The Other Life of Charlotte Evans

Would you sacrifice your future to understand your past?

Life is rosy for dance studio owner Charlotte Evans, who is about to marry beloved fiancé, Ben. But when Ben finds a lump in Charlotte’s breast, it sends her on a journey of self-discovery which she knows she must do alone. Because Charlotte is adopted, and she suddenly, desperately, needs to know who she is and where she comes from.

Finding and reconnecting with her birth family, the life Charlotte could have had unfolds before her. As her wedding day draws closer, and her past merges ever more into her present, Charlotte must decide on the future she really wants...

A heartrendingly beautiful novel about love, family and finding your own path to happiness.

Also by Louisa George

The Secret Art of Forgiveness

The Other Life of Charlotte Evans

Louisa George

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Award-winning author LOUISA GEORGE has been an avid reader her whole life. In between chapters she managed to fit in a BA degree in Communication Studies, trained as a nurse, married her doctor hero and had two sons. Now, she spends her days writing chapters of her own in the medical romance, contemporary romance and women’s fiction genres. To date, she has 19 books available in ebook/print.

Louisa’s books have variously been nominated for the coveted RITA® Award and the NZ Koru Award (which she won in 2014 and 2016 for the Short Sexy Category) and she won the prestigious HOLT Medallion Award in 2017. Her books have been translated into twelve languages. She lives in Auckland, New Zealand and, when not writing or reading, likes to travel, drink mojitos and do Zumba®- preferably all at the same time.

Acknowledgements

Behind every writer is a support team of amazing people without whom a book would be just thoughts, words and ideas, and never get into the hands of readers. I am very lucky to have such an amazing group of cheerleaders.

To the HQ team, thank you for all your support and for another stunning cover.

To the Blenheim girls, the Wilders and all my writing friends, thank you so much for the help and advice and friendship over the years, I’ve loved walking this journey with you.

To Flo, my fabulous editor, you have sprinkled your editorial glitter all over my stories and turned them into books I am proud to have out in the world. I can’t tell you how grateful and blessed I am to have you. Thank you. Thank you. xxx

To Warren, Sam and James, this book is all about family and I couldn’t ask for a better one. I love you.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Copyright

Chapter One

‘Would it be too much, do you think, to have sixteen flower girls?’ Charlotte Evans asked her team teacher and best friend, Lissa, as each of the sixteen pink-faced, tutu-ed three-year-olds ran forward in turn and gave very serious but wobbly curtsies at the end of the preschool dance class. Adorable. Every one. ‘Yes, thank you. Thank you. Thank you, sweetie. See you next week.’

‘Given I’m your chief bridesmaid, then yes, absolutely, that would be fifteen too many. Imagine the chaos if I had to control them. You’re the one with kiddie charm, not me.’ Lissa laughed, sliding her a sideways grin that said not a chance, and closed the door behind the last class of the morning. Leaving them in a blissfully quiet dance studio, except for the murmurs of excited but tired chatter as the little ones crunched away up the gravel path with their proud, doting mums, towards home for lunch or a nap.

Judging by the dark smudges under her eyes Lissa looked like she needed both too. With a groan she extended her left leg up onto the barre and stretched forward, nose to knee. ‘God, that feels good. I teach this class because you asked me to, Charlie, and I’d do anything for you. But you know I prefer the ones who can actually listen and do as they’re told. I’m not good with them until they’re teenagers. I just don’t get the cute thing.’

‘Oh, but they’re all so gorgeous.’ Time to play with the hungover friend. Charlotte laughed to herself, knowing how allergic Lissa was to anyone who couldn’t communicate on her level, and how much of a favour she was doing for Charlotte by helping her with these toddler classes. ‘Imagine all of them at the wedding in floor-length white satin dresses and big red bows, and you could have a dress to match. We’d make it into the pages of Bride magazine, for sure.’

Lissa shot her another not a chance look. ‘And I’d make it into the nearest pub and never leave.’

‘I know, I know, I was only joking.’ A little bit. Truth was, Charlotte would have invited all one hundred and fifty of their dancers along to the wedding if money were no object.

Unfortunately, money was indeed very much an object. Finding enough to pay the mortgage on a house just off Westbourne Grove, plus the rent on the dance studio and general everyday living, took pretty much every penny she and Ben earned. ‘Can you imagine, though? Some people actually do have that many bridesmaids. We’d need to save up for another three years just to pay for the fabric for all the little dresses. And I don’t think Ben’s going to wait any longer.’

‘No, that man wants you as his, that’s for sure. Did you get any further with convincing him to do a proper first dance at the reception?’

‘Other than his very uncoordinated Gangnam style, he’s not into learning anything.’

Lissa smirked and shook her head, always unable to fathom how it was that some people just didn’t have the rhythm gene. ‘But he has a dancer for a girlfriend. Surely he wants to be able to keep up with you?’

‘No. He’s too focused on making sure the house is ready for his parents coming over from Ireland for the big day. And I know he’s right, but he’s such a perfectionist. He has an idea of how something should be and he won’t rest until it’s done properly. It’s very endearing, but a little frustrating.’ Charlotte felt a little disloyal talking about her fiancé like that. He didn’t want second best, and that was a good attribute to have, right? ‘It would be fun to do something, though, on the night. Don’t you think? Is everyone expecting it?’

Another groan and Lissa swapped her long, slender legs – legs Charlotte had envied since back in their days at the Royal Ballet School – on the barre. ‘These days everyone expects something a bit different at any wedding they go to. Well, darling, you’ve got eight weeks, so there’s time to convince him yet.’

Time seemed to be rushing by. ‘Eight weeks… sounds miles away, but I bet it creeps up on me. I’ve so many lists I don’t know where to start.’

‘I do. Lunch! I’m starving. And knackered. I need either a big sleep or a huge injection of caffeine. IV, straight into the jugular.’

Charlotte took a long look at her friend’s face. Yup, she’d definitely been better. ‘Late night was it?’

‘Yes. There was a band on at the Apollo, then we went to a party over in Camden. It was great. You should have come.’

‘Oh, I was far too busy choosing light fittings. Because that’s how I roll these days.’ Thinking back to the days before Ben, and the crazy things she used to get up to with Lissa, Charlotte grinned. ‘I don’t have the stamina to do an all-nighter and then come and dance like we used to. I don’t know how you do it.’

‘Coffee, mainly. And food.’ Wrapping her arm into Charlotte’s, Lissa led her to the studio door. ‘Come on, before I die of starvation. The salad bar? Or a burger? Please say burger.’ The last statement was a loud, rushed whisper.

But Charlotte shook her head and unhooked her arm. ‘Not today, hun. I’ve got a hot lunch date with a paintbrush. But I’ll walk with you to the high street.’

‘Wow, the glamorous life of a homeowner. You have changed, my girl. Who’d have thought you’d be all domesticated by the age of twenty-five?’

There was a fierce swirl of pride in Charlotte’s gut. They’d worked hard for this. Their ramshackle house had so much potential and she didn’t care how long it took them to do it up – they had the rest of their lives to play interior decorators. Plus, the studio was a walk away from both home and her mum’s round the corner. Perfect. ‘I know, I know. It’s exciting… working towards a future.’

‘And a mortgage. Shudder.’ Her friend grimaced. ‘Maybe, when I’ve scratched my travel itch and been around the world three times, I might agree with you, but don’t hold your breath.’

Here they were at that intersection of life, straddling adulthood and responsibility and independence, wondering whether it was the right time to settle down or whether to hang on just a little bit longer to being carefree.

Charlotte smiled to herself. It was definitely the right time for her and Ben. Something had just clicked when she’d met him at a friend of a friend’s party and she’d known, right then and there, he was her future. Sounded silly admitting it, but there it was. ‘Well, we’re planning foreign holidays for when we’re not quite so financially stretched and before kids, so who knows? We might meet you somewhere halfway across the world for a catch-up. Ben’s just finished night shift and has a couple of days off, so we thought we’d get another coat of paint on the lounge. I said I’d help when I could. Just more things to cross off our pre-wedding list.’

And saying that reminded her of all the other things she needed to do before the after school classes. After the painting, it was sorting the accounts for the end of year, which were already overdue. Organising a fitting for her wedding dress and thinking about flowers and… and… her head started to swirl. She took a big, deep breath and blew it out. Two months out and things were busy already.

Her phone buzzed as Lissa started to close down the computer in the office and make moves towards the front door. ‘Hang on, Liss. I’ll just check…’

I like paint pots and I cannot lie.

What the? Charlotte looked at the text and laughed. Typical Ben. She flicked him an answer: I thought it was big butts?

He came back almost immediately: I like those too. And hot little sexy ones like yours. I have a loaded brush and I’m not afraid to use it…

She quickly replied: Tease

Ben: Fancy a roll-er in the bedroom?

God, his jokes were bad, but that was just one of the reasons she loved him: I’ve only got a couple of hours and we’re supposed to be doing the undercoat…

Ben: Plenty of time to strip and roll…?

Charlotte: Later?

No. She deleted her instinctive answer, because perhaps Lissa was just a little bit right; maybe she was starting to feel the weight of responsibility, all grown-up. Since when had things come to this? Putting sex off to do chores? There’d been a time when they couldn’t get enough of each other, sneaking out of work to meet up. He used to swing by the stage door at Sadler’s Wells when she was in the corps, and they’d find a dark corner somewhere backstage and… well, now things were just so much more grown-up. with sex in only appropriate locations and, usually, on his day off, otherwise he was too tired. Lissa would be appalled. Thinking about it now, Charlotte was too.

She quickly tapped on the keys: I’ll be back in five… who gets to strip first?

Ben: You. And I’ll be waiting, tools at the ready ;-)

She felt the blush start at her face and quickly spread. He’d always been like this; playful, loving, attentive. ‘Ha! Everything’s about sex with this man.’

Lissa was watching her, hands on her hips and foot tapping. ‘Not such a bad thing?’

‘No. Not at all. It’s just…’ She thought about what kind of snappy reply she could give him.

But Lissa nudged her in the ribs. ‘Hello?… I’m literally dying here and you’re giggling and writing sweet nothings. Is my near death by starvation not registering with you?’

‘Sorry, Lissa. Ben’s just… you know how he is.’

‘Yes, I do.’ Her friend did a pretend gagging action. ‘But he’s a good guy, I guess… Mr Perfect for you. If ever there was such a thing. I’ll save you the women are doing it for themselves lecture for another day – I prefer to do that on a full stomach. Actually, I prefer to do most things on a full stomach, so let’s get locked up and go.’

Charlotte checked she’d locked the door and started towards the footpath. ‘One day you’ll meet the perfect man for you too.’

‘Nah. Gosling’s taken. Even I couldn’t take on both Hemsworths – and don’t ever make me choose between them. And Tatum’s already got two kids… I couldn’t deal with all that, thanks.’

Poor Lissa. Determined to play the field and fight the aging process every step of the way. ‘Okay, so go ahead and get your Mammoth burger. I’ll see you later, when you can tell me all about your night at the Apollo.’

Her friend grinned and blushed… which was so not like her. ‘It’s what happened after the Apollo that I want to tell you about.’

‘Oh? Tell me now.’ Charlotte’s phone buzzed.

Ben again. You have four minutes, then I’m coming to find you. I’m starting the strip right now…

She laughed. ‘Shoot, I think I’m on a promise. Tell me later.’

There was a tired but satisfied glint in Lissa’s eyes that Charlotte hadn’t registered until now. ‘We can swap the gory details after class. Go. Go. Booty calls.’

London was putting on a very sunny show, considering it was early June and really only just dipping into summer. There was a smattering of colour in people’s gardens and a promising heat in the air. The sunshine always put a smile on everyone’s faces, and knowing what was waiting for her back at their half-renovated two-up two-down Victorian terrace put a spring in Charlotte’s step too.

‘Hey, gorgeous!’ She bounded into the house. There was a flutter in her stomach which made her feel as if she was doing something illicit, very naughty. Sex in the afternoon! On a school day. Instead of painting more coats of Farrow and Ball’s best Cornforth White on not-quite-straight walls.

He met her at the door, but she was slightly disappointed to see that, even though his top half was stripped bare and his honed muscles were rippling, his DIY jeans were still in situ. There was a definite glint in his lovely dark-brown eyes, though, a heat and a warmth – sex and love. He pressed a kiss on her mouth. ‘Hi, honey, you’re home.’

‘I certainly am. But you appear to be very overdressed…’ Her hand reached for his waist and she pulled him closer, playing with the top of his jeans zip.

What she’d first been attracted by – apart from the police-fit body and sense of humour – had been that Ben always attacked everything with determination and enthusiasm. He was also a physical guy, good with his hands.

She smiled to herself; he still was whenever he got the chance. The lust-filled ache in her gut and the desire to touch him hadn’t dimmed either. His skin was soft and smooth and flecked with white paint. She didn’t need to make her voice sound sexy, it just was. ‘Bedroom or lounge?’

‘Right here.’ Clearly ready for action, he started to lower her onto the stairs. But she pushed him away. Wriggled to standing.

‘I think I’m too old for sex on the stairs.’ Lissa would tut and sigh, but she wasn’t the one about to get carpet burns and a sore back that would interfere with her teaching. Taking Ben’s hand, Charlotte tugged him up the first step, her free palm scraping over his cop-short buzz cut, feeling the rough softness under her fingertips. He was a man of opposites; fun and serious. Sport-fit and focused and yet happy to laze away whole afternoons on the sofa watching action movies. Loved to eat, but hopeless at cooking. She met his gaze and her stomach purred, low and hot. ‘Bed or shower?’

‘Bed. No… shower. Hot. Wet. Nice.’ His hands went to cup her face but she drew back.

‘Wait! You’ve got paint on you. Look – still wet.’

‘In that case…’ His eyes brightened and he pressed a paint-covered hand over her black lycra top, over her left breast, and squeezed. ‘Gotcha!

‘Ben!’ But she couldn’t help laughing as she looked down at the white fingermarks. ‘This is – this was – my good teaching top.’

‘Well, let’s take it off then.’

‘Oh… if you insist.’ She tugged it over her head and laughed as he kissed her neck, his breathing getting harder, and faster. ‘Bed? Or shower, Benny boy?’

‘Hmmm… too tough to call. Wow. Such life and death questions. Too hard… You know… if someone held a gun to my head and asked me to choose… I’d have to say…’ He backed her against the stairs again, pushed his hand under her bra and pressed a kiss to her cleavage. ‘These two beauties are my absolute favourite part of you. Perfect… Juicy… Not sure which I love the most; left or right—’

‘Be serious. One minute… these stairs hurt. Okay. I’ve decided. Bed it is.’ She pushed him away and ran up to the bedroom, then jumped onto the bed.

He was two steps behind her, wiping his hands down his jeans until he was convinced they were dry. Then he climbed onto the bed next to her.

‘Hell, Charlie, I am serious. About you. About the wedding and making a home, for us. I’ve never been so damned serious about anything in my life.’ He slid his mouth over hers. For a few moments she was lost in him, in them, as he murmured, ‘I can’t wait. I love you… I want you. Every bloody day.’ Like a pro he unclipped her bra, cupped her right breast as he kissed her harder, then pulled away, breathing fast and looking at her with seriousness and mischief in his eyes. ‘I hate night duty. I hate missing you, thinking of you sleeping here without me. Thinking of all the things we could be doing instead of pounding the bloody streets and arresting some stupid prick for DUI.’

Charlotte wrapped him closer. ‘I miss you too. I hate hearing the sirens and thinking it could be you out there, chasing, hurting… I hate hearing the news…’

He silenced her with another kiss. This was one conversation they’d had countless times and there was no answer to it. It was his job and he loved it; she could no more ask him to give it up than contemplate giving up her dancing. So they were stuck – or just had to make the most of it.

She ran her thumb down his cheek. ‘Let’s never go to work again. Let’s just stay here for ever and do this. We’ll feast on marshmallows and salt and vinegar crisps and drink buckets of ice-cold chardonnay. For breakfast, lunch and dinner.’

‘Always. Just you and me, in here.’ His fingers played over her left breast and she curled against him, wanting him. Loving him.

‘No one else.’ It was a game they’d played since they first met – since that very first party. He’d asked her if she wanted to go somewhere… quieter… and she’d agreed, liking the way he looked and the damned cheek of him for asking her outright and knowing exactly what he wanted: her. In bed.

They’d nipped out from the party and bought a bag of crisps and marshmallows from the all-night store and staggered back to his place. Had a competition to see who could fit the most fluffy sweets into their mouths. Then downed it all with white wine – out of the bottle. He’d let her win and made her laugh and made her feel sexy and funny and likeable.

Just after their first – unforgettable – kiss he’d said something like let’s stop the world and get off. And she’d thought I could do that. No intrusions. No other commitments. I could make a world with him.

And they had.

His words were whispers against her ear. ‘Until we have to pay the mortgage, obviously… then I’ll send you out to teach and just lie here waiting for you to come home and service me as required.’

‘Watch it, mate. Serviced? You’ll be lucky.’ She slapped his backside gently and then squeezed – because, God, she loved that bum. ‘Slave driver.’

‘You bet.’ He shifted a little against her and his mouth nuzzled her neck, this time his hand cupping her right breast. Soft. Caressing. A playful tweak of her nipple, another caress as she arched against him, relishing the way he managed to find all her sensitive parts and make them sing for his attention.

His hand went to her left breast again and he squeezed. She moved against him. He squeezed again, fingers stepping across her skin, skimming over to her right breast. He was certainly giving them lots of attention today.

Yummy.

Then he went completely still.

It was a strange kind of still. As if someone had flicked an off switch.

‘Hey?’ She wriggled against him, feeling his heat through his jeans. Stroking his back. Stroking the soft skin and rubbing against it, because she suddenly felt a strange and unwelcome need for comfort. ‘Hey? Benjamin Niall Murphy, don’t tell me you’ve fallen asleep on me?’

There was a moment where she felt him inhale deeply. Then she felt the soft breeze on her shoulder as he blew the breath out and he pulled away. Definitely not like him. Ben was a man who liked to finish what he started.

‘Ben?’ She peered at him, holding his face in her palms. ‘You okay?’

He had a small, uncertain smile on that gorgeous face. The kind of smile he’d had when she’d told him about her father dying. And about the confusion and pain she’d felt when her parents had told her she was adopted – and how them telling her she’d been chosen was supposed to somehow help her get over discovering she’d been rejected by her birth mother. It hadn’t.

And like the time he’d told her he’d tried to save a jumper’s life on the Tube… and failed. It was a brave smile. He was being brave.

What the hell?

‘What’s the matter?’ Her heart started to thump hard and fast against her ribcage. Why would he do the whole smexy thing and then stop midway? So many things ran through her head, but none of them made sense. ‘Ben. What’s the matter? You’re scaring me.’

‘It’s okay. I mean…’ He took both of her hands in his and a sudden cool wind came from nowhere, lifting goosebumps onto her flesh, stripping the heat she’d felt inside and out. ‘Baby, it’s probably nothing, but…’

‘But, what?’ The thumping in her heart doubled and there was white noise in her head.

He let one of her hands drop and his fingers found their way to her left breast. The white noise stopped, time stopped, and his words seemed to echo through the silence. ‘Here. Here, baby. I’m sorry. I don’t know…’ She’d never seen her confident, decisive, soon-to-be husband so stuck for words, and that made her fear escalate a thousand times more. ‘There’s a lump.’

Chapter Two

‘What do you mean? A lump? No. Don’t be silly. I know what my breasts are like.’ Small. Barely there. Just enough, Ben always said. More than a handful and all that…