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“Mom was seven months pregnant and went into labour the day after the funeral. I was born two months premature. Dad says Mom was furious we couldn’t go straight home afterwards. She doesn’t like England at all—hates the weather, hates the food, and hates my dad’s relatives. I was in the hospital for just shy of two months. We went back to Florida in early September, so Kathryn and Robbie—that’s my older sister and brother—didn’t miss much of the new school year.”

Olivia pulled out her phone to check for messages. “I had no idea you were half English.”

“Yeah, I guess that explains why I adore all things British. It’s in my blood. My dad was born in Manchester but moved to Florida in the late seventies. That’s when he met Mom. He got hired by Walmart and worked his way up into management. When Walmart bought Asda supermarkets here in ’99, he was asked to manage the transition in Manchester, but he never came home.”

“That must have been tough.”

“I cried myself to sleep every night for a year. I was only six. I felt completely abandoned and didn’t understand why he didn’t take me with him. Before he left, we were inseparable. We used to watch old Doctor Who episodes on VHS for hours on end; it drove my mother bonkers.”

Alex calmed her flyaway tresses and closed the window, silencing the wheezing breaths of the passing Routemaster buses. “We flew over with Mom for a visit when I was seven. I guess it was a last ditch effort to salvage something, but it didn’t work. Their divorce was finalized a year later in 2001. When I was old enough to understand, Robbie told me that they were having issues for a long time. Apparently, they almost split in ’92, but then Mom got pregnant with me. I was an accident, so they stayed together…”

The taxi zipped around St. Paul’s Cathedral, its majestic 300-year-old dome piercing the blue sky. Alex fell silent, contemplating how something so robust and massive could be so beautiful.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Olivia looked up mid-text. “I take many things for granted here, but St. Paul’s always makes me smile.”

“I bet. It’s like that Samuel Johnson quotation: ‘When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.’ There’s so much to love here. I could never be bored of all this.” Alex steadied herself as the cab swung around a sharp corner.

Olivia smirked at Alex’s grand statement, smothering a titter behind her hair. Alex didn’t notice her seatmate’s reaction and continued with her starry-eyed commentary. “I didn’t expect it to be that magnificent; photos don’t do it justice.”

With the cathedral receding into the distance, Alex turned back to Olivia. “Anyway, Dad flew to Florida most years to see us, but I haven’t been back to England since I was seven. I haven’t visited my grandmother since then. It’s weird being sep-arated from family, especially when it’s not your choice.”

The Victoria Embankment, the northern side of the River Thames, blurred as the taxi picked up speed, passing signs announcing the approach of Waterloo Bridge. Alex leaned against the window, tapping her fingers, her eyes searching across the water. There! The National Theatre, rising above the river on the South Bank. She took a deep breath and didn’t dare blink, absorbing the view before her eyes. “I’ve waited so long to see that building in all its cement ugliness, and I mean that in the most loving way possible.”

Olivia took a quick sip of her cappuccino. “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s not the daintiest or prettiest of London architecture, but there’s something about it. If you love theatre, you’re drawn to it.”

For the first time, Alex felt a kinship with Harry’s girlfriend. She wanted Olivia to like her. They had playwriting and theatre in common, as well as a fondness for Harry. At the kitchen table during breakfast, her familiarity with Harry had concerned the brunette. Lots of girlfriends are possessive, but Olivia seemed agitated by the littlest things. Alex shrugged off her gnawing discomfort, determined to become better acquainted with her new friend and enjoy the day.

Both women slipped into silence as the taxi swept by the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, and St. James’s Park, all sights that Alex couldn’t wait to explore up close. She smiled, catching a fleeting glimpse of Buckingham Palace and the scarlet-coated Beefeaters, standing guard under their tall fuzzy hats. All those hours poring over magazine and online photos of Will and Kate, and the Queen’s home—right here! Alex leaned closer to the window just as the cab bounced over a bump in the road. She smacked her head on the taxi’s curved frame, a sharp ouch escaping from her lips.

“Sightseeing with you should come with a health warning,” said Olivia, her eyes glued to her phone.

Alex giggled, but offered no apologies for her geekiness. Maybe these London landmarks were as common to Olivia as the corner diner back home was to Alex, but seeing these long-loved places was like stepping into an enchanted storybook. She didn’t want to sully this first impression with distracted chitchat.

The lack of conversation didn’t faze Olivia one bit. Immersed in reading texts, she only looked up after a short drive through Belgravia. “We’ll be arriving in Sloane Square soon.”

Six

Alex climbed out of the taxi, squinting into the eye-watering sunlight. The Royal Court Theatre stood across the square to her left. She raised her hand to eyebrow level, blocking the sun and gasped at the regal building. “Oh, wow…”

“So you’ve spotted it,” Olivia tossed her empty cup into a bin. “I must admit coming here was somewhat selfish. I have theatre tickets waiting at the box office.”

Alex didn’t expect to visit the beautiful old theatre’s lobby so soon. Forget curbing her enthusiasm—she swooned—wobbling up the theatre’s steps.

“You’re shaking!” Olivia chuckled. “I hope you don’t pass out from joy.”

Alex knew this theatre’s history by heart. Her dog-eared copy of The Royal Court Theatre Inside Out was a gift from her dad when she was accepted into Emory’s playwriting program. Known in the industry as one of the most supportive institutions for new and young playwrights, the Royal Court exemplified what Alex held dear in writing for the stage: innovation, creativity, and an eclectic voice. She dreamt about having her work accepted, developed, and performed within its esteemed walls. It shared top spot on her list of must-see London venues along with the National Theatre.

Olivia chatted and charmed the front desk staff. Alex didn’t hover. The modern lobby invited her to peek up its stairwells and run her fingers along its walls, happy to share its secrets with someone so keen. It seemed much smaller in real life, but its intimacy made it even more captivating.

Alex hoped that someday soon she’d have the spare cash to see a play here. That was her top task for the coming week—finding a part-time job to cover such expenses. The money she saved over the past two years would cover Harry’s generously low rent for a year, but it wouldn’t stretch towards food, or fun like comic cons and plays. She couldn’t live in this theatre-rich city and not catch a production or two. If forced with the choice, she’d go hungry before she’d skip theatre; it nourished her soul more than any meal.

A guy about Alex’s age carrying a motorcycle helmet and wearing a black t-shirt, jeans, and a distressed leather jacket, strolled through the glass doors and waited behind Olivia. He unzipped the jacket, and a subtle waft of deliciousness settled in his wake. Ooh. Spicy cardamom, juniper berries, and leather; Alex guessed he was wearing Burberry Brit Rhythm. A brief spell last Christmas working in the fragrance department at Saks Fifth Avenue in Atlanta meant she could identify cologne within seconds. He raked a hand through his thick jet-black hair and caught her gaze. He smiled, his brown eyes large and dark, full of mischief and warmth.

Alex grinned back, savouring the moment.

A staff member waved the smiley stranger towards the desk. He raised an eyebrow at Alex and began speaking to the clerk. Alex wasn’t an expert at accents, but she could tell a soft Irish lilt when she heard one. Good looking, friendly, and a fan of theatre—what more could a girl want?

“Got them,” Olivia waved a pair of tickets in front of Alex and ushered her through the doors, down the steps past a red vintage Vespa and into the sun-soaked square.