The Road Trip: The heart-warming new novel from the author of The Flatshare and The Switch, Beth O'Leary [best young adult book series .txt] 📗

‘You’d have to trust me,’ I whisper, so quiet he ducks closer to hear me. ‘And I’d have to . . . earn that.’

‘I trust you,’ he says immediately, but I shake my head.

‘I’ll show you,’ I say. ‘I’d never – what happened with Etienne – I mean, what happened before . . .’ I take a shaky, frustrated breath. ‘The flirting, the texts. It was so stupid. I think I was afraid of the power you had over me. How much I loved you, how much it hurt when you chose Marcus. Etienne was an out. Proof someone else would want me. It was . . .’

‘It was then,’ Dylan says, pulling me against him. ‘And this is now.’

I cry then, my face pressed into the stiff cotton of his collar and the warmth of his skin. He holds me, and the sensation of his arms around me is almost more than I can bear.

I shouldn’t be letting him see me like this, some part of my brain says. But I’ve come a long way in the last year. I know better than to listen to that voice.

‘I love you,’ I say through the tears. ‘I loved you even when I hated you. I loved you even when I wanted to do anything else. Dylan, I can’t . . .’ I sob into his shoulder. ‘I can’t bear it, the idea of having you, this, us . . . I couldn’t live through it if it ended again.’

He holds me even tighter. ‘Then we won’t let it.’

‘I’m not . . . I’m not the person I was,’ I tell him, my voice thick with tears. ‘I’m so different now.’

‘I am too. At least I bloody well hope I am,’ he says, making me laugh. ‘So we’ll get to know each other again. We’ll date. I’ll take you for dinner. It won’t be like last time because I’m very poor now, you know, so that’ll help.’

I’m really laughing now, and I sit back, because I’m in danger of getting snot on his tuxedo. Dylan pulls off the napkin we wrapped around a few truffles for Rodney and hands it to me. I take it gratefully.

‘Can you hear someone talking?’ Dylan says, cocking his head.

I pause. He’s right: there’s a quiet voice coming from inside the bridal preparation chamber. I stand, moving towards the door to hear better.

‘Though the sea, with waves continual, does eat the earth . . .’

Dylan comes to stand beside me, a smile growing on his face.

‘What?’ I whisper.

‘It’s the audiobook,’ Dylan whispers back. ‘Marcus chose him the worst book he could think of.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The Faerie Queene,’ Dylan says, grinning. ‘He’s listening to The Faerie Queene.’

I lean in and catch a line –

‘For there is nothing lost that may be found if sought.’

Dylan

Rodney is in quite good spirits, considering, though in rather urgent need of what Deb would call an extreme-desperation break. Once we’ve seen to our captive and met Cherry and Krishna in the wedding suite to give them the clothes they need, Addie and I head back to the main hall through a labyrinth of corridors, our fingers still interlinked.

We’ve barely let each other go all day. Never again will I take for granted the feeling of Addie Gilbert holding my hand in hers.

When we reach our table, Grace is sitting in my seat, leaning towards Marcus, who’s talking, eyes on the floor, visibly uncomfortable. Addie and I hang back for a moment, watching them before they clock us. It’s so good to see Grace looking healthy again – even a year ago, with her sitting like that, I’d have been able to see the harsh ridges of her spine.

‘Do you think she’s getting her apology?’ Addie says to me quietly.

‘I hope so.’

‘Do you think . . . Marcus and Grace . . . ?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know if he’s ready, yet, or, you know . . . worthy of her.’ I glance sideways at Addie, suddenly conscious that I’m talking about a woman I once slept with, here, but she nods her agreement, forehead puckered in a frown that makes me want to press a kiss to the space between her brows.

Grace spots us then; she rises and hugs Addie first – Darling, she says, you look divine – and they exclaim over one another’s dresses and new hair and slip into the easy conversation of friends who’ve spent too long apart.

‘Oh, my book?’ Grace says, tilting her chin back as she laughs. ‘Burned. Quite literally.’

‘Burned?’ Addie says, eyes widening. ‘But you’ve been writing that book for – for the whole time I’ve known you! And hey, you told me I was in chapter seven!’

Grace reaches to rest her hand against Addie’s cheek. ‘Adeline. You deserve to be chapter one.’

Addie starts to laugh. ‘How does everything you say sound so profound?’

‘Expensive education,’ Grace says, with a languid smile. ‘No, the book had to go. I shan’t say I’ll never write another, but that book was never really about the summer of our lives. It was all about a man. And once I’d realised that, I simply couldn’t stand to look at it.’

Addie tugs her further away from the table, where Terry is now singing what sounds like some sort of sea shanty with Kevin.

‘I tried reworking, restarting, everything,’ Grace continues. ‘But it was still his book.’

She lifts her chin ever so slightly towards Marcus.

‘Ah,’ Addie says.

‘Quite,’ says Grace, with a sigh. ‘And he certainly hasn’t earned a whole book to himself, has he? So I burned it. I thought it might help with the . . .’ She waves a hand at her chest.

‘The loving him?’ Addie supplies.

‘Yes,’ Grace says heavily. ‘That. Because I’m quite sick of loving a man who’s really just an absolutely massive tosser.’

Addie burst out laughing. ‘Did you tell him that?’

‘Well, I was all ready to,’ Grace says, ‘and then he apologised. Marcus. I have to confess to you, Addie, I’ve imagined this moment countless times, countless, and then, just when I give up hope .