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She follows his gaze, then lets out a breathy, embarrassed laugh.

“I’m, um, sort of a digital artist. Self-taught, by the way.

Was doing it for fun before but last year, my friend convinced me to monetize my art.

” She releases a breath. “So now, I commission them. Although business hasn’t been booming.

Downside of being new in the market or something. ”

Lucan doesn’t respond immediately. He isn’t sure what to say.

But he thinks she seems really talented.

And art shouldn’t be for free, so he likes that she listened to her friend.

He also wants to tell her that Rome wasn’t built in a day, and that success won’t come easy.

She needs to keep grinding, and believe in her capabilities and potential. Soon, the right audience will find her.

But he doesn’t know how to say those. So he keeps quiet instead and hopes she is good at reading eyes.

She doesn’t seem to bother that he isn’t responding. Her gaze has been redirected to somewhere else. She is staring across at the road behind. Watching cars pass by, as if expecting someone.

Then, realizing she has temporarily forgotten about him, her gaze flickers sharply back to him. “Sorry, I was looking out for my friend’s car. He was supposed to pick me up twenty minutes ago.”

Again, Lucan doesn’t answer. He has never had to talk to people other than his soldiers, the Avtoritet—the members of his Bratva—or his allies before. He doesn’t know how to have a normal conversation. What if he says something that isn’t right?

“Thank you,” he says instead.

She blinks. “For what?”

“For earlier.”

“Oh,” she beams. “It was nothing. I’m just glad I could help.”

He recalls her words from earlier. The one that has been churning at his mind since their encounter.

“Nice to meet you…again,” he rephrases and something flickers across her eyes. “You said that back in the hall.” His voice is quieter. “Have we met before?”

There is a small pause. Then she nods.

“It was two weeks ago.” Her expression shifts. “At Fitz’s Lit and Brew.”

Lucan stiffens. The name of the coffee shop strikes a cord inside him. That’s where he always has his coffee every time he comes down here. Except that two weeks ago, he wasn’t anywhere near Pennsylvania. He wasn’t in the States at all. But Zev was.

Zev .

Zev’s words surface in his memory.

‘Be careful in the States. Some fucker tried to kill me’

Realization snaps into place.

It wasn’t him she met that day. It was Zev.

His stomach coils, the weight of the revelation settling heavily on his chest.

If she truly met him two weeks ago at Fitz’s Lit and Brew, then it wasn’t him he met. She had met Zev.

His other self. The other version of him.

Which meant Zev had talked to her. He had interacted with her.

A thread of unease pulls tight in his gut. What exactly did the two of them talk about?

“You don’t remember, do you?” she asks, her head tilted as she watches him closely.

He studies her too, wondering how to answer that. He can lie. Or he can tell the truth.

“I don’t,” he admits, his voice even.

A flicker of something passes over her eyes. Unlike Zev, he isn’t very good at interpreting someone’s emotion. So he can’t tell if that thing in her eyes is disappointment. Maybe she is disappointed that he doesn’t remember her?

“Oh.” That’s all she utters.

A beat of silence stretches between them. Then, just as quickly, she shakes it off, her smile returning.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t a long interaction. You were sitting at the back. I walked up to you to ask if you had seen a book at your table when you arrived.”

Lucan’s mind works through the information.

A book. That was how it started. Zev had met her over a book.

Lucan hates that he isn’t the one to remember it. Hates that Zev has a memory of her and he doesn’t.

The feeling is strange. Foreign. Unsettling.

She shifts on her bench, as if her mind is sorting through something. Then she suddenly digs her hand through the peach cotton bag lying next to her on the bench. Her hand returns with her cell phone. A really unusual kind of Samsung.

Lucan can’t remember the last time he used a Samsung product.

He basically sleeps on Apple’s website now, waiting for them to drop a new model of iPhone.

He is sure he is always one of the first batch of people to grab a piece whenever a new one comes out.

He just loves electronic devices. Especially Apple ones.

“Give me your phone?” she says, her hand thrusted in front of her.

His brow lifts. “Sorry?”

“I’ll save my number.” Her smile is easy, unguarded. “In case you ever feel like talking about books, especially Donna Copeland’s. Or, you know, panicking in crowded places.”

Then she chuckles.

For some reason, Lucan doesn’t argue, and doesn’t wonder if this is strange.

He has never exchanged numbers with strangers before, unless it involved business.

But somehow, he reaches into his pocket and brings out his phone, the metallic device cold against his palm. This version came out two days ago.

He hands her the phone. And in less than a minute, she enters her number and dials it.

It rings. Her ringtone is a song in a foreign language.

It isn’t Chinese, not Japanese. Maybe Korean?

Her cotton bag has a picture of a Korean man.

Maybe he is from a boy band. Maybe she likes the boy.

He frowns at that thought, a thought that suddenly develops a flavor—a revolting, bitter taste on his tongue.

When she hands his phone back to him, there is a new contact on it. Vivienne, with a black heart emoji placed next to it.

He likes it.

A loud horn blares nearby just as he pockets his phone. Her eyes dart behind him, and a smile perfects itself on her lips.

“Well,” she breathes, throwing her tablet and her cell phone into her bag. She rises to her feet, swinging the bag over her shoulder. “See you around, Snow white.”

Snow white.

See you around.

He shouldn’t care for those words. But watching her get into the waiting Range Rover, a cascade of blonde hair glimpsing from the driver’s seat, he reflects on their conversation. See you around. He doesn’t know if that boy is really her friend or maybe something more.

But he wants to see her again.

And maybe again.

And again.

Until he is tired of it.

Until this unnamed feeling in his chest fades away.

He will see her again…no matter what.