Page 47 of Eternally London

My heart was racing. My body was shaking. I was sobbing uncontrollably when Oliver found me.

“Hey, love. Look at me. London. London.”

I vaguely register Oliver’s voice. He is calling me in the distance, but I can’t reach him. There is too much screaming. My brain shakes with it.

“London!” His eyes widen.

Suddenly, there are lips against mine, and Loïc’s face grabs ahold of my thoughts. I focus on him, and the noise stops. I open my eyes with a gasp, pulling my mouth away from Oliver’s.

I’m grounded, present, and aware. I can breathe. I’m no longer quaking with despair. Instead, I’m hit with a surge of anger.

“Did you just kiss me?” I snap at Oliver, the question a rhetorical one.

“Yes,” he answers smugly.

I slap him across the face.

Tonight is the first night since Lindi that we’ve been able to sleep in a hotel, and I can’t wait to shower Oliver’s kiss off of me. I start to stomp away toward the hotel, leaving a shocked Oliver, who is holding his cheek, behind me.

“Why did you hit me?” He follows me. “You should be thanking me.”

I whip around to face him. “Oh, I’m sure all the girls bow down at your feet in thanks when you grace them with a kiss, Mr. Hot Aussie Man. Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t want your lips on mine? I’m married. You had no right to kiss me!”

“No, you should be thanking me because I got you to snap out of your possessed state. You were screaming, crying, and shaking. I helped you!”

“You couldn’t find another way to do it, Mr. Casanova, than with your lips?” I shriek.

“I yelled your name. I shook you by the arms. I slapped you. Nothing was working.”

I gasp. “You slapped me?”

“Yep, and it didn’t even faze you. You were in a complete panic. I didn’t know what else to do, so I kissed you. And it worked! You’re welcome!”

I calm down some. I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t want you to kiss me again.”

“Clearly. Don’t worry, love. I got no pleasure from it. It was wet and snotty and uncomfortable.”

“Good!”

Oliver motions toward the hotel. “Come on. Let me walk you to your room.”

“Ugh,” I groan. “I’m not sleeping with you. What don’t you understand about the words,I’m married?”

“I didn’t say anything about fucking you, love. I’m not turned on by a woman in the midst of an utter meltdown. I just think you should take it easy for the rest of the day—shower, get something to eat, and rest. That’s all.”

“Stop flirting with me then.”

“I don’t flirt with you,” he responds.

“Then, stop calling me love all the time,” I huff.

“I call every woman I come in contact with love. It’s a platonic greeting. I hear you calling your husband every day. I know you’re off the market. I’m not a complete wanker. Listen, I’m sorry for kissing you back there. I can assure you, there wasn’t anything sexual about it. I was just trying to get your attention and snap you out of it. Nothing more.”

I take in his words. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The two of us continue walking toward the hotel.

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