Page 43 of From LA to London, With Love

I eyed the remaining two dresses hanging on the hook as though they were gladiators with whom I was about to go into battle.

Much to my relief, I readily stepped into the red dress and pulled it up. It was made of much sturdier material. Now this would withstand a few Sophie-induced mishaps. I looked at myself in the mirror. It didn’t look half bad either.

I walked out of the change room.

Jenny gasped. “You look stunning, Sophie! What do you think?”

“Let’s get it and get out of here.”

It looked good, it was robust, and I didn’t need to pull it over my head to get in and out of it. I was sold. I’d had more than enough shopping for the day.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHRIS

I STOOD OUTSIDE Sophie’s parents’ place, a charming old red-brick house covered in ivy, with a black limo waiting in the street.

I smoothed my jacket with my slightly sweaty hands, even though it was perfectly ironed. It was like I was back at high school, picking up my prom date. I’d invited Sophie because I thought her company would calm me and help stave off another panic attack. So why was the thought of seeing her having the opposite effect?

I shook off my nerves, took a deep breath, and knocked.

Thirty seconds later, the door opened and Sophie appeared. Shit. My heart skipped a beat. She looked incredible. The long crimson dress with matching lipstick was striking against her brown skin. Her hair fell in long shiny waves, framing her face. Spending an evening with my unrequited crush looking this stunning might cause me some heartache, but at least it would take my mind off the media circus.

She smiled at me, and all my prom night nerves dissolved. I let out a breath.

“You look lovely,” I said, smiling back at her.

“You scrub up pretty well yourself.”

Her parents hovered in the hallway, and the prom night vibes came rushing back. Flashbacks of meeting the parents of my actual prom date, Kim Bowes, in a similarly awkward fashion raced through my mind. At least Sophie’s dad wouldn’t pull me aside to give me a cringeworthy safe sex talk like Mr. Bowes did. Well, at least I really hoped he wouldn’t.

I waved at them. “Hello! I’m Chris. It’s nice to meet you both.”

They walked to the door. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Marie, and this is Anil.” I could see Sophie in her mom’s smile and in her dad’s deep brown eyes. “We’ve heard a lot about you. We’d love to have you over for dinner sometime, although Sophie tells us your schedule is pretty hectic at the moment.”

“That sounds lovely. Sophie’s told me great things about your cooking,” I said, smiling at her father.

He smiled proudly. “Ah, she’s a good girl.” He opened his mouth, a question forming on his lips, but Sophie hurriedly cut him off.

“Well, we’d better be off. We don’t want to make the leading man late to his own premiere,” Sophie said briskly. She’d warned me her father was a massive film buff, and I suspected she was keen to leave before he started cross-questioning me.

We spent the limo ride to the premiere catching up on the events of the last week. Sophie had me in stitches telling me about getting stuck in a dress yesterday.

“Last week was a big week for Elliot and Alfie too. I already told you that Elliot learned how to commando crawl. Well, in other news, on Thursday morning, I did an intensive training session with Alfie to teach him ‘roll over’ and ‘sit.’ Elliot, who as you know is already a master roller,”—I knew too well, after the babysitting incident—“was watching closely, but I didn’t think anything of it since he’s fascinated with Alfie. But then, a few hours later, Elliot suddenly sat up by himself for the first time! I don’t know if it was a huge coincidence or if Elliot was taking notes in Alfie’s training session, but I’m thinking I should do joint training sessions from now on. ‘Catch’ is next on our list!”

I couldn’t help laughing at Sophie’s story, despite the pang of regret that I’d missed Alfie and Elliot reaching these milestones.

“I wish I’d been here to see that, instead of moping around in LA. All the media attention and the ‘dick in my face’ incident brought back a lot of bad memories.”

Sophie squeezed my hand sympathetically, looking at me with concern. A wave of warmth rushed up my arm at her touch.

“That sounds really hard, no pun intended. Do you want a code word if things get too much for you tonight? If you say it, I can pretend to faint or something so you have an excuse to leave?”

I smiled. “Sure, let’s make it ‘Cynthia.’”

Sophie laughed. I knew she was joking, but the image of catching a fainting Sophie in my arms was getting me hot under my collar. Playing the arrogant duke must have brushed off on me—catching fainting damsels was so nineteenth century.

The limo slowed, and I realized we were almost at the theater and that I hadn’t prepped Sophie with what to expect. I gave her a quick rundown so she wasn’t completely overwhelmed.