**Diary Entry**
I’ve never been one to tempt fate, but here I am, hopelessly in love—with a man so handsome it almost scares me. His name is Oliver Whitmore. I work at a beauty salon in London, and he walked in one afternoon for a trim.
“Just a bit shorter, please,” he said politely, glancing up at me, and in that instant, something electric passed between us. *Goodness, he’s gorgeous—those piercing eyes*, I thought, my pulse quickening.
Meanwhile, Oliver was thinking, *Blimey, she’s stunning. Can’t believe I’ve never popped in here before. Lucky timing. Now, is she single? A girl like her can’t be unattached.*
I finished the haircut faster than usual, then immediately regretted it. *Should’ve taken my time*, I scolded myself. *But then again, he’s just another client.*
Oliver, however, had other plans. That evening, as I left work, there he was—waiting outside with a bouquet of roses.
“These are for you,” he said, grinning.
“For me? Whatever for?” I blinked, surprised.
“For the haircut. Absolutely brilliant.” He laughed, and I couldn’t help joining in. “Fancy grabbing a coffee?”
“Alright, then,” I agreed, though a nagging thought lingered—*How is someone like him still single?*
Over coffee, he was charming, witty, and effortlessly engaging. I forgot everything else just listening to him. From then on, we were inseparable. I kept waiting for him to lose interest, but he only grew more devoted—kind, attentive, and hopelessly in love with his computers.
Time passed. We spoke of moving in together, even marriage. But I hesitated. Oliver was *too* handsome. Everywhere we went, women stared, flirted, or outright threw themselves at him. I couldn’t shake the fear.
“Darling,” he’d say—sometimes calling me “Lottie” in that soft way of his—“what’s rattling around in that head of yours?”
“I can’t marry you,” I admitted once. “Because you’re… beautiful. And beautiful men can’t be trusted. I’ve seen how women look at you.”
“Lottie, what d’you want me to do? Disfigure myself?”
I loved him desperately—his dark, smouldering eyes, his warm gaze under those thick lashes, the sharp cut of his jaw. He was loyal, devoted, and mine. Eventually, I gave in. We married.
“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world to me,” he’d murmur, holding me close. And I melted every time—even though I knew other women still watched him hungrily.
Then, a new girl, Sophie, joined the salon. Bright, chatty, *too* friendly. One day, she spotted Oliver when he stopped by during his lunch break to take me out.
“*Good Lord*, who’s *that*?” she gasped, watching him stride in.
“My husband,” I said lightly.
“*Husband?!*” She looked genuinely stunned.
From that moment, Sophie became relentless. She’d “joke” about Oliver’s looks, hinting at infidelity. “Aren’t you worried someone will snatch him up?” she’d tease, her tone just a bit too pointed.
“Not at all,” I’d reply, though unease gnawed at me.
Sophie pressed further. “Men like that *always* stray. Trust me, I’ve been burned before.”
“Not all men are the same,” I defended.
One day, Oliver dropped by unannounced while I was out. Sophie pounced. “Lottie’s *such* a liar,” she purred. “Leaving you waiting like this. Come in, I’ll make you coffee.”
Hidden nearby, I clenched my fists, ready to storm in—until I heard Oliver snap, “If you weren’t a woman, I’d knock you into next week.”
I stepped out just as he stormed off, meeting him on the steps.
“Lottie, where’ve you been? We agreed on lunch!” he huffed.
“Sorry, love—had to dash to the shop.” I grinned, relief flooding me.
“Blimey, that Sophie’s a right piece of work. You should quit this place.”
“Maybe,” I murmured, watching him drive off. *Quit? But what if the next salon has another Sophie?*
I love Oliver. Yet, here I am, spying on him like some jealous fool. If he knew, he’d be hurt. But I’ll never admit it.
Sophie stayed silent after that. She’d seen him kiss my cheek through the window.
Some things aren’t worth tempting fate over.
