Just My Luck by Adele Parks (best romance books of all time txt) 📗

I’ve watched the draw six times on YouTube. They’ve announced that there is a winner. Just one. Lexi, that’s us! We are rich. Rich beyond our wildest dreams.”

I giggle again because the phrase is crazy. Rich beyond our wildest dreams is something people only say in pretty dreadful plays or movies. My body is tingling. I can feel every nerve end. It is almost painful. “Wow. I mean wow. What shall we do?” I ask.

“Well, we need to call it in.”

“How do we do that?” My fingers are cold, immobilized, but on the other hand I feel hot and no longer solid. I am melting. The two glasses of wine I downed now feel like six. Shock, I suppose.

“I don’t know. It must be on the website or something.” Jake starts to dart around the screen, hitting buttons. I can’t believe it. Don’t dare to. It can’t be true. It’s too lucky. It’s too wonderful. I am quivering, Jake might be able to hear my teeth chattering. I notice his hands are shaking, too. “Here it is. The National Lottery winners’ line. We have to call them.” Jake pauses and stares at me, his eyes gleaming, bright but unfocused. He picks up the house phone and hits the buttons to dial the number on the screen. We almost never use the landline, but the occasion demands gravitas, and somehow the dusty, neglected phone on the desk feels more serious than a mobile. “I think we’ve won the lottery. The whole amount. The jackpot.” The person at the other end of the phone must ask Jake if he bought the ticket, because he looks confused and a bit irritated when he replies, “No. My wife actually bought it. Well, yes, she paid for it... Yes, yes, she’s here with me now.” He offers the handset to me. “They want to talk to you.”

I somehow manage to stumble through the security questions that confirm where and when I bought the ticket. I suppose some people might find winning tickets or steal them. The lottery company has to be certain I bought ours fair and square.

“Can you please write your name and address on the back of the ticket now, if you haven’t already done so,” advises the woman on the other end of the line. She sounds calm and measured, which I find comforting but bizarre. I wonder how many times this woman has spoken to winners, to people whose lives will never be the same again following this particular phone call. I wonder what it must be like to be her. I’m struggling to be me. I feel I’m having some sort of out-of-body experience. I can’t concentrate or reason when she says, “Well, congratulations, Mrs. Greenwood. You are indeed a winner!”

“The whole lot?” I just can’t believe it.

“Yes, Mrs. Greenwood. The whole lot—17,870,896 pounds sterling.” The number, massive as it is, rolls fluently off her tongue. I start to giggle. It’s impossible. Earlier on I thought this was the worst night of my life, but now the night has turned around completely. What am I talking about? My life has! “Now, Mrs. Greenwood, we have people here who’ll take you through the process, and for us to do that most effectively we’ll need to know, will you be taking publicity?”

“No, I don’t think so.” I imagine the lottery company like it if you take publicity. A good-luck story in the papers must mean more tickets are bought, but my instinct is to keep this to ourselves.

“You don’t have to decide now,” she replies smoothly. “One of our winners’ advisors will be in contact with you shortly. They’ll send an email or call you, and then they’ll fix up a meeting. Probably for Tuesday next week. Usually it’s sooner, but as it’s a bank holiday on Monday, Tuesday might be better for you?”

“Yes, yes, whatever you think.” I don’t want to cause any inconvenience, make someone work on their bank holiday.

“You can talk through the matter of publicity with them and they will tell you everything about what happens next.”

Jake grabs the phone from me. “Will he bring the check?”

Even at this distance I can hear the amusement in the woman’s voice. “No, there is a tiny bit more paperwork to be done first. Bank account details, et cetera.”

“When will we get the money?” I scowl at Jake. He is being crass. I am not sure what the elegant response to winning nearly eighteen million pounds is, but I doubt it is demanding the money like a highway robber.

“Our advisor will be in touch, but if everything runs smoothly, as I’m sure it will, you’ll most likely have the money in your account by Wednesday. Thursday at the latest.”

“This Wednesday?” asks Jake, beaming.

“Yes.”

After the call finishes, we just stare at one another, amazed.

Then through some silent communication, developed after nearly twenty years of marriage, we simultaneously pounce on one another and kiss each other in a way that we haven’t since the first week we dated. Urgent and jubilant, grateful and eager. Pushing away all other thoughts and just staying in the moment, we have fast, intense sex on the desk. For the past ten years—possibly longer—sex has been limited to the bedroom. The exciting, novel nature of this hungry and triumphant sex naturally means it is soon over. I pull up my joggers and laugh, a little self-consciously. “Now you really have hit the jackpot.”

Jake holds me close and speaks into my neck, his breath tickling. “Actually, technically, you have hit the jackpot. You bought the ticket. This win is yours. That’s why they wanted to speak to you on the phone.”

I laugh. “What’s yours is mine, though, right?” It has always been that way between us. It has for so long. We’re a team. Husband and wife. Your spouse is your teammate, right? I shake my head, as a clouding thought enters it. It has to be addressed. “Jake, what about the Heathcotes and the Pearsons?”

Jake instantly moves away