Ten Years

Chapter Twelve

September 2016

Yet another night with no recollection of the details, just the big lines. Like a movie watched once a long time ago. Only, this was not a movie and definitely not a long time ago. It was yesterday evening.

"I think I'm still drunk," Edward mumbled to himself. He growled and hid his eyes from the piercing sunshine rays filtering through the open curtains. The sound of water from the shower reached his ears reminding him of how thirsty and nauseous he was. This was not how he wanted his weekend to end.

Anna stepped out of the bathroom minutes later wearing her silky kimono – a gift from Edward on their engagement trip to Kyoto. She stared at him for a cold second, but her piercing look didn't strike him anymore. He knew she was pissed about what happened yesterday at the party. And truth to be told, he was not annoyed by it. She was getting on his nerves as well.

Anna and Edward met on the set of 'Law and Prejudice', the American hit TV show that had catapulted him into the spotlights– the eight and last season was about to be broadcasted in the UK. He played the broody detective stuck in a small seashore village; she was the A-list actress star with an Oscar under her belt guest-starring in the sixth season.

Within weeks of meeting each other they became inseparable, and one was rarely seen without the other. She had fallen in love with the ambitious, charismatic actor that Edward had become, and by the end of last season, they were engaged.

His face had become more and more recognisable as the series gained international acclaim and awards for best tv show, best actor and best screenplay. His engagement to Anna had added fuel to the fire, and paparazzi gave them no respite.

But Edward had lived and breathed Detective Henry for so long, he grew tired of it all. Tired of playing the same character for eight years, of playing in the same blockbuster movies, of playing the prequels and the sequels and the reboots.

Edward wanted a chance to break free from it all, to reconnect with himself. He longed for the intimate plays and small productions, the camaraderie and even the struggles of his earlier days. His job had given him the financial stability to take some risks, to not rush into the next job. He could afford to take a break and test the waters in his home city, to see if he still belonged.

"You should feel lucky you have scripts lined up for you instead of romanticising a life you left behind," Anna had told him when he opened up about moving away from the constant Hollywood scrutiny and relocating to London for a while.

Despite her reluctance, the idea of moving back continued to nag at him and occupy his mind. The more he talked about it, the less inclined she was to move with him. At some point, defeated, she suggested a trial period. He would go to London; she would stay in Los Angeles and visit him between projects. It had seemed like the perfect compromise, but it was the first crack in their relationship.

Last week was her first time in London since he had moved here in July. They had spent their first days locked up in the rented flat he occupied in Hampstead Village, unavailable to the world and living off delivery meals. But their reunion had been anything but smooth. The little fires and sparks of seeing each other after so long made room for pent-up resentment and disappointment from both ends.

They had tried to spare themselves the uncomfortable truth, but the crossroads they had hit was staring them in the face. Yesterday, at Ben's party, an argument grew from nowhere after someone asked him and Anna about their wedding plans. The hushed conversation that followed left him questioning everything. To the untrained eye, she remained composed – she always did. Only the flush of red creeping over her pale skin betrayed her. And then words flew from her mouth he never thought she would say in front of a live audience and she stormed off, leaving him there surrounded by his mates, and despair polluting his heart.

"I need more coffee," he groaned, rubbing at his pounding temple.

Anna looked at him as if she wished him to vanish, to turn into dust, and not for the first time he questioned himself if he had ever been in love with her.

"There's some in the kitchen," she answered, her tone clipped.

"Anna, is everything okay?" He regretted the question as soon as it left his mouth.

Her brows shot up in answer. She pursed her lips and turned to the full-length mirror, dropping her kimono on the floor. He felt a twitch of desire as his eyes fell on the graceful lines of her back. Her short hair in a perfect pixie blond left her neck exposed, begging to be kissed. His eyes travelled to her lower back as she arched forward and applied liquid eyeliner with the precision of a surgeon.

She slipped into lace panties, its colour matching her always red lips, and surveyed her image in the mirror. The twitch between his legs grew uncomfortable as he caught a glimpse of her small and perky breasts. This never failed to arouse him.

He cleared his throat. "Anna, I wish you would just talk to me."

She let out something resembling a frustrated huff and took a moment to look at him, really look at him. "Not now, Edward." She was close to raising her voice, something she never did. It was unladylike. Undignified. But she had failed to keep the resentment from her voice.

She sprayed a fine cloud of Elizabeth Arden perfume and walked through the cloud of white tea, sage, and musk.

Edward rose off the bed and headed into the bathroom. The plush vintage Berber carpet felt soft against his bare feet. He had found it in a little shop in Camden Market selling traditional handicrafts from Morocco, a country he had wanted to visit ever since he met that girl on the plane ten years ago.

So much had passed since his first trip across the pond. He never thought Detective Henry was to become such an iconic character when he arrived at LA after a long, tiresome, and frustrating bus ride. He never thought he would meet the most beautiful soul on the plane, only to say goodbye to her, once and for all.

Leïla. He liked the way it sounded in his head. He wondered what she had become, where she was now. Still in Morocco? Was she married, with kids? He had often thought about her over the past years, even looked her up on Facebook when it became that big thing where people reconnected with lost friends and befriended new ones. But there had been hundreds of profiles with her name and it never went further than that.

He had spent countless nights thinking about her, about what he would say if he met her again.

If he was honest with himself, he had never summoned enough courage to really look her up. Back then, starting something with her had seemed an impossible illusion – or so he had convinced himself ever since then.

After a quick shower, he headed to the kitchen where Anna was seated. "I'm going for a walk," he said. She did not lift her head from her phone.

Edward stepped out of the building and closed his eyes. He had a splitting headache and the sun was too bright, but he needed the fresh air. He put on his old Rayban aviator sunglasses and remembered they were expected at his parents for dinner. Blowing out a frustrated breath, he composed a text to Anna reminding her of their commitment.

Edward walked out into the street, a hoodie covering his head and the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach weighing him down like a massive block of granite.