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To: Juliet
From: Romeo
10.23am
I’ve thought over your offer, and as much as I dislike you I can’t help but smile over your sheer desperation. I have decided that the one thing my heart desires above all, is to have my own Art studio. If you can pull that out of the bag on this very constricted timescale, then, Capulet, I’ll be yours for a whole month not just the week.
Sayonara Angry Bird.
Avery squealed as Myla read it aloud. “Thank fuck he isn’t some sex crazed weirdo, this is the best news, Myla, all he wants is an Art studio,” she said joyfully and started twerking on the spot.
“How is this good news? Where do I find an Art studio, huh?”
Smiling she raised her hands in the air. “Moi, of course. That guy I had an affair with last year, Stavros? He owns several and I happen to know one is never in use. It was our rendezvous place,” she whispered with a wink. Rolling her eyes, Myla feigned shock at Avery’s indiscretion.
Digging out her cell phone, Avery began to type away with such speed, Myla thought she saw a trail of smoke fly from her fingers. Seconds later her phone wailed loudly as a message came through.
With excitable eyes and a wide smile, she jumped up and down and squealed at Myla. “Tell Romeo
it’s a done deal. He has his own art studio for the next six months.”
CHAPTER NINE
The weather had taken a sudden drastic turn, much like Myla’s mood. Gone, was the sunshine that had poured from the bright blue sky and blanketed itself over London for the most part of the morning. Now it was replaced with dark grey, angry clouds and a gentle tapping on the cab window started, which out of nowhere, turned into a loud pitter patter. It sounded like a swarm of angry bees attacking the window as Myla looked out. She watched the passersby run for cover into shop doorways as others opened umbrellas and puddles began to gather rapidly on the sidewalk.
“Plaster a smile on, for God sake’s, Myla. I thought you would be happy?” Avery said doing up her mac in the seat next to her.
“I am happy, Avery. I’m just not relishing the thought of coming face to face with him again, after last night,” she mumbled. Her eyes became transfixed on the red light at the junction they had now stopped at.
“You won’t be doing it alone this time, I’ll be with you and so will Stavros. Once Rain Man sees this studio, he will be kissing your God damned feet,” Avery said and pulled out her compact to check her lipstick for the fourth time in ten minutes.
“Why are you so nervous about seeing Stavros, Avery?” Myla quizzed suspiciously with a raised eyebrow when she turned to look at her.
Dabbing a tissue across her brow, Avery ran her tongue over her teeth before dumping her compact back in her purse. “I’m not nervous,” she shrugged, “I want him to see what he is missing, I want him to drop to his knees and beg me to be his again.”
“He was never yours, Avery. He was a married man, someone who you had a fling with for a year until the lies and deceit became too much for him.”
“That’s right, Sherlock,” she replied sarcastically, “but I know his wife left him last month for a younger model so no–”
“–a younger model? Stavros is only thirty, how old is the man she left him for?” Myla cut in with a look of shock clouding her face.
She laughed and ran a brush through her blonde hair. “He is eighteen,” she replied nonchalantly.
Myla clamped a hand across her mouth as she sat shaking her head. “Oh, my life. Eighteen? Where did she meet him, bloody playgroup?”
“Myla, please make sure you bring it up in front of him. I want to be the one to wrap my arms around him and comfort him when he crumbles to the floor,” Avery replied with a wicked grin forming on her lips.
“That’ll be nine pound, eighty pence, please,” cut in the cab driver, turning around to face them with a crooked smile. Myla blew out a long uneven breath as Avery paid the cab fare.
“Here goes,” she muttered. She began to get out the back of the cab, stepping straight into a puddle. The instant shock of the cold water that seeped over her flats and drowned her feet, had her hopping on the sidewalk like a lunatic.
“I told you to wear heels,” Avery sang coming up alongside Myla on Lots Road. Her smile faltered, when her eyes fell to someone or something that Myla hadn’t yet noticed.
“Agapi mou!” The Greek Stavros, who was dressed impeccably in a gun metal grey suit and holding an oversized golfing umbrella above him, blurred past Myla’s vision.
“Stavros,” Avery gasped. She chucked her arms around his neck, nearly knocking the poor man to the ground.
“You look so well.” He grinned. He pulled away to let his eyes slide up and down Avery’s figure. “Thank you,” she coyly replied and fluttered her eyelashes.
