Sasha laughed and snuggled back under the covers. “Hardly.”
Just then her phone pinged, indicating an incoming message.
“Told you,” Thomas chuckled.
“Now what?” Sasha grumbled, grabbing her phone.
The message was from Chris. It was just a single line of text. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
Sasha frowned. What was that supposed to mean? The only explanation she could think of was that Chris was mad at her for not telling him about the photo shoot. He had accused her of being shallow before he left, and in a way, a photo shoot was about as vain as she could get. But that was hardly the sort of thing an ex demanded to know.
Before Sasha had a chance to answer, the house phone started ringing. Thomas pulled a pillow over his head. The phone stopped, clearly having been answered by Pippa elsewhere in the house. But it was immediately replaced by Thomas’s cell phone buzzing.
“Ugh,” Sasha moaned. “Why can’t everyone leave us alone?”
Thomas sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I think we should take it as a sign. The world wants us to get up.”
They dressed and headed downstairs to make breakfast. Pippa was sat at the kitchen island, surrounded by papers and diaries and halfway through a black coffee.
“There’s more in the pot,” she said, swivelling on her stool to face them. There was a pen stuck behind her ear.
Sasha poured a mug for her and one for Thomas, then he got to work poaching them some eggs for breakfast.
“Busy morning?” Thomas said.
Pippa smiled brightly. “Indeed it has been. I’ve got some amazing news.”
Sasha looked up from the steaming mug in her hands. Thomas cocked his head over his shoulder. “What?” he said.
Pippa splayed her hands on the work surface in front of her. “I just got off the phone with Peter Yorkson from the London Weekly paper. Thomas, you’ve been nominated for a British Film Institute Award!”
Thomas raised his eyebrows and went back to his poaching. Sasha couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement, even if Thomas himself seemed less than impressed.
“Is this why the phone hasn’t stopped ringing all morning?” was all he had to say.
Pippa gave Sasha a look and rolled her eyes.
“So,” Pippa continued, “I’ve organised a whole schedule for your England visit. Obviously an interview with London Weekly…”
“Must I?” Thomas interrupted. “I loathe that paper. It’s for pretentious hipsters.”
“Darling,” Pippa said. “Pretentious hipsters are the reason you have a private jet and an apartment in every major city. They’re the ones who watch your films.”
“Fine,” Thomas said. He scooped the poached eggs out and placed them on muffins with a garnish on top. It looked like something you’d get in a Michelin star restaurant. He plopped a plate in front of Sasha and took a stool at the breakfast bar. “What else is on your agenda?”
Pippa began thumbing through her diary. “Interview with Peter. BBC lunchtime chat show appearance....”
“God please not the Brunch Ladies.”
Pippa coughed. “Yes,” she said.
Thomas sighed. “You’re essentially sending me to England to be tortured.”
Sasha laughed.
“Then there’s the ceremony,” Pippa continued. “We’ll need Sasha to attend that of course.”
Sasha almost spat out her coffee. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” Pippa replied. “Everyone’s itching to see the woman who finally stole Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor in the flesh. Which reminds me, I have an agenda for you too. It’s mainly hair and makeup, clothes fittings and strategic appearances at iconic London locations to show them off.”
“Sounds thrilling,” Thomas said, wryly.
But Sasha was excited. She’d never been to England. It seemed so exotic.
“Dare I ask what I’m nominated for?” Thomas said.
Pippa squinched her nose and paused. She took a breath in and out again. “Sexiest man alive.”
Thomas clenched his jaw. “Wonderful. Just wonderful.”
Sasha placed a hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is the only bloody thing I’m ever nominated for is something to do with my looks rather than my talent. It’s insulting. Then I have to go and pretend I’m gracious. The whole thing sickens me.”
Pippa made a face behind his back. She’d clearly known he was going to have this kind of reaction.
Sasha circled her arms around Thomas’s neck. “Just think of it as a holiday.”
Thomas shook his head. “Going back to England is never a holiday for me. It’s a chore. I suppose you have a visit to my aunt and cousins in the countryside on that agenda of yours,” he said, nodding to Pippa’s notes.