Diving Deep (UK Crush #2)

Chapter 44

He unlocked the car and we drove to one of our favorite riverside bistros, which was very busy, but never too busy to find a table for Theo Shelley. We whizzed right in and were given a beautiful table right on the river. It was crowded; everyone wanted to enjoy the sun while it lasted. We gave our orders, and he pulled out his phone to check social media while we drank our drinks and waited for our food.

"Oh fuck me," he said. "Fuck me." I took one look at his face and scooted my chair over next to his to look at the screen. "Theo Shelley's Mystery Girl Revealed" the headline screamed. And underneath was my name, my real name, Aileen Foster. However it had happened, someone had found my real name, and had unraveled my entire life, beginning with growing up in LA, my mother dying, my grandparents' deaths in Japan, everything. They even had a quote from dear Professor Van Dyke, who couldn't have known who he was talking to. There were links to YouTube videos of me playing the piano as a child, even information about my swimming "career". Jesus. But we'd known this was coming eventually; I didn't see anything worth Teddy's outburst, and the look on his face as he watched me read.

Then I noticed the photographs.

Some sharp eyed paparazzi had found us at St. Fagan's two days ago, and basically videotaped our entire day, of us walking hand in hand, arm in arm, Teddy lying with his head in my lap, of us kissing like that, of him wearing the silly hat, of us sitting on the bench, kissing while leaning on his car, of him brushing away tears; the only reason they hadn't gotten the real, serious crying was because it had gotten dark too soon. Our entire, intimate, perfect day was up on line, for the whole world to see, our private, personal time together on display for everyone to ogle. I felt completely violated. I collapsed onto Teddy's shoulder in the middle of the bistro in tears, hiding my face in his collarbone, moving down to his chest as he put his arm around me and comforted me as best he could.

"Shh, love, shh, there's nothing to be done about it now. Do you want to go? We should go home, okay?" He started to rise, but I pulled him down.

"No! No." I shook my head, lifting it to look at him. He looked at my streaming eyes, wiping my face with his thumbs, kissing my cheeks, putting his forehead against mine.

"Christ, Birdie, I'm so fucking sorry. It's completely my fault. If I weren't who I am, none of this would be happening to you. No one should have to go through their first romance under this kind of public scrutiny, it's just so fucking unfair. You should be going out on dates to the movies, to dinner, making out on sofas, all in complete anonymity and privacy. You shouldn't have to worry about going on a picnic and being video taped kissing your boyfriend and feeding him a fucking grape, for Christ's sake. I'm so fucking sorry. God, look at your face, my poor darling. You sure you don't want to just go home?" He looked at me, rubbing my back.

"I don't want to go home." I was adamant. "I want to live my life, dammit. I want to have lunch at this beautiful place, with my beautiful boyfriend, in the beautiful sunshine, in London, fucking England. I like the way I like look, I love the way you look, I love the food here, and I want to be here with you and kiss you and drink wine with you and get squiffy and affectionate and flirty and turned on and excited so we can go home and screw our brains out, okay?" I leaned into him. "Can we do that? And if people are stupid enough to want to tape that, then let them, I guess."

"Okay," he whispered. "Okay, my love, whatever you want." He kissed me behind my ear. "I love you, so much, so much. Let's do that."

Our drinks arrived. I lifted my glass. "To being in love," I said defiantly.

He lifted his glass. "To being in love, and not being angry about it," he said quietly, looking at me with his serious eyes.

"Okay," I said. "Okay." I smiled through my tears.