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My hands ball into fists on instinct, because the words are screaming inside my head.
Are you my fucking father?
ENGLAND
4 Years Later
VICTORIA
“Why can’t I ever get out of bed early, or on time even,” I mumble, cursing myself as I run through the train station, hearing over the loudspeaker that the train I need to be on is about to depart.
There’s no more air left in my lungs to be talking out loud to myself, as I’m madly waving at the guard not to blow that whistle, to wait for me to run that last ten steps and lunge for the doors that are about to close on me.
The smirk on his face tells me he feels sorry for me and holds his whistle out of his mouth for just the few seconds more I needed. Both feet planting on the floor inside the train carriage, the shrill sound of that whistle outside tells me I can finally breathe.
First day on the job, being late would not be the best start. Smoothing down my gray skirt, I straighten my matching tailored jacket and slip my black stilettoes out of the bag I have over my shoulder. Bending down all so gracefully, I pop my feet into them while I scoop up my black flats that are made for those late dashes for the train. They have a rubber sole and extra grip to give me more speed.
Standing up straight, I take a big deep breath in and then try not to laugh at myself. After all the craziness of what just occurred and how I must have looked to everyone that I almost bowled over as I ran past, I still managed not to spill a drop of my tea in my travel mug. Now that’s talent, if I do say so myself.
This train commute will be a good thirty minutes into the city, so after standing here for all of five minutes, I know I need to find somewhere to sit. I can see everything in here is already taken, so I head down the carriage, ever so carefully on my heels in a moving train. I don’t want to end up on my ass in front of all these people, after I managed to make it on the train in one piece and still look dignified. Looking forward, I spot a seat near the window about halfway down the carriage on the lefthand side. The gentleman in the aisle seat seems to be too interested in his phone to even notice me approaching, his legs spread out toward the window and his briefcase lying on the spare spot next to him. His body is angled away from me, and he is still transfixed on whatever is on his screen in front of him.
His body language tells me he doesn’t want to be disturbed, but I couldn’t give a shit. I need to sit, and so he needs to move.
“Excuse me, sir, is this seat taken?” He doesn’t even raise his head or turn toward me after I speak.
I’m getting impatient waiting for his reaction, and not another person on the train even acknowledges that I’m standing in the middle of the aisle looking like a total idiot.
That’s it, I’m not standing here the whole trip. Who does he think he is?
Tapping his shoulder startles him far more than I was expecting.
“Shit,” he lets slip and then straightens himself in the seat, and only then do I see the earbuds for his phone as he pulls one out to speak to me.
Oh, my freaking God!
There must be some mistake in this morning’s plan. How am I supposed to sit next to this man and concentrate on trying to get my head together for this momentous first day I’m planning on having. I can hardly breathe, let alone put a proper thought together.
His piercing blue eyes leave nothing to the imagination of what his thoughts are—pure irritation at me. But I’m still too busy admiring the chiseled jaw and lips that are drawn in a straight line. He might have shaven this morning, but already I can see the start of the faintest stubble. Oh, imagine what that would feel like on my…
“Can I help you, madam?” That gravelly tone is enough to make me want to answer all types of wrong things to that question. And that Australian accent, fuck, that’s hot! Damn, pull yourself together and act like a proper English lady. Oh, who am I kidding, this is as close as it gets to me looking the part, but I’m as far from being proper as you can get. Well, not exactly, but I’m trying. Today is my one big chance to find a step up in the world from my life that I have grown up in.
Right, speak now, silly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, but is this seat taken?” Obviously, it is, by his bag, but no matter how drop-dead handsome he is and the gravelly voice that could lure any woman into his lair, if he refuses to give up this seat, I’m going to make such a scene… or not. Because I’m not so brave, really. I mean, in my head I am, but when it comes to saying my piece to a man who is hotter than the sun, sitting in front of me, well, all that bravery flies straight out the window.
Not saying a word, he turns back to his briefcase, releasing a small huff, and then stands to move so I can take the window seat.
Holy hell!
If I thought he was imposing the way he looked up at me from his seat before, the way he is now, looking down at me from his full height, I’m melting in a wet puddle from the things he is making my body do. Stop staring, you look stupid.
“Please, take the window seat. I can’t fit my size in that small gap.” That voice makes me think things I shouldn’t.Oh, I bet your size has trouble fitting into anyone’s gap, sir.
“Thank you,” is all I can manage as I slide past him with my back to him. Totally forgetting my bag on my shoulder that, as I swing my body into the seat, bangs into him. Hearing the thud that is simultaneous with the whoosh of air leaving his chest, I don’t even want to stop and look. The bag has thrown me off balance, and I’m already dropping toward my seat, praying it looks like I’m falling with style.
“Sorry,” I manage to get out as I look at him rubbing his chest as he carefully places his briefcase on the ground in the aisle beside his seat and gracefully lowers himself on a slight angle away from me. About to put a strike against him for being a rude twat, it’s then that I realize his legs are so long he can’t fit them in behind the seat if he sits straight on. Then my mind drifts again to thoughts that a proper English lady wouldn’t ever have. Maybe this being-sophisticated thing is overrated.
Trying to settle into the rest of the trip and not disturb him, I take my phone out of my bag and madly start messaging Elouise, my best friend, who will get the biggest laugh out of my morning’s escapade, considering she is the more eloquent one between us.
