The Love Story Part 3 - The London Reunion
It is March now and we are messaging every few days. Subjects range from making our London plans to Epictetus and the futility of trying to control outcomes. We discuss having faith that the universe is benevolent and that if we relax, good things will happen. I have stopped cursing it by now. Several times he mentioned recreating our evening of in-depth conversation and too much Drambuie.
I brought the warm weather and sunshine with me to London fuelling my excitement and impatience to realise my romantic fate. He messaged me right away and we made our plans. He checked on me the next day and the next. Finally, the day had arrived. We were going to see each other again.
Would I feel the same when I saw him? Would I be so enchanted or was this just an invention that had evolved within the cloudy recesses of my mind? These thoughts continued as I waited for him outside the Bridge Theatre. Then just like that, he appeared out of the crowd walking toward me and right back into my heart.
The play was magnificent and Maggie Smith, spellbinding. This gave us much to talk about as we sat outside on this mild evening sipping our drinks at Bunch of Grapes after the play.
I was bubbling with anxiety and holding on to his every word, until the very moment he uttered "my wife is back".
Actually, not completely back. Just hanging around, sobbing on his shoulder and sleeping with him. Of course, she was. I kept a friendly concerned demeanour whilst inside my heart sank to my feet. I took a sip of my drink to hide my disappointment. Lowered my eyes so he couldn't see the sadness. I can understand. I see your side, all whilst thinking, you're a complete fool. She knew I was coming over. She doesn't want you but she doesn't want anyone else to have you either. The ultimate narcissist. Bitch.
The evening ended early for us. He asked me to message him when I got home so I did and he messaged back right away, "Really good seeing you again, Nina. x" Give me strength.
His messages are now a little more reserved and I feel a slight shift although still quite friendly. We come alive chatting about the books we are reading, our kids and how we both make our beds each morning. He suggests for our next adventure, meeting in the middle of Tower Bridge. "Perfect," I say. He replies "I think so too."
We meet one final time at The Barbican to listen to the London Symphony playing, of all things, Ravel's Bolero. Could there be a more erotic composition of music? The soft repetitive drum beat behind the willowy sounds of the flute and oboe above it, slowly swelling to a crescendo, along with it, my arousal.
I sit forward to absorb myself in the music so as to not be distracted by the lustful cravings escalating within me. The music ends with a perfect cadence and so does our evening. This is it now. The last time we are to meet. Farewell, my friend.
It was a bittersweet departing. I was sad that it wasn't the big romantic reunion I had imagined yet I was satisfied that what I had felt, warmth, love and sexual energy, were all real. That was a huge step for me. I can return home knowing that I am capable of love.
As I board the plane, his message comes through.
"Safe travels home...who knows which iconic landmark we'll meet at next!"
Which, indeed...
The story continues here...
Read from the beginning here....
THE AUTHOR
As it does, life took a devastating sideways turn for me. With fierce determination, I quit my teaching job, shut down my photography business, packed up my apartment, hired an agent and rented it out on Airbnb, bought a ticket to London and embarked on an adventure of discovery, both about the world and myself. I’ve learned a great deal about people, places and myself. I’m happy that you are here for the ride. Nina x
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