Shout Out To My Ex: (The Ever After Agency Book 2)

Shaz is only slightly less ticked off after we explain our thinking.

‘Well, you know what they say: the road to hell is paved with good intentions,’ she says as she prowls around the lounge room.

‘You don’t believe in hell,’ I say from my spot on the sofa. As soon as she let us in, she told us to sit. We sat. All four of us bunched up together on the one sofa.

‘I do now that I’m living it. Did you really think this was a good idea?’ she asks, glaring at us in turn.

Tristan raises his hand. ‘I was somewhat dubious.’

‘Then you were somewhat onto something. I’m not making a decision this important because my friends brought around a stack of packing boxes.’

‘And rented a van,’ Ravi adds unhelpfully.

Shaz crosses to the window and peers out.

‘Oh my fucking god.’ She turns back to us. ‘If I didn’t love you lot, I’d have your guts for garters. You especially,’ she adds, thrusting a finger at me.

‘Okay, we get it,’ I say, standing to brave her wrath on my own. ‘We overstepped, we were presumptuous, we were out of line. We’re terrible friends.’

‘Well, that’s going a bit far,’ she concedes. ‘You’re not terrible friends. Yes to the first bit, though.’

‘Look,’ says Jacinda, coming to stand beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, Tristan and Ravi exchange shrugs, rightly staying out of this.

‘This is mostly my doing,’ Jass continues, ‘so if you’re going to blame anyone, send your fury in my direction.’

I’d say it was generous of Jacinda to take the fall for the rest of us, but this idiotic idea was hers. I was just the idiot that went along with it. I suppose that makes our husbands idiots once removed.

Shaz leans against the dining table and crosses her arms, a weary breath escaping. I’ve known her long enough to recognise the signs: she’s calming down and she’s forgiven us. Or she’s close to it – the forgiving part.

‘You want to know the funny thing?’ she asks us, brows raised and mouth flattening into a line.

It’s rhetorical but Ravi pipes up anyway. ‘Tell us.’

‘Alfie and I gave notice on Monday.’

‘What? On the flat?’ I ask.

‘No, at NASA. We’ve both resigned from the space programme.’

I rush to my bestie and throw my arms around her neck. ‘I am so happy for you!’

‘And you let us stew like that, giving us a right dressing down,’ says Jass with a wry laugh.

‘Well, my news doesn’t change how I feel about you showing up like this. What were you planning on doing if I said no? Kidnapping me?’

‘You did say no, and kidnapping was never on the table,’ Jacinda says, telling porkies.

‘Good to know, because you’d make terrible kidnappers. You were about as subtle as a neon sign in a dark alley – despite Poppy’s outfit. What were you going for, anyway?’ she asks me. ‘Trinity from The Matrix?’

‘I said the cast of Ocean’s Eight,’ Jacinda chimes in.

‘Hmm.’ They (rudely) appraise my all-black outfit with twin tilted heads and narrowed eyes.

‘Right,’ I say, redirecting the conversation away from what I’m wearing. ‘We should chuff off and let you get back to not packing up your flat.’

‘Ha-ha. Thanks for the boxes, by the way. And the bubble wrap. Oh, and these,’ she says, picking up the tape dispensers and holding them up like guns. ‘Can I assume from tonight’s errant behaviour that you’ll be on hand when I do move?’ she asks us.

‘Shaz, I love you, you know I do,’ Jass replies, ‘but no one our age wants to help their mates move – that’s for twenty-somethings. Besides, you’re a grown woman with a good job – hire a bloody removalist.’

‘So, what do you call all this then?’ she asks, flinging her arms out.

‘A gesture,’ Jacinda replies. ‘So you didn’t cock things up with Lauren.’

Shaz rolls her eyes and shakes her head at the same time, but I doubt there’s a universe in which Jacinda Sharma admits she was wrong.

‘All right, time to go,’ Jacinda says, corralling our husbands out the door.

I hug Shaz again. ‘I really am thrilled for you. You know how much I love an HEA.’ I step back and regard my bestie, trying hard not to get all mushy. ‘They’re even better when it’s someone I love.’

So much for not getting mushy, I think as I blink back tears.

‘Thanks, Pop, and yes, I am vaguely aware of your addiction to happily ever afters.’

‘It’s not an add⁠—’

‘I’m joking, you dork,’ she interjects with a chuckle and, just like that, I’m forgiven.

‘Oh, and don’t tell the others,’ I add quickly, ‘but I’m happy to help with the move.’

‘You don’t have to – although, you do love wrapping things in bubble wrap – a lot.’

‘I so do. Is that weird? Oh! Is that an addiction?’

‘You want my professional opinion?’ she asks with a lopsided smile.

‘Er, no. Bye.’ I smack a kiss on her cheek and catch up to the others.

Elle

I can’t believe I’m sitting in a television studio with three cameras pointing at me. So far, I’ve done little more than smile like a maniac and nod along as Leo has responded to Lydia Torrent’s questions.

And it doesn’t matter how many times Paloma drilled us in preparation for this interview, how confident and prepared I felt yesterday, my heart is hammering and there’s a lump the size of Texas in my throat. Apt, I suppose, but I don’t feel capable of uttering a single syllable. Just as long as I don’t vomit on live television.

If it hadn’t been for Poppy, I wouldn’t have made it to the set. She assured me that it was normal for nerves to induce vomiting – yes, even three times in quick succession. Then she guided me through a relaxation meditation while the hair stylist curled my hair.

‘And Elle,’ says Lydia, fixing her gaze on me. Oh god – please let this sofa swallow me whole. ‘How soon after meeting up with Leo the second time around did you realise the old feelings were still there?’

Perhaps unwittingly, or more likely because she’s a pro and can tell how terrified I am, Lydia Torrent has just lobbed me the perfect question. Because picturing Leo in that godawful double-denim outfit is exactly the salve I need and I chuckle, my nervousness dissipating as if by magic.

‘Actually, Lydia, that first meeting didn’t go so well.’ Beside me, Leo smiles and shakes his head – he knows exactly where I’m going with this. ‘First, he was extremely late – I am positive the waiter thought I’d been stood up – and then he arrived wearing the most ridiculous outfit⁠—’

‘In my defence,’ Leo interjects, ‘it was wardrobe for a photoshoot.’

‘You mean this outfit?’ asks Lydia.

On the large screen behind her, up pops a photo of Leo in the double denim.

‘Yes! Exactly,’ I say, feeling as if Lydia and I are in cahoots. ‘Hardly swoon-worthy.’

‘I just wanna say, it was the exact opposite for me,’ says Leo. ‘I knew the moment I saw her sitting there, all mad because I was late but looking so pretty, that I had never stopped loving her.’

‘Aww,’ says Lydia, ‘that’s lovely.’ Leo glances at me with a sweet smile, then lifts my hand, pressing his lips to the back of it.

When I glance at Lydia Torrent, I can’t help thinking, Now, that’s swooning. I swear she’s about to slide off her chair.

‘Hopefully, you didn’t take too long to come around, though?’ asks Lydia’s co-host, whose name completely escapes me.

‘Er, no – not really,’ I tell him. Looking back at Leo, I add, ‘He’s still the same man I fell in love with all those years ago – bright, funny, talented, kind…’

‘So, you’ve reunited, but why the decade apart – especially as it seems like the love was there all along?’ Lydia asks.

Leo and I were prepped on variations of this question – it was one of the talking points Paloma negotiated when she secured the interview. That said, it’s a difficult one to answer and I’m grateful that it’s Leo who’s expected to respond.

‘I had a family obligation that arose right around the time we finished college – sorry, university. I had to leave London suddenly and go back to Texas, and it’s taken me until this year to find my way back – to the city and, as it turns out, to Elle.’

Exactly as he rehearsed it multiple times; though not any easier to hear.

Because it’s a reminder of all that lost time. Ten years we could have been together – travelling, working, sharing adventures and inspiration, designing, supporting each other through the tough times. Being a couple, partners.

Being in love.

‘And your recent engagement to supermodel Franzia – can you explain how that fits into your love story?’

It’s another answer we rehearsed, only we went back and forth on whether to out Franzia or help her save face. In the end, Leo’s loyalty to Serena, the woman he’d always thought of as an aunt, won out.

‘Well, that was completely misguided – me getting swept up in Lorenzo the persona and forgetting who I was, that I’m just Leo,’ he responds. ‘And of course, the timing turned out to be terrible, as it coincided with unexpectedly seeing Elle again. But, you know, being with her’ – he looks my way – ‘it’s made me accept that I can be myself and be the steward of Lorenzo the label without compromising my core values.’

‘And what about Franzia’s take on all this?’ asks Lydia. ‘When she appeared on our show a few days ago, she was quite upset about your relationship with Elle.’

‘I know, and I can only guess at what she’s been going through. It’s understandable she felt blindsided – and that’s on me. I should have told her as soon as Elle and I reconnected – before it hit the media.’

Lydia nods in understanding and her co-host, whose name I still can’t recall, pipes in with, ‘So, just before we go to an ad break, any design collaborations on the horizon?’

‘How ’bout you take this one?’ Leo says to me.

‘Yes, actually. We’re working on a collection as we speak, inspired by air travel in the fifties and sixties.’

‘Brilliant.’ I get the sense we could have told him we baked a batch of brownies together this morning and elicited the same reaction. It’s also clear we’re about to wrap up but there’s something I’d like to say.

‘Thank you, Elle Bl⁠—’

‘Sorry, hi, um…’

Nameless co-host stares at me in horror – and rightly so, as it’s not the done thing to ‘go off script’ (so to speak) on morning talk shows.

‘Did you have something to add?’ asks Lydia, throwing me another lifeline.

‘Er, yes, actually.’ In my peripheral vision, I see a balding man wearing a headset, madly circling his hand in the air. I’m guessing that’s the ‘wrap it up’ signal, and that’s exactly what I aim to do.

Ignoring him and the nameless co-host, who is turning pink before my eyes, I take a steadying breath and look right into the centre camera.

‘I wanted to say that Leo and I are very sorry how this has played out – us finding each other again – especially the impact it’s had on our loved ones, our teams, our customers, and supporters… But we promise, it wasn’t for nothing and despite what you might read or hear, there are no villains in this love story – especially not Leo, who has been brave enough to come here today and tell his story – our story.’

I feel the squeeze of his hand and I could go on and on about how much I love this man but, again, live television – and we’ve already outstayed our welcome.

‘And again, thank you, Elle Bliss and Lorenzo, young lovers and fashion designers, reunited,’ the co-host says to the camera, his jaw clenched. ‘After the break, how effective is your double glazing?’

Three seconds later, a voice booms from the darkness behind the cameras. ‘And we’re clear!’

The studio erupts into activity, and Lydia Torrent reaches over and pats my knee. When I meet her eye, she nods at me in approval. Then we’re ushered off the set by a crewmember dressed entirely in black while the next guest gets settled on the sofa.

‘Bean! Oh my god, you were brilliant.’ Cassie rushes over and enfolds me in a hug, rocking me from side to side.

‘I thought you said you were too nervous to watch,’ I say when she releases me.

‘Turned out I was too nervous not to watch,’ she says, still beaming with pride. ‘You were both so, so good.’ She grabs Leo, hugging him tightly, and he laughs. I wonder, if like me, he’s flooded with relief that it’s over.

‘Nicely done, you two,’ says Paloma as she and Poppy join us. ‘I even liked that last bit – when you went off piste,’ she says to me. ‘You know, you’re more media savvy than you think.’

‘I’m not, I promise. I hope that’s the last television interview I ever have to do.’

She regards me with an appraising smile. ‘I doubt it will be.’

Before I can delve into how I feel about that, we’re approached by the cranky bald man in the headset.

‘Clear the studio, please. Off to the greenroom,’ he barks, shooing us as if we’re chickens who broke out of the coop. Paloma herds us out of the studio, clearly knowing her way around. She must come here a lot.

‘Bean, wait,’ says Cassie as we enter a long hallway. I hang back. ‘I am so proud of you.’

‘Thank you, that means a lot.’ It does. Cassie is not just my sister and business partner; she’s my closest friend and has always been my biggest champion.

‘Mum and Dad too,’ she says, holding up her phone. ‘They just texted to say they were watching. They want to hear all about it when we go for lunch tomorrow.’

‘I’m just glad it’s over – and we have the spa this afternoon,’ I say, shimmying my shoulders. Now the interview is done, I can get properly excited about a full afternoon of spa treatments for me, Cassie, and the whole Bliss Designs team. I’ve even invited Leo.

‘You know, we could have postponed. It’s been a mare of a week for you.’

‘No way. I’ve needed this to look forward to. Besides, the team deserves it – especially as, come Monday, we’ll be working them like mad. We have less than six months to get ready for New York Fashion Week.’

Her expression shifts. ‘Elle, I really am sorry about the matchmaking agency⁠—’

‘No, we’re not doing that. Your methods may have been unusual and, yes, it was a shock at first, but Cass, it worked! Leo and I are back together.’

Tears gloss her eyes and she encircles me in another hug. I return it, my arms wrapped tightly around her waist. ‘You are the best sister ever,’ I say.

‘I know,’ she replies, sending us into a fit of giggles.

‘Hey, you two.’ Leo.

Cass and I let each other go, wiping happy tears from our faces.

‘I’ll see you in there,’ she says, indicating the greenroom.

‘You okay?’ he asks, coming closer to gently run his thumbs under my eyes.

I nod. ‘Sometimes there’s so much feeling inside, it leaks out. I used to say that when I was a little girl. I’d be overcome – sad about missing out on a party or overjoyed when our parents let us stay up late – and I’d cry. I thought there was this reservoir of tears inside me and that sometimes it spilled over.’

He watches me closely, saying nothing, his lips curled up at the corners.

‘What? You’re looking at me strangely.’

‘Nothing. Just… you told me that once – about the reservoir and your tears leaking out. It’s nice to remember little things like that.’

‘I suppose we’ll have a lot of those moments – remembering things we said or did all those years ago.’

‘Yeah,’ he says, his expression wistful, but then his smile falls away and a furrow forms between his brows.

‘Hey, listen, what you said in the interview… You didn’t need to share in the responsibility like that. None of this was your fault.’

‘But we’re in this together, remember? You and me. Isn’t that what you told me in the loo? That we can get through anything as long as we support each other?’

‘I did say that.’

‘You did and you were very convincing. It was an excellent speech,’ I tease.

My teasing has the desired effect, and he smiles softly, his eyes creasing at the corners.

‘You are so beautiful,’ he says quietly, ‘and not just on the outside, but your heart… I don’t deserve you.’

‘Yes, you do.’

‘I don’t – not yet – but I’m going to, I promise.’

We share a sweet smile.

‘I love you, Leo Jones.’

‘I love you right back, Ellie Bliss.’

He dips his head and kisses me, his lips soft and warm and against mine, and it’s lovely and wonderful and worth kissing all those frogs for – oops, wrong fairy tale. At that, I start sniggering.

Leo breaks the kiss and looks at me, amused. ‘You know, it can do a lot of damage to a guy’s ego if you laugh while he’s kissing you. That’s twice now.’

‘It’s not you! Or the kiss! It’s… Oh, never mind.’ I grab him by the shirt front – one of his fitted black T-shirts – and pull him back into the kiss.

And this time, it isn’t funny. It’s perfect.