I THINK I'M IN LOVE ↠ TOM HIDDLESTON

prologue

"Ah, god," Eloise groaned, "it drives me crazy that we have mutual friends, and yet he doesn't know I exist."

Flicking her cheek, Nikolai said, "You don't know that. He could be dying to meet you, too."

"Doubt it!" She exclaimed, gathering up her writing materials. "This next book of mine is totally inspired with Norse mythology. You could say I'm in a bit of a funk."

"You're always in a bit of a funk," Robert said, helping her gather up her journals. "But, I want you to dedicate a book to me."

"Haven't I done that already?"

"At least three times now, but I love you so much that I want you to do it again."

Eloise laughed, putting her computer on sleep. "What time is the party?"

"In two hours," Robert replied, "I wanted to give you some time before the party came."

Her heart was beating out of her chest, and she was feeling a bit nausea in her stomach. If Tom wasn't there, then she shouldn't dress up too much. But if he was there . . . She didn't want to overdress.

"I'm going upstairs, if anyone wants to bring my pull up table, they're welcome too!" She called to her father and friend as she walked away from the couch, to the left side of the room. There was a big wooden staircase, and she started to ascend it, her mind going crazy over the possibility of Tom possibly being there.

In her white tee shirt, ripped up blue jeans, and brown wool socks, she took deep breaths. Yep, she was definitely bringing her inhaler tonight. 

Rounding the top of the staircase to the left, she crossed the balcony, the conversation her father and Robert having going through one ear and going out the other. Her mind was too preoccupied. She walked down the hallway, lit up by the cloudy light seeping in through the windows.

Eloise was the daughter of Nikolai, granddaughter of Ernest Hemingway. Both she and her father had followed in his footsteps, her mother the only one who didn't. Her father was Ernest's son, but Eloise's mother was an actress, in close relations to big celebrities, like Brad Pitt.

Unfortunately, Eloise's mother didn't agree with the "sleepy" lifestyle of an author, and one divorce later, had married another celebrity, abandoning Nikolai and Eloise just seven years after Eloise was born.

Nikolai had made his own style and success; Eloise had always wanted to follow in her father's footsteps. Like father, like daughter. 

Once closed away in her room, she put away her computer, and set her notebook and book on the bookshelf close to her bed.

She looked around her room, at her light pink walls, her white bookshelves, her queen-sized bed, and her dark brown wooden floors. She flopped down on her bed. Slapping her hands over her face, she groaned into her hands.

How many times had she been so close to almost meeting him?

Only had she admitted to Robert, her father, and her dear friend Karen Gillan, that Tom-freaking-Hiddleston was her biggest celebrity crush ever since he was cast in Thor. 

She had to get dressed for this party. 

She might be meeting him tonight. Maybe.

Hopefully.

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She'd arrived at the party, her heart beating out of her chest.

Eloise had yet to see him, but she hoped, so badly hoped, that he would be here.

Meeting him once was better than meeting him never.