Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

He rises above me and slowly slides in deep. Our mouths fall open in the overwhelming pleasure of each other’s bodies. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed him.

“I love you.”

His eyes search mine.

“Spence…?”

“I love you too, angel.”

Our lips crash and we cling to each other as tight as we can as we try desperately to banish the fear of losing one another ever again. I don’t know what kind of Hell we’ve just been through, but now I can see a glimmer of light at the end of the dark tunnel.

If we hold each other tight enough, we might just make it through.

* * *

“Are you ready to do this?” I ask him.

Spencer shrugs, and I take his hand in mine. We’ve just landed at Heathrow Airport and we’re just about to walk out into the arrivals lounge. I already know that the paparazzi are waiting for us. Security have called the boys to let them know, so I take my mother’s ring off my right hand and slip it onto my wedding finger.

“What are you doing?” He frowns.

“Giving them something to talk about. If they think we’re already married, they won’t notice when we do actually get engaged. And besides, from now on I plan on giving them as much bogus material to publish as possible. I want the world to know that they can’t trust what they read in this trash.”

He rolls his eyes. “We’re not getting engaged, Charlotte. That ship well and truly sailed when I threw a quarter of a million pounds over a fucking cliff.”

I smile up at him. Anthony, Wyatt and I searched that damn cliff for two days looking for my ring… with no such luck. Spencer wouldn’t help us, of course. He stayed on the deck by the pool drinking cocktails. He said that the ring was bad luck and a sign that he should never get married. I plan on proving him wrong if it’s the last thing that I ever do.

“Have you got a ring you can put on your ring finger?” I ask.

He looks at me, deadpan. “No, because I’m not getting married.”

We’ve had a good week in Santorini—a wonderful week—and even though I know he’s still holding a grudge against me, we’re together, we still love each other, and every day we get a little bit closer to where we used to be. I really messed things up between us, and every time he tells me we are never getting married, I silently freak out.

“Okay.”

“I fucking mean it,” he whispers as we come into view of the photographers.

“Charlotte!” the photographers all cry. “Over here, over here.” I smile at the cameras as I grip Spencer’s hand with my right hand and wave with my left. He keeps his head down and concentrates on moving us forward.

“The car is out the front,” Wyatt says as he ushers us forward towards the doors.

“She’s wearing a ring!” someone calls out, and they all push forward.

“Charlotte, did you marry Spencer Jones? What does your father think about this? What about William? Have you seen your lover Penelope Prescott, Spencer? Were you on your honeymoon?”

The black Mercedes wagon comes into view, and pulls up by the kerb. Spencer opens the door, and then hesitates when he sees my father and Edward already in the car.

“Get in,” I urge as the cameras are clicking away.

Spencer gets in and slams the door shut, and I hold my breath. The car pulls away to escape the madness.

“Hello, Spencer,” Edward says.

“Fuck off,” Spencer mutters. “Drop me home now.”

Edward and my father exchange looks. “We want to talk to you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got nothing to say.” He keeps his eyes cast out the window.