Page 11 of From LA to London, With Love

“Well, it was amazing to meet you. I’m so sorry about the breakup and the photos, but if it’s any consolation, you looked super hot in them,” Cynthia said, her eyes locked on Chris. She let out a nervous giggle and twisted her hair flirtatiously.

Breakup? Photos? My mind started to race.

Chris gave a smile that looked more like a grimace. “No problem. Enjoy your walk,” he said, his voice flat.

Cynthia turned to me. “Sophie, we should catch up again soon.”

I gave her a tight smile but didn’t say anything. After yesterday, I wasn’t keen on spending any more time with her, especially not one on one.

As soon as Cynthia walked out of earshot, we turned to each other.

“Okay, so you’re clearly someone famous I should know. Who are you?” I asked, unable to keep a slightly accusing tone from my voice.

Chris looked at me, an eyebrow raised. “I have my own questions. What on earth did Cynthia say or do to you yesterday? I have a feeling it will be a shocker.”

“Hey! Nice try. You can’t distract me that easily. You first.” I didn’t feel like reliving yesterday’s events and was itching to find out who Chris really was.

We started walking back toward home.

Chris rubbed the back of his neck. “So, I’m Chris Trent.” He swallowed, watching my face for a reaction.

I stared blankly at him. That name didn’t ring any bells. “I’m sorry. I’m going to need more than that.”

“Muscle Man?” he asked, still looking nervous.

That sounded vaguely familiar. Had Josh tried to drag me to the cinema to see a Muscle Man movie when I was pregnant? In fact, I was pretty sure Josh had a thing for Muscle Man.

“Okay, I have heard of that. So, you’re an actor. Sorry, I haven’t been to the cinema for ages. I’m clearly out of the loop. And what were those photos Cynthia mentioned?”

Chris went bright red and bit his lip. “Some…umm…private photos I sent to my ex were posted online a few months ago, just after we broke up.”

Crap. I hadn’t thought it would be something so serious. I’d been expecting photos of a minor wardrobe malfunction exposing his six pack, or him making out with a gorgeous supermodel in public. But based on his expression, the photos were a lot more revealing than that. My mind went into the gutter, speculating about the subject matter of the photos, but I quickly shut it down.

“I’m sorry. That’s really awful.” I looked at him sympathetically.

“Yeah, thanks. It’s been a tough couple of months. I moved over here partly to get some distance from it all, but unfortunately, it’s hard to escape the internet. Anyway, enough about me. How did Cynthia offend you?”

He was clearly uncomfortable talking about the photos. My heart went out to him. Chris seemed so confident, but now I was seeing a more vulnerable side of him.

I maneuvered the pram around a hole in the path before telling him what happened at the mothers’ group. It was his turn to look sympathetic. I suspected that, like me with the photos, he’d thought it would be something more lighthearted.

“That’s terrible. I’m sorry you have to deal with people making comments like that.” He seemed genuinely upset, his big brown eyes looking at me with concern.

“It is shitty. You’d be surprised how often it happens too. And having Elliot subjected to it as well makes me sick. I know it’s no excuse, but that’s why I wasn’t looking where I was going when we smashed into you. I was coming back from Cynthia’s and still furious.”

“That’s totally understandable. And look, don’t feel bad about the collision. It’s no wonder you were distracted. I’m actually glad you guys rammed me. It’s been nice to meet some locals. Well, you and Elliot, not Cynthia.” He grimaced again before continuing. “I don’t really know anyone over here, only a few celebrity acquaintances who I wouldn’t exactly call friends.”

I smiled at him. For a hot, rich, famous white guy, he seemed surprisingly friendly, open, down-to-earth, and…inoffensive. There was no mansplaining, no sleazy comments, no self-entitled statements. Maybe we could be friends after all.

Not in the mood to talk about yesterday’s events, or entrenched racism, more generally, I changed the subject. “So, are you here for work, or an extended vacation?”

“Work. I’m filming a period drama in a few weeks’ time and came early to work on my British accent and escape LA. What do yow thoynk of eet?” he asked, in a terrible British accent that sounded like some bizarre combination of a Texan and a Brummie.

My expression must have betrayed my concern. Chris laughed.

“Okay, I purposely made that bad. But I’m not sure my accent when I’m actually trying is much better, to be honest. I’ve got a dialect coach coming over every morning, so hopefully by the time filming starts it will have improved markedly.” He rubbed his forehead, not looking optimistic.

“I feel your pain. When I first moved to New York, I received so many blank stares because of my accent, it was almost like we were speaking different languages. I had to learn to ‘speak American’ to get by.”