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As we stood on the stage of the Globe, my heart was practically beating out of my chest as I looked up into Spencer’s gorgeous face, thinking about how intensely bizarre this whole experience had been. But, then, when he dropped the bomb that he loved me, it took exactly one and a half heartbeats for me to assess whether I loved him in return and to answer that I felt the same.
I might’ve known it for a while; I might’ve been feeling it since we walked next to Lake Garda, and he admitted to feeling something else beyond the simple lust I’d been insisting to myself was the only thing I felt for him. After all, love was a foreign emotion I honestly thought didn’t exist within me.
I wasn’t trying to figure out the exact date and time I started allowing myself to develop these feelings, but it would probably take a visit to a psychic to figure out that mess. Still, being the control freak I was, I wanted a grasp on how I’d managed to let these feelings in.
Maybe if I knew when this happened, then I would know why.
And if I knew why I might be able to control myself so my heart wouldn’t run off without my mind’s consent.
When Spencer professed his love for me, it was so effortless for me to tell him that I loved him too. But how could the two most non-committal strangers to love and relationships type of people who declare their love for each other in the way we did? Was this the way love worked?
If I looked past the doomed ending for Romeo and Juliet, I saw two people who found love quickly, without a firm or solid foundation, like Spencer and me. It didn’t take years and years of dating, breaking up, trials and errors, and all the nonsense some married couples brag about going through before they knew they were in love.
Maybe we find love immediately, then our minds overthink it to protect our hearts, and we either end up all in or screwed because we’re afraid of it and push it away. Like I had been doing.
This meant that being in love with Spencer could be very possible and very real.
Right now, I had to stay in the present moment of where we were on the day of touristy events. So, we sat quietly, eating our tiny sandwiches, both fixated on what we’d proclaimed to each other an hour or so ago.
I snapped out of my thoughts when Spencer leaned forward with a light in his eye. “We’ve got a few different options if we want to head toward the restaurant where I made a reservation. We could go to Westminster Abbey or the London Eye and kiss as we climb up over the city.”
I grinned at him as I thought about the different options and remembered something I wanted to see before I left the city again. “Can we go to the Abbey? We can cross over Westminster Bridge to get there, right? Of all the amazing historical places we visited today, I’d love to visit those locations too.”
“Right,” he said, smiling. “You want to see the bridge?”
“Not only the bridge,” I said. “But something on the bridge. You’ll see.”
He sat back, looking confused for a second, before shrugging and getting up. “All right, then. Let’s get going.”
On the Underground, we held hands like any other couple, and it took a second for me to remember that we were just like any other couple. It was as strange as admitting I felt love for Spencer, if I was honest. Acting like a couple. My God, so many of my friends would ask me who I was and what I did with their friend if they saw our outward display of affection today. My foot kept bouncing on the floor, and I couldn’t help alternating between feeling like every eye was on me and knowing my ego was getting the better of me. Because, in reality, no one could possibly give a shit about a random couple sitting on the Underground.
When we finally got off the train and climbed out of the station in Westminster, I breathed deeply as we got into the fresh, cool London air, tying my scarf more tightly around my neck. Spencer pulled me by the hand over to the beautiful 18th-century bridge, and we started crossing it. I watched as the sun glinted off the river, filtering through the clouds that likely carried rainfall. Coming from LA, the idea of a sudden and unpredictable rainfall thrilled me, and part of me wished it would start so Spencer would pull me into his arms.
Still, he proved he didn’t need an excuse when he wrapped his arms around me as we stood there, watching the water flow under the bridge.
After a few minutes, I ducked out of the circle of his arms, pulling him after me across the bridge toward the large, imposing statue of three women that stood on the plinth where the bridge met the thoroughfare.
I ran my finger over the inscription on the plaque, feeling an ache for the bravery of the woman who raised her spear over London, refusing to be conquered.
“This was what you wanted to see?” Spencer asked, his voice quiet and reverent as we looked up at the statue. “I’m surprised you know about Boudicca. Usually, people from outside of the UK don’t.”
“I learned about her in college when I was taking a history of architecture class with Bree,” I said, contemplating the ancient Briton queen who’d led a revolt against the Romans. We’d been learning about the rebuilding of London after the Great Fire and the Neo-Gothic building style used to construct the new Westminster Palace. The statue had been a footnote in our textbook. Still, her name caught my attention. Immediately after, I went to Doheny Library and checked out three books about Boudicca. I ignored my homework for the rest of the day to read her tragic story and see what’d happened to her daughters. “There’s always been something about her that hits me.”
“You’re not alone,” Spencer said, looking up at the statues of the two daughters who flanked her, whose attacks she avenged when she raised her army against the Romans. “You know the Romans refused even to say her name? Even though they ultimately squashed her rebellion and she killed herself to avoid capture, she struck so much fear into them that saying her name was like conjuring a ghost.”
“Like Voldemort, if Voldemort were on the side of good and independence and feminism,” I said, looking up at him.
He chuckled. “Exactly.”
“This is the one thing I always tried to make time for whenever I came back here,” I said, tracing the letters of her name once more. “She inspires me.” I turned back to him, giving him a wry smile. “Something about her protectiveness I seem to relate to very well.”
His eyes widened as he turned back to me, and his smile twisted to mirror mine. “Should I be afraid?”
“Just warned,” I said, reaching up to run my finger along his jawline. “Don’t break my heart if I trust you to hold it.”
His face grew more solemn. “I understand you’re scared. I get that.”
“I’m not scared,” I think I was telling the truth. “I’m ensuring you’re the one who will be scared if you think this has all been a game when we return to California.”
