TRUTH is stranger and more perfect than fiction some times; those were Tom's thoughts as he smiled for the cameras the next day.
His smile hid what he was really thinking about. What was behind that smile.
Because, let's face it, in Tom's mind at least, thinking about Tory and finally kissing her, finally holding her in his arms – on a balcony on the French Riviera in the moonlight while sipping champagne no less. Yes that was enough to make anyone smile.
Not that he was distracted – well not that distracted anyway.
There was no time.
"Over here Tom!"
"Tilda, Tilda tilt your head this way a bit more, great thanks!"
"Tom can you move closer to Tilda."
"Jim can we have more of a smile!"
Flash, Flash.
"Look to the left Tom"
"Just Jim and Tilda now!"
"Can we have Tilda between Tom and John?"
Yes there wasn't that much time to think – or to check his phone.
That certainly wasn't happening – even if he had felt it vibrate once or twice. It was hard not to, tucked into the front pocket of his tight Ralph Lauren trousers. He'd insisted on keeping hold of the telephone – Matt wasn't impressed. It spoilt the lines of his suit according to his publicist.
Mind you Tom wasn't currently Matt's favourite person. Sure they were still friends but Matt wasn't impressed he'd kept his little secret – but it wasn't Tom's to tell, it was Tory's. He'd had a lecture about Dr Tory/Princess Victoria and what could have happened if they'd been spotted together without Matt knowing who she really was. He'd been lectured about not trusting him. He'd had a lecture about having her in his room and obviously spending time with her on the balcony of his unit, where a telephoto lens could have given some pap photographer a world exclusive.
Sure Tom had tried to explain that they really were just old friends through his sister and they weren't romantically involved. But then he'd received a lecture about how cocoa lipstick suited Tory but really wasn't his colour. And he'd lost that argument.
Plus well, he'd seen them on his bed. Not that they were doing anything or really planned to take it further. Did they?
Kissing her had been a head spin enough. Not that he didn't think about what it would be like to make love to her – particularly after feeling her body pressed to his. Her soft curves moulding into him. Drinking in that lovely mix of orange blossom and fresh linen that was uniquely Tory.
"Tom could you tone the smile back a little!"
"Tilda move a little closer to John."
Yes like he could tone down that smile today. Chance would be a fine thing.
It wasn't going to happen.
"As soon as we break for lunch I want to know exactly what's behind that smile young man," Tilda hissed in his ear as the photographers turned their attention to Jim for a minute leaving the actors to take a break.
"What? Oh sorry Tilda, miles away," Tom apologised not quite hearing what she said.
"I'd think your mind is back at the cinema where a certain documentary is being screened."
Tom blushed.
"I don't know what you mean!" he laughed, his eyes twinkling just enough to tell Tilda just the opposite.
Lunch was a luxury enjoyed at 3pm at the hotel with Matt and all of the Only Lovers crew before they changed for the evening and the whole circus started again.
"So it's all good between you and your friend?" Tilda asked as she skewered a piece of lettuce.
Tom blushed a little and pretended his nicoise was the most interesting thing he'd seen in ages. Considering the grief she and the other's had given him when he'd ordered it – it should be. Hey it was clichéd to order a nicoise but it was damned good and well when in Rome um France..............
"So better than good then?" she laughed.
Matt rolled his eyes.
"You have no idea!"
Tom threw him a look.
"I've already told you nothing was happening man!"
"She forgave me and we're back on track – as friends," he said shovelling some more egg into his mouth before the questions could continue.
"Thank you for your advice," he added when he'd swallowed his mouthful and had a moment to regain his composure.
Tory and kissing her was something he didn't want to talk about, it had been a private, beautiful moment – one of those perfect little moments.
Well until Marcus and Matt had sprung them.
He and Tory had jumped apart like scalded cats when the door opened – neither man had apologised clearly miffed at being called into action by worried minders.
"It's called a mobile for a reason mam," Marcus had told her. Tory hated mam and Marcus knew it and although they were usually a lot more familiar with each other when they were alone, he was out to make a point. It wasn't lost on Tory or Tom for that matter (though Matt laughing behind his hand lessened the impact a little).
Tory's family had been thrown for a tailspin - her uncle couldn't get hold of her, her new private secretary, who had arrived late with another member of the security team, couldn't locate her either.
So Marcus, who had been enjoying a late coffee and catching up with Matt in the restaurant (apparently), was called into the fray – he had a very good idea where she was and the means to spring her.
So he did.
If his evening was going to be ruined then so bloody hell would hers.
Marcus had rung in to say she'd been located and was fine.
Given the hour and the black cloud that followed Matt into the room, they'd headed to bed with no more real contact.
He hadn't seen her since. The movie had taken priority - though they had texted a few times. Nothing mushy just that she was thinking of him and wishing him luck and a picture of her and Ben dressed up for their screening and interview session.
Tom had been a touch jealous. Ben was all in black looking casual but not too casual. He seemed to compliment Tory who'd chosen an Alexander McQueen sheath dress, white with a blue and black pattern. It hugged her curves in the same way both he, and her much shorter dress had last night.
"So has she seen you in that suit young man?" Tilda asked breaking through his thoughts like a well intentioned sledgehammer.
"Well only the picture Matt took of us, I haven't seen her since we talked last night," he said before sipping his wine and smiling over their little "talk" – well lips and tongues were involved so it was talking – it was the oldest language, the language of love he thought (cringing a little at the walking cliché he'd become today but feeling too sappy and elated to worry much). He's kissed Tory and she'd kissed him back. Were they a couple? Was that what was happening?
"Talking? Is that what you young people call it these days," John muttered quietly into his lunch. Tilda laughed –"Now now don't hassle the boy – you know a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell!"
"So has she texted back?"
He showed Tilda the picture.
"Nice!" she said passing the phone on to John and Matt.
"You want to be Benedict right now don't you?" Tilda laughed but Tom was saved by the bell – well the director with Jim arriving at the table with more talk about the plan of attack for the night's grand red carpet movie premiere.
Finally back in his room 20 minutes later Tom sat down with his phone, Matt had grabbed first shower leaving him alone to finally catch up with his girl.
His girl?
When had he started thinking like that?
His girl?
Presumptuous to say the least.
His friend Tory.
That was better. It was closer to who they were.
They'd kissed and it was toe curling but she was still Tory – did taking it further risk too much? Was it even possible for them to take it further?
Swiping the phone he brought up his messages. There were a few, Em and his mother had messaged to congratulate him and to ask for pictures. There was a message from a theatre director he'd been meeting with and usually that would be the one he answered first. But now he went straight to Tory.
He had it bad.
And he knew it.
"Wow – Lauren has never looked better!" it said directly under his picture to her.
"How many photographers fainted taking your picture today dressed like that!"
He laughed.
"Probably not as many as at your press conference," he tapped.
"Yes Ben is rather pretty isn't he!?"
"A comedian now are we? Don't give up your day job!"
"Which one?' flashed back on his screen. He couldn't help but giggle. If Matt heard him from the bathroom, he'd think he'd gone mad. But from the sounds coming from the room, his PR was still totally immersed in the shower which was usually totally the case with Matt. He'd shared bathrooms with women throughout his life – his sisters, Tory herself. And none of them had taken as long in the bathroom as Matt.
"Both! So am I going to see you before the film premiere?"
"Do you want to?"
Tom looked at the screen – "Do you want to?" He hadn't seen her all day and yet despite the exciting situation he'd been in, she was still in the forefront of his mind. And yet here was this question. Was she testing him? Was she feeling insecure? Was she teasing? Did he play it coy or cool or straight?
He took a breath and his fingers shot across the screen, though as much as they were long and skinny and use to a piano keyboard, he'd never really learned to touch type and he was nervous now so it took longer than you'd expect. He hit send and started to breathe again.
"What do you think?"
It was cool and enigmatic.
Okay it was lame and try-hard but what the hell.
"I think we should meet up for a drink before we go – I know Ben was keen - as much as I'd like it to be just us."
He looked at the words and knew what she meant. They'd (hopefully) been lucky last night canoodling on the terrace and while he was probably a minor player at this festival and she was a British Princess in France, they took a risk being seen together. They didn't need the press causing complications. He was private at the best of times and so, he knew, was she and in those delicate early days of any romance you wanted to keep it just between the two of you until you worked out who the two of you were as a couple.
"I'll message Tilda and John!"
"Brilliant – Terrace bar at 5.45?"
"Perfect darling – see you then," he tapped in before he had time to think it through. He'd called her darling, would she think he was being too forward? Coming on too strong already calling her darling?
And then he took a deep breath and laughed.
This wasn't some random girl he picked up in a bar last night. This was Tory. She knew him. She knew in his vocab, everyone was darling. He smiled. In some ways romancing Tory was harder and in others it was way easier. He knew her well and she him. Sometimes familiarity bred contempt but this time it brought an ease to conversations, a background that very few people could boast with either himself or Tory.
He was still smiling when Matt came out of the shower.
"Do I want to know?" he asked running a towel through his hair. Tom shook his head.
"Good – hit the showers Thomas – we have a big night ahead of us!"
An hour later Tom was all tuxed up and ready to go and Matt was struggling with his bowtie. Matt himself was wearing a serviceable suit and tie – he was just the PR here not wanting to outshine his star. Not that he could. Matt knew he wasn't ugly by any stretch of the imagination but no one could hold a candle at the best of times and never in a tux. The man was born to wear a tux and drive a Jag and now romance a fucking princess without really realising he was doing it. No she was just Tory to Tom and he supposed that's who she wanted to be but even though they both saw it as Tom and Tory, Matt knew he and the rest of the world would see them as the "movie star and the princess" – though up close neither of them were what you'd expect of people with titles like that.
"Hold still," he warned. That was the other thing Tom was – he was a fidget.
"I know you'd prefer your princess to be doing this but you're stuck with me!" Matt laughed finally getting the damned thing knotted and straight.
Tom shook his head "she's not my princess!" he grumbled and Matt shock his own head in return.
"Not yet but as evidenced last night – it is probably only a matter of time!"
"She's just Tory, my kid-sisters best friend," Tom recited – he was getting good at this now – he'd probably get a lot of practice at saying it.
Matt sighed. "In your world she's Tory but to the rest of us mere mortals she's Princess Victoria, fourth in line to the British throne, daughter of the Princess of Hearts and the loony who talks to trees."
"Don't let her hear you say that!" he laughed as he took one last look in the mirror and they prepared to leave.
"Yes your highness!" he sniggered not able to resist a moment to tease his friend. He was getting his own back. It hit its mark nicely and Tom gave him an exacerbated look – it worked though. Matt knew how nervous he was about tonight, he'd been surprised that he hadn't thrown up – that was his usual modis operandis before events like this. Having Tory here seemed to be keeping him under control, she was obviously a calming influence on him. Yes he was still pacing like Tigger on steroids but it was a more controlled pace.
They closed the door and headed down the corridor to the lifts.
"You know if you marry her Tom, you'll be a duke – pretty much a real life prince, your children will be heirs to the throne of Britain," Matt whispered as they waited for the lift. Tom looked around furtively and threw him a dark look that suggested he'd gone a step too far. He could see the cogs whirring in Tom brain and hoped he hadn't done something that Tory (and therefore the delicious Marcus) would hate him for later. It wasn't good for anyone when Tom mulled over things too much.
The downstairs bar was busy but surprisingly not over-run. Most people were already heading out to events, yet to come back from things or still getting ready.
Tom and Matt arrived to find John, Jim and Tilda and the members of their entourages holding court at a table out on the expansive balcony. All had a drink in hand already so it was left to Tom and Matt to order and join them. There was no sign of Ben and Tory yet but then that was nothing unusual for Ben. It was for Tory, her life had been fairly regimented forever what with nannies and boarding school and then university (well maybe not that) but royal duties, medical schools and families. It was only at the Hiddleston's that she was allowed to slob around – it was probably one of the many reasons that she was so fond of his mother.
He'd ordered and air-kissed Tilda (who looked spectacular in gold with hair that defied gravity) before Tory arrived. He knew she'd arrived despite being turned away from the entrance. It was John's "Oh my lord!" that gave it away.
He turned to find a second beautiful statuesque woman enter the bar. In heels she towered over Ben in his tux but they still looked amazing together. The electric blue of her dress dazzled in the softening light of the afternoon, like light on the ocean. The dress was a halter-neck with a sweet-heart neckline that dipped enough to show off her ample cleavage. The dress, like her previous garments this trip, highlighted her silhouette and showed off curves that should come with a warning. The dress was slit to show off a nice portion of shapely leg but it was the back that really took his breath – there wasn't one. Well not much of one.
She was stunning and he through caution to the wind and he walked to them, greeting Ben with a handshake, but it was Tory he wanted. He didn't risk a peck on the lips, not because it was a public area but because he didn't think he'd stop if he started down that track. Instead he hugged her lightly and kissed her cheek.
"Beautiful!" he whispered, feeling her shiver has his fingers contacted her back.
"Says the man born to wear a tux," she whispered back. The colour of her dress reflected in her already blue eyes that twinkled as she drank him in. It was his turn to shiver – she looked positively, thrillingly predatorily.
"So does that have the Granny seal of approval?" he asked standing back and taking her in again. He remembered numerous occasions, that Em tried to get her to wear dresses like this and Tory had declined, telling her when she was out she was on display and representing the royal family. Her grandmother had stressed growing up that a princess "didn't dress like a street-walker".
"What happens in Cannes stays in Cannes," she laughed with her finger to her lip. "And if I get in trouble I'll just blame Kate – she talked me into it!" she added as they headed out to the balcony.
The air was warm and the still and the conversation witty and urbane and Tory felt like she was in her element. She liked this side of Tom's world, she envied him it. Though she'd just been explaining the protocol to Jim and some of the Americans in the group for when they were really out in public tonight "Your Royal Highness first up and then Mam" she said, "though the first person to call me mam back here at the after party has to do shots of my choice."
"I wouldn't do it," Tom warned laughing gently. "She could probably drink you all under the table – medical student remember." And the group laughed with him doing that "oh do you remember when we did this or that" until it was time to leave.
Tory's phone chimed just as they made to leave and her eyes shone nudging Tom and showing Tom the phone.
"Now?" he asked and she nodded.
"Your mother won't be denied – she wants a picture and she wants it now!"
He sighed, signalling to Tilda that they'd catch up.
"Where do you want me?" he asked and Tory raised an eyebrow suggestively.
"I'm going to be careful what I say to you now aren't I!" he laughed as she nodded.
She directed him to the edge of the balcony as thoughts of last night's terrace activities flooded back to her. The view was breathtaking – and so was the French Coastline. She took several pictures on his phone before swapping phones and allowing him to take shots of her. They didn't dare take pictures together more people were flooding the bar and they were drawing attention plus let's face it a picture of them together might actually cause the match-making Diana to positively self combust and have them married off before they even came to visit her in two weeks time.
"You know I really want to kiss you right now?" he whispered as he handed her phone back before they caught up with the others.
"Hold that thought!" she whispered back.