Читать книгу How Not to be a Bride - Portia MacIntosh, Portia MacIntosh - Страница 11

Chapter Three

In preparation for renovating the house we just bought, Leo made me sit through a lot of TV shows about buying houses, fixing them up and decking out the interior. While it wasn’t exactly my favourite way to spend time, I have to admit I learned a lot. I learned that, when it comes to your home, one thing is very important: location, location, location.

My house in LA was in the Hollywood Hills, and it didn’t matter how many times I took in the view from my floor-to-ceiling living room, it took my breath away. This beach house, with its beach for a back garden, is also in a truly amazing location. The house I just bought with Leo, well, let’s just say the location isn’t exactly anything to write home about. We were bound by a few factors, like Leo needing to live close to work, and our financial limits, so when he found us a house that wasn’t tiny or expensive, it seemed like the perfect fit. The reason it wasn’t expensive is because it used to be a student house, situated in the heart of the student village. I didn’t realise a few things when we bought it: one was that the renovations would take so long and the other was that living in a house surrounded by students would be so noisy.

It isn’t noisy here, unless you count the lapping of the waves and the light breeze dancing around on the sand. I used to walk this beach back in the day, when everyone was stressing me out and I wanted to clear my head. There’s a little café down here called Shell’s that I used to go to, but I don’t suppose it will be open at this time in the evening.

I don’t get too far down the beach before I spot something else familiar: Chris, the lifeguard I met while he was working here four years ago. Not only is he still living here, but his golden retriever, Jay, is still helping him keep the shores safe. They’re jogging along the beach, getting closer by the second, and suddenly I feel so self-conscious.

The first time Chris met me I was wearing a tiny nightdress – or maybe it was a tiny bikini. Either way, I had a lot of flesh on show and he had to pick his jaw up from the floor. My long blonde hair was flowing back then and so was my confidence. Now, I no longer have the perfect beach body and the one I do have is hidden under a pair of trackies and a baggy, off-the-shoulder T-shirt. My hair is shorter, darker and scraped up on top of my head, and my easy confidence is MIA.

As Chris approaches I try to psych myself up. So what if I look different? Chris was just some guy I met on the beach who I fancied – I have an incredibly gorgeous boyfriend who loves me now.

I glance up at Chris as he jogs past me with a blank nod of acknowledgement – the kind you’d give to any stranger on the beach. I can’t believe it. He doesn’t recognise me. I don’t look that different, do I? I know I’m a bit out of shape, and fully clothed, which isn’t a state I think he’s ever seen me in before, and my hair is different, but I’m still me and I feel like he spent enough time with me that he should recognise me if he saw me again.

That’s twice I’ve received the cold shoulder this evening and it’s hard not to take it personally. Chris doesn’t recognise me as the girl he knew back then and, now we’re back in the beach house, maybe Leo doesn’t either.

I consider talking to Leo about how I’m feeling but by the time I get back to our room he’s fast asleep. I climb in next to him and close my eyes.