“I told my parents about you.”

“Youー.”

“I was eager for them to know; I’m sorry,” Weston said, thinking maybe he had gone ahead of himself.

The frown on his face made Tilda react immediately, “no, Weston, I’m okay with it; I’m even quite happy.”

They cuddled up under his sheets in Weston’s bedroom, there was nothing wrong except it was only 7 PM, but the two lovers just wanted to lay and rest there although the night was still young.

Tilda contemplated Weston’s face as if it was the first time; she knew every wrinkle and freckle. Every twitch of Weston’s facial expression and the pitches of his voice hummed like a melody in her ears.

Their love was not one at first sight, but respect from recognition, amongst the crowd at the Lone Horizon party recognized each other as a shoe finding its pair. They searched for a way of approaching one another naturally, and it was the banalest of the situation that brought them together.

Fifty centimeters separated Weston Edmonds, who cleansed his hands with an antiseptic wash and Tilda Brentwood, who stood alone holding her glass of champagne for the first time in the evening.

“A maniac, huh?”

Weston turned to face her and gulped, “excuse me?”

Up close, Tilda was breathing, taking with her caramel skin, light brown eyes. The see-through lace dress married every inch of her body like a second skin.

Tilda pointed to the tiny bottle he was holding.

“Oh, parties are just soー.”

“Dirty,” Tilda finished.

Weston didn’t know what to reply as he looked at the woman from head to toe. Their eyes had crossed throughout the evening, and now she was speaking to him.

“Exactly,” Weston replied.

“You know who you make me think of?” Tilda said, posing her glass on a tray that past.

“Who?”

“Inspector Monk,” Tilda replied.

“Monk? Oh, Monk the series, yeah, we’re cousins. It runs in the family; we’re all freaks.”

Tilda laughed.

Weston smiled, “I bet you want to run off now; you can. Please don’t hesitate to bail out whenever you feel like it; I won’t hold you back. Running would be the first thing I would do if I met a bloke like myself.”

Tilda stared at him, “do you have a name?”

“Oh, Weston, Weston Edmonds. I know what you think the man has two surnames.”

“No, I was thinking of shoes.”

“Well, you’re not far off, my father Charles loved the shoes so much he gave me as a sacrifice to the brand by naming me, Weston.”

“Are you serious?”

Weston put on a fake grave face, “yes, unfortunately.”

Tilda turned her head to the side to giggling again. Weston observed her; she had a beautiful laugh that fainted in a whisper.

Once Tilda stopped, she gazed at him with amused eyes.

Weston smiled a lot for sure the creases around his mouth and eyes attested it. His facial features appeared hard at first hand and his expression stern with his cheekbones. Still, as soon as he spoke, one was appeased by the gentleness of his voice.

Strawberry blond, tall, broad-shouldered, and with a sober dress sense, the man had a few pleasing traits.

What Tilda already liked was his stare, straightforward and honest.

The gaze Weston had upon her also pleased her, he didn’t look at Tilda as if she was a celebrity but like a woman he wanted to know. Seeing how the woman eyed him, Weston decided to give Tilda another opportunity to leave for if she stayed, he knew his heart and mind would start to conspire.

“You still have time to bail out. I’m not very good at conversations, and I assure you I’m smarter than I look, it’s just that standing next to a woman as beautiful as you, makes me say the first rubbish my mouth accepts to let out.”

“My mother called me Tilda after the rice.”

Weston froze for a second, not knowing whether to laugh or not.

“I’m kidding.”

Weston laughed.

“Not,” Tilda added, making him freeze again.

Tilda’s lips twitched, ready to giggle, and both burst into a fit.

“What’s so funny?”

“I don’t know why are you laughing?”

“Because you are.”

There was nothing hilarious, but that’s how people connect with the simple silly things.

“There you are,” Theresa said, grabbing Tilda by the shoulders.

“Theresaー.”

“Some people want to see you, remember?” Theresa dragged Tilda away by the shoulders.

Tilda looked back on Weston, who gave a light wave, and there she felt it. What was happening was wrong; she wasn’t supposed to leave Weston that way, but it was too late duty called.

Weston, too felt like he had missed something important like the call you wait for days, which goes to voicemail because you went to open the door.

Weston, who are you kidding do you sincerely believe she could be interested in you?

Half an hour later, Weston left the party to take a taxi home. The sound of clicking heels coming from behind made him turn.

“Mind if we share a cab?” Tipsy Tilda said.

The woman’s question made no sense in Weston’s mind.

When did celebrities need to share a taxi?

But as he gazed into her eyes, it didn’t matter the man wanted to be with Tilda anywhere at any time.

“Sure,” Weston said, opening the door to the cab for her.

Tilda gave him a wink before climbing in the cab.

It was audacious, and it was something shy Tilda wouldn’t have done if the glasses of champagne she took down didn’t give her the courage.

“Where are we going? The tired cab driver asked.

Tilda and Weston gave each other an accomplice smile. Where most people in such circumstances would find the situation complicated, in one gaze, nothing had ever been so simple for Weston.

“Montpelier Square, Knightsbridge, SW7 1JY, ” Weston replied, and the rest became history.

Now they laid staring into each other’s eyes as though things had always been this way when in reality, they’re idle was a mere three weeks old.

An encounter without flying sparks, glitter, or shooting stars dancing in circles around them still as their eyes met in the black cab like at the party they knew they didn’t want to be apart.

Weston kissed her hand, and Tilda returned the kiss with the same gesture.

“About my parents, my mother is a fan of yours. She’s coming to see your concert in 2 weeks. They want to meet you.”

“I want to meet them too.”

Tilda’s answer made Weston wonder why it was so complicated before. In his entire life, Tilda was the second woman he wished to present to his parents.

With Susanna, Weston waited a year before introducing her. Susanna, on the other hand, wasn’t eager to meet the Edmonds. Susanna was the type of woman who married the man and ditched the family,

Weston witnessed how Susanna played pretend with compliments and helpfulness only to sigh with relief when his parents left whenever they came to visit.

At the time, Susanna’s attitude left Weston perplexed. Weston noticed she was the same with the few friends he had. Susanna adapted her personality to the environment and people, soon Weston realized she was playing pretend with him.

The breakup felt like the end of a prison sentence, Weston could breathe again.

Susanna hadn’t deceived him; he deceived himself by pursuing a relationship that held no meaning to realize he spent a year in a relationship where he breathed in apnea.

“Oh, wait, my mother gave me something for you.”

Weston jumped out of bed, Tilda laid her head on the one hand and watched the naked man and his butt cheeks leave. It was one of her favorite moments; she never got enough of it.

A few minutes later, Weston was back with a small tray of muffins and milk.

“I brought you milk, but if you want, I can make you some herbal tea.

This man was the one she loved; Weston was thoughtful, always looking out for her well being. Tilda burst inside; she couldn’t hold it any longer; a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Weston said, wiping the tear from her cheek in a caress.

“It’s just I’m so happy; you make me so happy, that’s why I love you.”

An image flashed before Weston’s eyes, he was shaving in his bath, his hair was short, and Tilda came to give him a back hug. Her hair was much longer, jet black and straight. She said things he couldn’t hear, but he could see himself smiling in the mirror as he held her hand to his chest, and there he saw them the rings on their fingers. A feeling of well being filled him and Weston found himself consumed by it.

“Weston?”

“I love you,” he said, kissing her.

He put the tray on the floor and hugged her, uncertain whether it was the fruit of his unconfessed desires. All he knew was he wanted the flash to be their reality.

The man wished Tilda as his wife, and as the mother of his children, he desired to grow old and die holding her hand.

“Westonㅡ.”

The man was out of control, already naked once more; they made love under the covers. If bodies could explode, Tilda would burst into a million stars. The woman did not know one could honor her body in such a way. Weston opened the door to a level Tilda was unaware of, together they felt as though they reached nirvana.

The sport opened their chakras and appetites; they ate and fell asleep shortly after 9 PM.

Woken by flashing lights, Weston walked to his window. Cars were parked everywhere, Weston could see men waiting and talking amongst themselves. He took his glasses from the nightstand, and there he saw the equipment. His alarm clock said it was 4:30 AM, did paparazzi work till four?

The answer was at Weston’s window.

“Tilda, Tilda, wake up. I think we have a problem.”

“Don’t worry, Theresa will take care of everything,” groggy Tilda replied.

Weston didn’t understand; she wasn’t panicking; instead, she fell back asleep.

A feeling that something was off crept back to claim him.

Why did he get the impression Tilda knew the paparazzi would come?

The scene felt like a déjà vu.