For Both Are Infinite (Hearts in London Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Excerpt - Perfectly Aligned

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To my mother, Alba—

  who loved to read,

  And to my husband, David—

  my best friend and biggest supporter

  For Both Are Infinite

  Copyright: Stephanie Alba

  Published: 14th July 2015

  Publisher: Airamabla Publishing

  Edited by: Nichola Rhead http://nicolarheadediting.com/

  Cover Design by: Hang Le Designs http://www.byhangle.com/

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Love is begun by time, and time qualifies the spark and fire of it.” - Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 7.

  As an American living in London, I always sympathized with the tourists on the Tube. They were easy to spot, most of them holding maps that lead them through this historic, yet modern city. One girl stood out in particular, seeming disoriented as she stood before the London Underground station map. Her eyes kept gazing from each multicolored line to the bubbles that signified stops and it was clear she wasn’t processing it. I approached the lost girl in hopes to help her on her way, understanding that the Tube can be overwhelming for a newcomer.

  “Where are you heading?” I asked sympathetically. She looked back at me with wide, blue eyes and a shocked expression. The people of London were amicable if you asked, but the majority of the population was in a constant hurry, rushing off to their homes, jobs, etc. The Tube in particular demonstrated the people’s characteristics.

  “The Sherlock Holmes Museum,” she replied with a downward gaze.

  “Ah, well you just need to get on the Bakerloo train, but honestly, walking will be your best bet.” I tried pointing out the brown and gray lines I was referring to as she took it in.

  Her eyes flooded with relief. “Thank you so much.”

  She didn’t notice me smiling as she ran off to catch the approaching train. The Tube was initially confusing, but once I understood it, I didn’t miss having my car. It was such an efficient mode of transportation, making the need for a personal vehicle obsolete.

  Moving to London was an adjustment, but it was something I always wanted to do and finally had the reason to. I never expected to do it that young, or alone, but plans changed. The prospect of escaping my troubles and traveling all around Europe made the transition an easy decision. It helped keep me distracted and made the weight I carried daily a little lighter.

  Once certain that she boarded the train, I headed toward the escalator to return to ground level and stood to the right. Again, people here were always in a hurry and the right side of the escalator was reserved for those with a little more time and patience. In no rush, I decided to look at the posters along the wall that included advertisements for current plays in production on West End. There were the same crowd pleasers, hit shows and family-friendly options, but the one that stood out from the rest was the poster for Hamlet.

  Rhys Edwards had been cast in the starring role and stared from the poster designed with red, black and white skulls. Everyone knew his face, as he was the most popular, young British star in the United Kingdom and Hollywood. Starring in every genre, he was a talented actor that also happened to be incredibly intelligent, eloquent, and handsome, thus stealing hearts across the world. He looked especially gorgeous in that photo, despite having serious expression and demeanor.

  The picture affected me with contempt since I’d tried avoiding attractions at all costs. However, while this picture affected women based on their desire, it afflicted me in an entirely different manner. I had anxiety and worry when I stared back at his photo because I had to meet him. He seemed kind in his interviews, but it could all be an act for the public. I was also concerned with his professionalism, but brushed it off as I left the tunnel since I’d meet him later that morning and know for myself.

  Rhys Edwards was scheduled to stop by the Birkbeck campus to meet my supervisor and myself. It was rare for an American to work in such a renowned British department, but I knew my material and the department was more than impressed with my credentials. I applied on a whim and was ecstatic when they called, causing me to smile for the first time in months.

  My degrees all specialized in Shakespeare’s work, however, this was the first time I had sole responsibility on a project. It was decided by my supervisor, John White, that I would be working with Rhys Edwards for the next four weeks in order to prepare him for his role. Apparently, the director felt that he needed expert assistance in order to give a premium performance.

  I knew John respected me, but was still surprised when he chose me for the assignment. I was the American in charge of England’s cultural and literary treasure. When John assigned me I questioned it. I questioned myself, but also if Edwards seemed inclined to learn, especially since I’d heard horror stories in the past about other actors.

  “Yeah, he seems pretty serious. I haven’t met him, but you know,” he said, pointing at me, “I heard he specifically requested the research; if anything that’s a good sign.”

  I guessed it could be, but I had often heard that research was requested by production companies or actors, only to be ignored later. I didn’t want to waste my time like that, and hoped that John’s assumption of Rhys Edwards was accurate. On the positive side, he did have a reputation for being professional and extremely nice.

  I had chosen a dressier outfit for work and worn my long, brunette waves down my back. Normally, if I were teaching during the day I’d wear something professional, yet comfortable, but for that meeting I wore a pale blue dress with tiny white polka dots and a pale pink blazer on top. I even accented it with my heels, despite that I was in a constant state of flat shoes. Heels weren’t practical when teaching courses and standing for the duration of the class. They also weren’t Tube-friendly if you had to walk to various stati
ons in the rush.

  I arrived earlier than necessary to ensure that the meeting room was prepared with notepads, scripts, our research materials, and refreshments. Then I returned to my office until John called at 10:45 a.m.

  “We’re heading in your direction. We are just parking and we’ll be there in a few,” John said.

  “Okay, see you in a few minutes.”

  Immense pressure welled in my chest so tightly it felt as if my ribs were cracking. Self-consciously, I stood in front of the mirror to tuck stray hairs into place and straighten my skirt. I was the first in the meeting room and the waiting made me all the more anxious. I was quite nervous, not about meeting a gorgeous celebrity, but because this was my first opportunity to really prove myself.

  I knew John trusted me, but it would be nice to confirm that he had made the right choice, despite my foreigner status. I also wanted to do right by Shakespeare’s work. Having studied this for over six years, I felt uniquely protective of him and his life’s effort, as if it was my responsibility to care for his legacy since he couldn’t do it himself.

  I had been sitting in a chair before I realized that it was impractical to sit when they walked in, so I clumsily stood up and walked to appropriately greet them by the door. Mentally, I reminded myself to relax just as John, Michael Murphy, the director, and Rhys Edwards walked by the glass wall of the room and approached the door. I raised my hand casually, smiling at them as I waved and I noticed he smiled back. I regretted waving, finding it awkward, not quite understanding why I did it, and his smile didn’t help the situation.

  It made me feel noticed and stripped when he gazed at me. I was hoping the butterflies in my stomach were work related because I hadn’t felt that in a long while and it made me uncomfortable to feel such ancient emotions. No one had affected me like that in over two years and I wanted to keep it that way. Barely managing to catch my breath, I greeted John and waited for the director to introduce himself.

  Michael Murphy wasn’t tall or short, but of average height and heavy set. The weight was primarily at his center, bulging out of his high-waist pants, with his suspenders barely held them up. He seemed artsy, wearing a golfer hat and a full red beard that covered the majority of his face. But it was his voice that stood out the most, loud and projecting through my ears as he intrusively stood too close.

  “Hello, I’m Michael. I’ll be directing the production,” he said, shaking my hand. He then gestured to the younger of the three men, and said, “And this is the star of our show, who needs no introduction, Mr. Rhys Edwards.”

  Mr. Edwards shared a warm smile with a hint of modesty over his introduction. Making eye contact, I extended my hand towards him and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Ellie Reed, and I’m looking forward to working with you.”

  He took me by surprise when he didn’t shake my hand, but instead enveloped it in between the two of his. This was no ordinary handshake, it was affection reserved for people who shared a connection or had known each other for years. He stared at me with an intense, but comfortable familiarity and said, “As am I. I’m glad to meet you and grateful to you already.”

  I froze. I hadn’t expected him to be this way or to immediately like him. The longer I stared into his eyes, the more I could see not just their beauty, but their kindness exuding from the crystal blue irises that stared back at me. Instantly, I felt at ease as they gave off the sincerest honesty I’d ever felt from another person. But there was also a discomfort in my heart that came with that momentary peace.

  “I’m really excited to work together,” he said, still holding my hand in his, bringing me out of my hypnotic trance. I became hypocritically aware that Mr. Murphy’s proximity had bothered me, yet Rhys’ left me calm and thrilled. I wasn’t sure I was okay with that, or if I really understood it. If anything it left me curious for more.

  Blinking out of it, I responded. “Yes, me too,” and despite my earlier apprehensions, I meant it.

  ∞

  After the inelegant introductions, we began discussing the themes of the play and the production’s goals. Mr. Murphy said that Rhys would be taking on the role of Hamlet as no one had before, claiming it would be the darkest, most passionate performance anyone had seen. When Murphy said this, Rhys smiled bashfully and looked up at me from his script. He lifted his eyelids very slowly, directing his gaze at mine to see my reaction to Murphy’s claim. His eyes were so blue, gorgeous and hypnotic to the point that I couldn’t look away and had to force myself. I curled my lips up, smiling softly in return, and darted my eyes back to my script until Murphy and John dismissed themselves shortly after.

  I was confident in my abilities, but a quiet apprehension settled into my voice. Being alone with him shouldn’t have left me unraveled, but it did. It was disappointing that I’d allowed myself to be affected by him that way. But with his eyes on me, I couldn’t avoid it. I hoped it would dissipate if I spoke and keep us occupied, but it didn’t.

  “So, as we discussed we’ll be meeting biweekly for four weeks until the show starts,” I said, as he acknowledged with a nod. “I figured since we are only meeting eight times, we could work with each other from nine until four and take an hour break for lunch around noon. Would that work for you?”

  “Sounds quite perfect. I’d very much like to take you to lunch though. It’s the least I can do since you’ll be helping me.”

  That man expelled only compassion and sincerity from his expression. His kindhearted persona was borderline mesmerizing while holding the possibility of being annoying. It was impossible to resist looking at him because he was being so nice.

  “That’s not necessary, Mr. Edwards—”

  “Rhys,” he cut me off. “And, I insist.” He paused and straightened up in his chair, a self-deprecating laugh escaping his thin lips. “Unless you want a break from me.”

  “No,” I shamed at my refusal. “That’s not it at all. I just didn’t want you to feel obligated. I am getting reimbursed for this.”

  “I know, but I’d like to anyway. Please?”

  I shrugged my shoulder, smiled gently, and gave in. “Okay.”

  The silence returned to the room and I wasn’t sure how to continue. I didn’t feel like myself; normally I was awkward, it was simply a part of my personality. But what I had a difficult time grasping was the simultaneous displacement and complacency I had around him.

  The unfortunate part was that my surprise was coming across as rude and he was diligently trying to be polite and friendly. Whenever he looked over to me, I felt on edge, but also as though he shared a comfort that was reserved for a friend he’d had for years. Maybe it was his good looks that left me unsettled, although I had made an effort to avoid noticing them. But in truth, he was rather nice to look at.

  “Well,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “Why don’t we talk about ourselves a little today, and start working on the play during our next meeting? I think that would help us work better. I know it would make me feel more comfortable, and I’d love to know more about you, too.”

  He waited for my reply for what felt like forever. What was there to say? I think Rhys sensed my hesitance because he broke the silence by talking about himself instead. I assumed it was a habit he picked up from interviewing over the years. “I can start if it makes it easier.” He paused. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to know?”

  I shrugged again, acting disinterested, but secretly curious.

  “Okay…Well, I was born and raised in London. My parents are divorced, Father’s from England, Mum’s from Scotland. I spent my summers there from age five to twenty-one. I studied acting because I wanted to travel and create art, though I cannot draw, sculpt or paint. I’m horrid at creating things with my hands, so instead I create art on film and sometimes through music…”

  He paused to see if I was paying attention to his facts and smirked when he confirmed that he’d attracted my attention. How could I not pay attention to him? He was so beautiful
, smart, classy and kind. I pictured his face next to the word kind in the dictionary, because he was the epitome of sweet. I never expected for a celebrity to be so pleasant and down to earth, but it was refreshing to witness. I had heard from female coworkers that he was incredibly intelligent and acclaimed for his good manners. I didn’t believe in gossip, but seeing it first hand, I was pleasantly convinced.

  He continued, “I love Shakespeare’s work because it’s old, but not dated. It has themes we still deal with today and the humor has surpassed the test of time.” He stopped, joining his hands and leaning across the table, closer to me. “Can you tell me about yourself now? Do my revelations make it easier? I’m sorry if you’re nervous, but I promise I’m quite normal…well, except for a few quirks.”

  “It’s fine. I’m not uncomfortable with your fame. To me you’re just another person.” His eyebrows rose, silently interrupting me. Intrigued, he turned his lips up and his face formed a curious expression. “What would you like to know?” I asked, hoping that it would make things easier. I rarely opened up since moving to London because I was keeping myself from forming unnecessary attachments for two years now, but I had to be polite.

  “Why don’t you tell me how you came to live in London and work at this prestigious British department as an American?”

  My face quickly revealed that this was not something I wanted to talk about and I looked away. He noticed, placing his hand in the air and saying, “I don’t mean to offend you as an American, trust me. I just mean that you must be very good for us prideful Brits to take you on at one of our top universities.”