Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Yeah, Clodagh said. That’s her name.”
“Yeah, she told me.” I told her she had a pretty name, and she asked me why I had a boy’s name. I’d gone to the box office to book a show as part of the full London experience. A London experience that’s turning out to be shorter than the one I envisaged, for sure.
“At first, I thought it must’ve been wishful thinking.”
“Wishful?” The word is a hopeful little sound floating in the air between us.
“That I’d imagined you there. Mistaken you for someone else. Someone else with dark hair and a green coat.” Another small smile, like he’s remembering my dress, not my underwear, as I ignore that hopeful flutter. “But then Clo told me about the zeppole fan club you both belong to, so . . . I ran after you.”
“You ran?” There goes that flutter again. “Ran where?”
“Clo said you had a Tube to catch, so I legged it to the Oxford Street station.”
I put my elbow to the table and my palm to my face. “But that place is like a maze.” As someone who’s lived in New York, I have found the London Underground network more than a little overwhelming. Add in the DLR, the Lizzie Line, and the sheer size of Transport for London’s network, and, well, I’ve gotten lost more than a couple of times. And don’t get me started on the misleading station names: East India. Barking. Pudding Mill Lane. Swiss Cottage. Elephant & Castle, where there is neither elephant nor castle. And what’s with Cockfosters?
“Yeah, it is a bit,” Matt agrees.
“There are so many corridors and escalators and platforms,” I add in a murmur as a curiously warm sensation spreads through my chest. He was looking for me. “But you couldn’t possibly have—”
“Found you?” His green eyes are all pleased and sparkling. “But I did. I was knackered, sweaty and breathless, and my thighs were burning like mad. Then I saw you. I called your name, but you didn’t hear.”
“I didn’t know,” I say softly, wondering how that meeting might’ve changed some things. Not all things, I think, my brow flickering with consternation.
Don’t get sucked in. Everything is about to change anyway.
“In hindsight, it’s just as well you didn’t see me,” he adds. “Not given the state I was in. I wasn’t exactly looking my best.”
My eyes flit over him, and I hope he can’t see my doubt. He’d make a sack look appealing.
“I’m not sure a satin sash and tasseled epaulets are really my thing.”
“Tasseled what now?” My response is part chuckle, part huff. For the world, I can’t see him dressed like that in my head.
“I was the prince to Clodagh’s princess. I had on this sky blue frock coat and white feckin’ gloves. I looked like a complete eejit!”
I laugh despite myself. I’d forgotten how easily he made me do that. Right or wrong, I feel the tension inside me melting as I process the fact that not only is Matt an uncle, but he’s also the kind of uncle who’ll play dress-up for his niece. The kind who spends time with her and takes her to fun places, who’ll make himself look silly for a little girl’s whims. Maybe just to see her smile. And that fills me with gladness. It makes me feel happy. And a little sad at the same time.
“That sounds like something I’d pay good money to see.”
Matt coughs into his fist, and my cheeks instantly turn radioactive as I realize what I’ve just said. I’d pay him. Again? Man, this blushing thing. I don’t know where it’s come from or why it started.
“I just meant—”
“Apparently, next time I’ve got to be Gaston.”
I let out a breath, grateful we’re not lingering on my embarrassment. “Because of your chin,” I rush on, nodding a little manically.
“Is it really that bad?” With an amused expression, he brings his fingers and thumb to it.
“No, that’s not what I meant!” What the hell is going on with me? “You just have a superhero chin.” That’s not any better, stupid brain!
“Apparently, Gaston is a bit of a shit.”
Again, I’m thankful we’re not dwelling. “I guess that’s the thing about a pretty face. We sometimes get blinded by it.”
His happy expression falls. “I didn’t set out to hurt you.”
“Don’t have to mean it for it to hurt,” I murmur.
“You’re right,” he replies solemnly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you. I should’ve insisted.”
A memory instantly flickers to life. “Are you married?” I’d asked, standing in front of him.
“I wouldn’t be here if I was.” His eyes looked so green, so lust glazed, and my own desire reflected back at me. “I don’t think—”
“Less thinking,” I’d whispered. God, how I’d rubbed myself against him like a cat. He didn’t really stand a chance.
“I shouldn’t have let myself get carried away.”