Nicholas - My Missing Pieces

← Previous Chapter: Chapter 9 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 11“That’s everything, Nick.” I nod, at Alfie, watching his eyes bounce between me and Briony as she sits astride the motorbike across the car park. “Are you sure you want to do this, Sir? Here to Switzerland’s a long ride. Especially for someone who was sick a week ago. You can still ride with me.” Briony crosses her eyes at me as she yawns, and the words of that night come to mind, unbidden. ‘You’re not just my lover you’re my wife.’ I blow out a breath and shift my attention back to Alfie, narrowing my eyes on the older man. “We’re to be married, remember? The least I can do is ensure she makes it to the altar.” Alfie nods, ignoring the sarcasm, as if that statement doesn’t sound completely farfetched. I knew I shouldn’t have answered his question about the wedding colors. The fact that I think he may be on to something, is neither here nor there. I blame Evie. After the trip to Newstead Abbey, my mind had folded itself into an accordion of indecision. I called Evie merely to help me get the creases out. You could have bowled me over with a feather when she crowed, “It’s about time you sorted out your feelings for her, Nicky!” If it hadn’t been for the fact that Evie promised to host a sleepover for the boys that weekend, I would likely still be on the phone. As if the hour and a half she spent trying to convince me to ‘take a chance or remain alone’ hadn’t been alarming enough. Needless to say, there were more questions than answers that day. “Well, see you in a few days, sir. Unless you want me to hang back, in the event of an emergency?” Alfie asks hopefully, his thick brows rising over his dark sunglasses. I shake my head, stepping back from the van. “If we need help, we’ll contact the moto club. You know what to do if something happens.” He nods, and we part ways as I begin walking in Briony’s direction. It’s only been a week since we awakened together in my room. And, contrary to popular belief, sleeping in the same bed does not result in a tangle of arms and legs in the morning. More of a back to back huddle that, while embarrassing, is far less awkward than the alternative. What is awkward? Being sick, and having complete recall over every moment. The terrible moments, like threatening to spank your dear friend and employee, or wanting to run around naked, and dumping water over your overheated body. I’m still trying to find the original scientists responsible for the B12 shot. They deserve a piece of my mind. However, that means I also recall all of the wonderful moments…of which, there are many. I’ve spent the past week picking my favorites, replaying them repeatedly in my head. Being called Nicky boy was wonderful. Nicky love was beyond imagination, and my personal favorite..lover..that one still lives in my dreams. Then, there was Briony’s adorable rambling when she was so exhausted she couldn’t keep her eyes open, but she refused to go down without a fight. Priceless. The feeling of leaning close as she slurred her way through that poem, like a love addled Captain Jack? Well, I’ve yet to recover. And, to hear her laugh as she collapsed in a heap on my stomach, and promptly fell asleep while talking? I was done for. True, waking up the following morning was a jarring experience. Being huddled back to back for warmth was probably the most innocent, and least embarrassing part of the whole ordeal. The way she did the whole morning after scream of shock, while Alfie sat at the desk across from us, sipping his coffee? It’s something I’m sure we’re going to laugh at forever. At some point. Maybe when Briony finally lets us have a talk about it. Then, Alfie decided to do a rundown, while Briony was in the toilet. She overheard Alfie saying if I hadn’t insisted on purchasing the motorbike, I wouldn’t have to spend a ridiculous amount of money shipping it priority to Switzerland. I’d laughed that the fee was perfectly reasonable. However, Briony sprung out at that moment saying that she would just bring the bike herself. I became a bit distracted at how she’d drawn her hair up into a high bun. Yet, as her words sunk in, I sat straight up in the bed. “Do you mean to say you want to ride Doris all the way to Switzerland, love?” I calmly asked, despite the rising alarm. Briony squinted at me in confusion. “Who’s Doris?” My brows lifted off my forehead. “The motorbike love, don’t you remember?” One of Briony’s eyebrows rose in response. “Remember what?” I sputtered as I looked at her in disbelief. “Remember what? You insisted we name the motorbike Doris.” As my eyes widened, she frowned in confusion. “I did?” “Yes, during our conversation last night.” Briony’s confusion deepened as she raised her brows. “We never spoke about the motorcycle, Nick. I know you were probably too out of it to remember—” I looked over at Alfie in shock, as he shrugged his shoulders in bafflement. “—but, you weren’t very talkative last night. You were doing your best imitation of the Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” I rolled my eyes. “No, darling, after that. When you—” I glanced over at Alfie, and when he stared back at me, I cleared my throat, pausing until he excused himself from the room. As soon as the door closed behind him, I took one look at Briony’s bewildered expression, and took her hand. “Do you remember reciting a poem last night?” She scrunched her face, slowly saying, “That sounds…vaguely familiar. It was just before I fell asleep.” She then ducked her head sheepishly. “Sorry about that. I tried to make it until Alfie arrived…” I waved a hand dismissively. “No worries, love. So, you don’t remember anything after that? Not naming the bike Doris, or giving me a new nickname? Or getting marrie—” As Briony looked blankly back at me, my mouth dropped open as cold realization dawned. Briony really doesn’t remember. I was flooded with such a mix of emotions, that I didn’t notice when Briony removed her hand from mine. It was only when I felt her smooth back my hair with her cool palm on my forehead, that I looked down at her. The concern reflected in her soft eyes rendered me mute. “You don’t have a fever anymore, but maybe you should spend the rest of the day in bed,” she suggested. Despite my displeasure at the thought, she insisted on it. And, since Alfie was able to care for all the details, she then headed for the door to get ready for the day. I sighed and stared out of the window through the trees. Maybe we needed to clear our minds before trying to discuss what happened the night before. I took small consolation in the fact that as she began to walk out of the door, she turned back and smiled. “Doris, huh? I like it. Sounds like a good old reliable woman. Or like the lady with the smoker’s voice from that cartoon movie about monsters.” Briony chuckled, closing the door behind her, while I scrubbed a hand down my face. She’d said the very same words the night before. I heaved a sigh, torn between the relief of not having yet to face what we’d said to each other the night before, and an overwhelming sense of disappointment. Does a confession count if one party doesn’t remember it? I rubbed a hand through my hair in frustration. Maybe it’s not the time. Maybe it should be enough to know how we feel, and just continue to love each other as the friends we obviously are. I’m sure, after a while, even I’ll forget those words. ‘Fine. I accept, Bri. You’re not just my lover you’re my wife.’ She laughed sleepily from her position curled against my chest. ‘Doesn’t that make me, your Life?’ Overwhelmed with the emotion of it, I pretended to sulk. “That may be accurate, but it hardly seems fair, love. You get to be my Life, and I get to be what? The Lusband?’ Her throaty laugh came out in warm puffs as she slurred, ‘No, babe. A husband and lover? That makes you my Hover.’ As I laughed with her, my heart had soared higher than ever. I’d never seen anyone laugh and snore until that moment. Yet, the way Briony managed to do both made me want to draw her closer and protect her—protect this with everything I have. I slapped a palm to my forehead. I’m an idiot. How can I go back to being friends after that? For one hour, I’d glimpsed the other side of this friendship. The answer is, I can’t. Staring out of the window beyond the grove of trees, to the green field just beyond, I felt so empty. The way forward is as unclear as trying to find a way back is ill advised. How do I know everything Briony said wasn’t just sleep talk? I don’t know. Yet, if what a person says subconsciously is anything to go on, then I have ample reason to try to bring us back to the other side. Permanently. That realization made it easy to decide that if Briony’s going to ride Doris across a continent, there’s no way she’ll do it alone. Between the wrap up of shooting in Nottinghamshire and planning, Briony and I outlined the route and planned stops along the way. Now we’re finally ready to get underway. The rest of the cast, and the crew who are left to break down the sets are staying another night and flying in to Switzerland tomorrow night. Briony and I won’t arrive until the day after, on Sunday. It’s hard to believe it’s only been a week since the absolute best moment of my life occurred. I remember all of the lost words whispered in the dark...the words that Briony has forgotten. The words that transformed me from a man, unsure if he could love a woman the way she deserves, into a man who is determined to try. Doesn’t that make me, your Life? Even now, her words echo on the gentle May breeze, and renew my determination to see this through. As the bright morning sun takes the chill out of the air, I walk over to Briony, accepting the helmet she holds out to me. Putting it on, I tap her helmet and look her in the eyes. “Ready, my Life?” After a couple of stops to refuel and rest, we make it to Dover by late afternoon to load Doris on the ferry. The trip takes about an hour and a half to Calais in France, and as the white cliffs fall away behind us, I’m quite pleased it’s a sunny day and a smooth ride. When I worry about the significant amount of tourists on the ferry who may recognize me, Briony suggests wearing the helmet, which I do. She’s very triumphant when it appears to work, until some teenage fans spot me when I lift the visor for a drink of water. After a round of autographs, we manage to disappear into the premium lounge before having a bit of lunch. Then, carrying our mugs of tea, we find a quiet spot on an empty sofa to chat. “Do you ever get tired of not being able to just be, without the interruption of your daily life?” Briony asks, after settling in. She’s asked me this years ago, but this time she looks at me intently, the air from a nearby vent causing a few loose curls from her bob to gently wave around. I smile, brushing them behind her ear. “In general, I’m grateful for the fans that appreciate the art of what I do. Usually, I’m not so bothered when it’s about that. Or if a new actor is looking for encouragement to keep going, I’m happy to share tips.” Briony’s chuckle sends a wave of goosebumps over me. “Ok, that was the Nicholas Bancroft, GQ answer. Now give me your answer, Nicky babe.” I sigh as I look out over the water. She’s always been good at getting me to confess my true feelings. Still, it’s a sensitive subject. “Alright, I’ll tell you, and only you. Mum and Dad don’t know this. I’ve not even told Evie this.” Briony dimples are on full display as she laughingly nudges me with an elbow. “Ok, enough with the disclaimers. Spit it out!” I chuckle as I sit my cup of tea down. “So, impatient, my Life, but you’re right. That is the public answer. If I’m being honest, I’ve never been comfortable when the praise is about me. I may be a man who does well at his job, but I’m still just a man. The excessive praise is unwanted, and it’s the reason that I seek my privacy so thoroughly now. Especially since there’s nearly always someone out there waiting to snap a photo without my permission.” Briony wrinkles her nose. “I know it’s a job hazard, but you never seem to have a problem with paparazzi like some other celebrities do.” “They have to make a living, and I respect that,” I shrug. “When I’m out with friends or executives for a meal, it’s a given that my privacy is limited. But, when I’m coming and going from my own home, that’s another matter entirely. I’m still unsure how Alfie has managed to keep them away from our driveway so thoroughly, but I’m grateful.” Smiling wryly, I feel as vulnerable as I had that night. “I don’t enjoy being a spectacle. My characters are one thing, but I, as a boring man who only wants to perfect his craft, am another.” Briony nods, her dark eyes empathetic. “If you were half as fascinating, you’d still have people wanting to get to know you, Nick. It’s the excellence people want to touch, if they can. To know what it looks like, and that it really exists. It’s why people kept buying tickets to see Richard Burton in all 137 shows of Hamlet. If you had the option to time travel, I know with great certainty which matinee I would find you at, without question.” I offer a half smile and a shrug. “We all reflect God’s glory in some way. Not that we ourselves are gods, but I suppose people will always be drawn to that bit of God that can still be seen in us, as imperfect as we may be. At any rate, that’s the disappointing truth. I don’t tire of the interest in the craft, but the enthusiastic attention that’s paid to the mundane aspects of my personal life.” Briony pushes the same errant curl behind her ear as she clears her throat and looks at me askance. “Is it…how do you keep your dating life out of the tabloids? I gaze at Briony as she shuffles her feet nervously, and I can’t help the smile that’s fighting to break out. “Why? Interested in tips? Foresee a need to dodge the paparazzi in the future?” Briony clears her throat. “Well, I do live on your property. Maybe I’m just curious how you’ve managed to keep your relationships out of the tabloids.” I manage to reign in my laughter and pin her with a serious gaze as I deadpan. “So, you’ve finally gotten around to googling me, I see.” Briony laughs as she nudges my knee with her own. “Funny, funny. I’m just curious. You only took Evie to one award show several years ago. Otherwise you attend alone. You’re never pictured with anyone other than your fellow cast members, executives, the family, or me and Alfie. But, you’ve been in the industry for years. What’s your secret? A stack of 50s?” I chuckle, tempted to let her believe I bribe people to keep quiet, but something stops me. If Briony and I are to have a real chance, then this is something we have to communicate about. I take a sip of my tea, a lovely white pear blend that Briony brought with her. As the light, sweet aroma dances across my tongue, I smile. “Honestly, I haven’t been on a date since drama school. It’s not something I’ve even considered…until recently.” Briony had just taken a sip of her tea, and immediately splutters, sending tea flying everywhere. If I wasn’t concerned she’d dry drown herself, I might find it a bit funny. “Wha-what?” She coughs out, waving off my attempts to pat her on the back. “What do you mean, until recently?” I rub my jaw thoughtfully. “Evie’s recently brought it to my attention that I may be ignoring opportunities right under my nose, because I’ve been so blind to the possibility of finding my person.” Briony stares at me like a deer trapped in headlights, and it’s not comforting me in the slightest. “What do you..plan to do about it?” She asks hesitantly, eyeing me over her cup. “Well,” I say, sitting my cup of tea down on the table in front of us. I pin her with a meaningful gaze. “I intend to immediately change that situation. How do you feel about being in paparazzi photos, Miss Sullivan?” She’s barely breathing as she studies my face, but the way the pulse is beating at her throat, I can tell she’s very much alive. “Why—” she squeaks, before clearing her throat. “Why do you ask?” I smile gently. “Well, you do live on my property. I imagine dating will bring a flood of attention. After all, it will be my first, and hopefully only time dating before marriage. I should like to do things on a date that can’t be done over dinner.” When her eyes widen, my smile grows as I add, “Things, like going to the theater. Perhaps going to a few museums to actually see something, and not be seen for once. Maybe strolling through Central Park, and picnicking on the Great Lawn. Or taking a sunset cruise—” “And you expect me to cook for your dates?” Briony interrupts, her words dripping with disbelief. I smile. “You’ll likely be busy getting the food truck going. However, if you’d like to cook, I’ll always be at the table.” Briony scoffs. “And, if I refuse?” “That’s alright with me as well, darling. I don’t mind take out.” Briony looks up at me earnestly at that point, although her voice is nonchalant as she says, “And, this woman you plan to date. You must already have someone in mind. Is she anyone I know?” I smile at her attempt to fish information out of me. I’d gladly tell her, but I want her to have every certainty of my affection before I ask her out. I think as soon as we get back to New York, I’ll invite her to dinner and we’ll talk about it then. For now… “Ah, yes. She’s had several brushes with fame. She’s from New York, you know. Not quite as well known, but she’s been around enough celebrities to not run off screaming.” Briony looks a bit dispirited now, and I feel guilty for not being forthright. Maybe getting back on topic will help. “What do you think? If it were you, would it be hard to get used to this level of celebrity?” “Me?” She squeaks, pointing at herself. She drains her mug and pushes it onto the table. “I’m not famous, and I have no level of celebrity. Unless you count the number of job offers I’ve gotten over the years from other celebrities.” She rocks her head from side to side. “Ok, maybe I’m a bit known in your circles.” My brows immediately rise in surprise. “Well, I’m not surprised someone, or several someones tried to poach you. You are brilliant, love.” She shivers then, and as she shoves an arm into her moto jacket, I help her put it on. “Yes, well. I’ve had years to acclimate to would-be poachers and paparazzi. I’m fine with the distance you maintain with the media. Your future…interest, may not share the same affection you have for peace and quiet. What if she loves to attract attention to herself?” I chuckle. “She wouldn’t. That type of person doesn’t interest me in the slightest.” Briony raises a challenging brow. “You can’t know that until you get to know her.” I raise my own brow, chuckling internally at how cute she is. Briony may be able to withstand people looking at her, but I know for a fact she doesn’t enjoy making a spectacle of herself. “I may not have been dating, but it didn’t make me blind, Bri. I’ve kept an eye on her over the years. No tabloid scandals of her own in the time that I’ve known her. I doubt that will change just because we begin dating.” If she’ll have me, I sigh inwardly. Briony sniffs. “Still, you have no way of truly knowing. What if she’s huge on public displays of affection? What would you do then?” I put an arm behind her on the sofa and lean in. “Are you asking me, how I would feel if my future girlfriend/fiancée/wife wants to engage in PDA with me?” Briony looks up at me, eyes flashing dangerously, seemingly unaffected by our proximity. “That’s right! Are you telling me that you would be OK with that?” I slowly shake my head as I look down at her rosy lips, and back up into her chocolate eyes. The temptation is strong, but I can wait until she’s sure this is what she wants, too. “You’re asking me, if I’ll have a problem with the future Mrs. Nicholas Bancroft showing me affection in public?” Briony inhales sharply then, her eyes roving over my face, skating down to my mouth and back up to my eyes. “Um. Maybe, that was a dumb question.” She sits up to pull her moto jacket off. “They have really got to get control of the AC in here.” I chuckle as I help her. “I’ll be sure to write a strongly worded letter, love. And for the record,” I lean in to whisper. “The future Mrs. Nicholas Bancroft will always be in charge of answering that question. So, it’s not that you’ve asked the wrong question, darling, but more so, that you’ve asked the wrong person.” I pull back as I remove the jacket from behind her, and drape it over mine, next to my helmet. When I turn back, Briony is fanning herself and looking everywhere besides my face. I push her curls behind her shoulder, and gather her hair off of her neck. “That should help with the airflow,” I smile. “W-well, I. Yes. It helps, thank you,” Briony grumbles as she turns a becoming shade of pink. I can’t keep from teasing her. Making sure my face is completely blank, I ask, “What more can I do? Shall I fan you?” “NO!” Briony fairly yells, drawing several looks. She gathers her hair from my hand and pulls it over her far shoulder. “No, thank you,” she says much gentler as she looks down at her hands. Where her face was pink before, it’s now a bright shade of red. I chuckle. She’s never looked more lovely. “I mean, you were worried about me dealing with PDA. I thought you’d see the humor of me sitting here fanning you. You could snap the photo and sell it. Surely, paparazzi couldn’t resist a photo of that caliber. It could only be beaten by a photo of me gently blowing on your face.” She looks at me, and rolls her eyes, but she starts chuckling as she thinks about it. “That is pretty funny.” I smile devilishly. “Isn’t it? On our dates, you can take photos like Peter Parker did for Spiderman. I’ll even let you take closeups.” When Briony slaps me in the arm, but starts laughing, I know she’s over the worst of it, and I start to relax. “You wish, Nick. What am I even supposed to get a closeup of? The most dating you’ve done is that one movie where you had to repeat the day several times. And that was scripted!” I clutch my chest. “Ouch! Just go for the jugular, darling.” Briony smiles coyly. “Oh, nooo. If I were going for the jugular, I’d say dating must look awfully different since your last real date. Are you sure you’re equipped to woo a woman in this century, darling?” I laugh so hard, I know I’m drawing several stares, but I can’t bring myself to care. “Woo!” I manage to get out through my peals of laughter. “Woo!” Briony joins in laughing, as I reach over and pinch her cheeks. She tries valiantly to fight me off, but loses. “From which century is your vocabulary, love?” She’s laughing so hard as she tries to fend me off, that she doesn’t answer for several seconds. Then, throwing karate hands up, she says, “Listen, whatever you do, when you woo, how you woo, the way you do…” I’m falling about in laughter before I know it, and as I turn to cover my face in the crook of my elbow, Briony turns her head and continues talking in my ear. “Like, I said! When you’re wooing your mystery woman try to stick to this century. Send text messages, don’t phone.” Wiping away tears, I ask, “What if she enjoys speaking on the phone.” Briony snorts, “Trust me, she won’t.” “Even to me?” I ask with a grin. Briony eyes me a moment. “Well, maybe. Depends on what you’d have to say.” “Ah,” I nod to myself. Briony looks at me dubiously causing my brows to snap together. “What is it?” “That’s what I want to ask,” she looks at me askance. “What would you possibly have to say that can’t be said in a text message?” I lean closer. “I could tell her how beautiful her heart is. How it’s the first thing I noticed—” “Ack!” Briony exclaims, covering her ears with a scowl. “I don’t want to hear about her heart. Save it for her! What else?” I chuckle. “I could recite poetry to her.” Briony swallows. “Would that be a video call?” “Should it be?” I raise a brow. She sniffs. “She’ll no doubt enjoy that. What else you got?” “What else do I need? I mean, I travel for work. So, I’d have to keep in touch somehow. If things work out, of course I’ll take on less work that would keep me from home for months on end. But even for just a few weeks, texting just isn’t going to fill a long term need for either of us.” She nods. “The man makes a good point.” I shrug. “I try to make a habit of carrying a handful of good points around for just such an occasion.” When Briony looks up at me sharply, I freeze, wondering if she’s remembering the lost conversation. But when she nods and looks out the window at the approaching French coastline, my shoulders sag in disappointment. Upon disembarking in Calais, we’re able to find our little bed and breakfast without a problem. After dinner, Briony watches a celebrity chef competition while I finish the latest Callum Black thriller. He’s one of my favorite authors, and I’m looking forward to playing the detective in his series, Ian Faulk, in an upcoming movie. If I can only get the rhythm of his Scottish accent down. When Briony’s show goes off, we talk about how her food truck is coming along. As she shows me the build process, it sounds like she feels good about where she and her sister are in the process. I couldn’t be more proud of her, and I tell her so. When she blushes, I fight the urge to lean across the little table and take her hand. Instead, I bring up the subject of her continuing to live in the cottage, but she flatly rejects the idea. I can’t see a reason why she wouldn’t. After all, I built it for her. I’ll have no further need for it if she moves. “Well, think about it, Bri. I plan to hire a personal chef to just meal prep for me. It won’t be a live-in position, so the cottage will still be available. Even if you decide to move eventually, you don’t have to do everything as soon we get home.” Briony nods her head from side to side. “OK, I’ll think about that. Thank you.” “It’s the least I can do, my Life,” I breathe. She frowns, “What about your life?” I grin. “I found a poem I think you might like. Care to hear it?” Her eyes immediately brighten in excitement, and I try to ignore the warmth it brings to my chest. “Let me put on the kettle for us first,” she calls as she jumps up. I rub a calming hand over my chest. Patience. Good things come to those who wait. I’ve already waited 40 years for Briony. Surely, I can wait a bit more…← Previous Chapter: Chapter 9 /|\ Next Chapter → Chapter 11Subscribe for new posts every week! Get full access to I'm Just Here For BOOKS at everblueauthor.substack.com/subscribe