this life to still believe in fairy tales.
The front door closed, and I went out to check on Ellen. It appeared she’d had a delivery because there were several large, heavy-looking boxes on the floor.
“Need some help?” I asked, and she blew out a breath, hands on her hips.
“Please, if it’s not too much trouble, could you help me carry these upstairs?”
“No trouble at all,” I said and went to pick up a box. I was right, it was heavy. “What’s in here?” I asked as I climbed the stairs.
“Just, um, some new bits of furniture I ordered online,” she said, sounding oddly sheepish.
I left one box on the landing, then went down to get the next. When I’d brought all three boxes upstairs, I turned to go back down, and my gaze caught on something in one of the bedrooms. The door was ajar and carefully placed on a stand on the dressing table was a wig—a red-haired wig to be exact. I frowned, because it was practically identical to Elodie’s hair. I froze on the step, staring at it, mind racing.
“What’s wrong?” Ellen asked, traversing several steps. She frowned as she followed the direction of my gaze. I heard her sharp intake of breath when she realised what I was looking at.
I turned to her in confusion.
“Elodie?”
Chapter Six
Ellen
Crap, crap, crap!
As soon as Julian uttered the name “Elodie” I started to shake. My throat ran dry and the ability to speak evaded me. I’d been caught. Embarrassment and shame threatened to fill me whole.
“You’re Elodie, aren’t you?” he said, closing the distance between us. He didn’t appear angry, which was a good sign, but he did look incredibly confused, and a tiny bit…well, intrigued.
Who the hell was this guy? And why on earth did I invite him into my house? Ever since I invented Elodie, I’d been having these strange, catastrophic urges, destined to lead to dire consequences. It was like I’d spent so long living this quiet, hermit life that something in my subconscious yearned for the thrill of disaster.