Page 68 of Date Knight (Roll for Romance #2)

Amy

O nce we were all dressed and ready, we headed out for the evening.

First we stopped at a gaming supply store Morgan had apparently designed the logo for– they were closed, but Morgan and Fatima knew the owner Greg, so he let us inside for a bit– and between us we left many sets of dice richer and many pounds poorer.

Then we made a pit stop for a fine dining experience at McDonald’s, which involved tucking napkins into our gowns to avoid getting Big Mac Sauce all over Phil’s handiwork.

Four hours, a tram ride, and multiple Chicken McNugget Shareboxes later, Chloe placed my crown of stars on my head, and the six of us finally arrived at the castle where the ball was being held.

There was a huge queue of people waiting to get inside, everyone dressed beautifully in gowns, suits, tunics, and more, including a group dressed as the gargoyles on the actual castle.

Everyone was stopping everyone else to compliment their outfits and ask where they were from, and it felt bittersweet every time I responded with “My friend made it”.

I’d been to the castle before– it was usually open as a museum – but they’d completely transformed it for the ball.

Most of the light in the entrance hall came from LED candles suspended from the two-storey ceiling, or from uplighting showing off full suits of armour and banners with fantasy insignia on them.

We were offered champagne as we stepped inside, the bubbles in our glasses catching the flickering light from above.

It was like walking through the night sky.

The lights were brighter in the dance hall, where a sweeping staircase on one side led to a gallery overlooking the room. A stage stood at the far end of the space holding a small ensemble. As we entered, they played what sounded like a strings-only version of Taylor Swift’s “Wildest Dreams”.

We made our way to the bar where Chloe made us all order mead, then stood on the periphery watching people arrive.

After a few minutes, the speakers lining the walls began to thump with a beat, and the dance floor immediately filled up.

I looked up to see a DJ on the gallery level wearing a wizard hat.

Morgan pulled me onto the dance floor, and for the next several songs, all six of us danced together until I was dizzy from joy.

At one point Jack seemed to flag very suddenly, walking off to the side of the dance floor. I followed him to find him staring down at his phone.

“You okay?” I asked, and he looked up at me, looking slightly alarmed at first before smiling.

“Yeah, just tired,” he said. “I can hike a Munro no problem, but a few tracks in and my legs feel like they’re about to fall off.”

I narrowed my eyes at him– he looked rather too upright for someone supposedly so exhausted.

“Let’s go check out upstairs,” he said, pointing at the grand staircase.

People stood at the bottom taking photos, but it was plenty wide enough for us to get past. So I followed him up and along the gallery, overlooking the entrance, where they’d shut the doors we’d come through.

They were huge wooden doors, at least fifteen feet tall, and it was comical watching latecomers squeeze through the gap between them as if they were tiny faeries instead of full-sized humans.

The people-watching was sensational. There were couples who were clearly living their romantasy dreams, making out on the dance floor; there were people who were clearly just there for the social media content, posing in front of every possible backdrop and queueing for the 360-degree camera; and there were people who had clearly been dragged along, or not known what they were getting into.

“I’m really glad you came,” Jack said as we watched the revelry. “I was worried you’d bail on us a for a second there.”

“You kidding? I’d already paid for the ticket and the holiday let. I wasn’t gonna let that go to waste.”

He shook his head. “I mean in general.”

I frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“Because of what happened with Phil right before I moved home. I know that was part of why you were so anxious to move back.” He gestured around as if I’d moved into the castle itself.

My mouth opened and closed again– I didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t know you knew about that,” I said eventually.

“Chloe told me,” he said. “I’d wondered why you were so averse to hanging out with them, when you’d loved being around us growing up. So she filled me in. Sorry.”

I felt my face flush slightly. This whole time I’d thought Jack had been oblivious to my feelings for Phil. Sure, he’d known I had a crush on his best friend growing up, but adult feelings were different.

“I can’t believe you’ve known all this time.”

“Yeah, well, I notice when you’re not there.”

“Yeah?” I pouted up at him. “Really?”

He nodded solemnly. “Really. I like having you around. Weall do. And it’s not the same when you’re not there. Why did you think I was so keen for you to move home last year?”

I shrugged. “Because you hated Chris?”

“Well, that too,” he said, and we laughed. “But I missed you. And I wanted you home. And I know things went a bit wobbly with Phil there for a bit, but I’m really glad you’re still here. I know you’re my sister, but you’re my friend, too. And that makes me really happy.”

I could hear a slight croak in his voice, and I glared at him sternly. If Jack cried, I would almost certainly cry, and Chloe had worked too damn hard on my makeup. I took a deep breath, flapping my lips as I breathed out, shaking back and forth, trying to let the emotion roll off me.

“It makes me happy too,” I said, warming up to a cringe-worthy “I love you.” But then Jack frowned and pulled his phone out again, and the moment was gone.

“What the hell is so important you’re interrupting our sibling bonding moment?” I joked, but then he winced and looked up at me guiltily.

“Sorry,” he said, then held out a hand. “Just do me a favour and don’t move for a minute, yeah?”

“Okay,” I said tentatively, but he was already walking away. Then he paused on the steps, looked up from his phone, and then back at me again.

“By the way,” he called, “what did you and Phil do on your first date?”

I blinked at him, confused, and not just because the question had come out of nowhere.

I almost said we went bowling– that had been the first actual date night of our arrangement, after all.

But I couldn’t remember what we’d actually agreed to tell people.

I wasn’t sure it mattered anymore, but it bothered me that I couldn’t remember.

“I’ll be back,” he said, despite the fact that I hadn’t answered, then turned and skipped down the grand staircase.

I pulled my phone out of my dress– because yes, Atelier Owen gowns had pockets– and opened the Our Lore note for the first time in… weeks? Months even? We’d stopped using it so quickly, I couldn’t be sure.

I didn’t have to scroll far to find the answer– we’d agreed that our first date was actually just an angry makeout in his front hall because we’d fumbled asking one another out so badly. But why had Jack asked me that?

I scrolled back up to the top before closing the note, but as I did, I saw the “last edited” date, and my heart stopped. It was today’s date, just a few minutes ago.

I scrolled down desperately, trying to see what he’d added.

Before long, I reached what had been our last entry– one I’d written joking that Phil was a terrible driver– but it was far from the last entry now.

There were dozens of pieces of lore that had been added since then, separated from the rest by the selfie we took on our first date– both of us drunk out of our minds, Phil’s eyes glued to me, full of love even then.

I read through the new additions, my mouth falling further and further open as I read.

I’m 60, and you buy me a 30th anniversary present. It’s the 30th iteration of the same sign: The Evan’s-Owen’s, est 2024. I hang it up anyway next to all the others.

You finally unpack and redecorate your bedroom, and the next day I ask you to move in with me for real. Not coincidentally, either. I waited until the exact moment you were happy with it to ask you. Because I’m a prick, remember?

Instead of shutting down the holiday idea, I hire a carer for Ethel and spend two weeks in your arms as we sail through the fjords. Your parents have to move rooms because of how loud you are when I make you come.

I don’t say horrible things to you, or leave you sitting outside on a bench. Instead you come to the hospital with me, and we deal with things together, and I act like a fucking grownup instead of a scared child.

We never start our fake dating arrangement. You marry the cute knight (yeah, I know he’s cute, I have eyes) and have lots of dumb cute babies with him. I pretend to be thrilled for you, because I want you to be happy more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

Somehow my mum and dad are still here, but I also still know you. They love you.

I make your wedding dress. You insist that it’s too much work, and that it breaks tradition, but I convince you it would be fun for YOU to be the one who doesn’t see your dress until the wedding day, and for some reason you’re up for it.

It looks a hell of a lot like the one you’re wearing right now, actually.

I looked up from the note, then leant over the railing, searching for a familiar face; any familiar face. What the fuck was going on?

I finally found Morgan in the crowd, just as she ran up to the stage. She tapped the emcee on the leg and said something to her before running back towards the stairs, where she started shooing people off of them.

The emcee signalled for the DJ to stop, and the room went suddenly quiet, collective gasps rising from the dance floor as people wondered what was happening. The heavy groan of the doors sounded, and I looked over to see Jack pulling one open. Every head turned to look.

Through the door walked a knight. And not just someone dressed as a knight, though obviously it was– it looked like one of the suits of armour against the wall had come to life.

The silver plate mail was covered in gold filigree, and pops of purple showed through at the arms and waist. A plume of gold feathers flowed from the back of the helmet, and a purple cape almost the same colour as my underdress billowed behind him as he walked– nay, strode– across the stone floor.

The string ensemble started up again, this time playing “Symphony” by Clean Bandit, and the knight stepped forward almost perfectly on tempo with the music.

“As is our tradition,” the emcee said, “we’ll now join in one of the choreographed dances we like to do. So if everyone could watch our demonstration, you should be able to follow along. Feel free to join in from the second round if you know the steps.”

The knight reached the centre of the dance floor just as she finished speaking. And when he pulled off his helmet, combed through his beard, and looked directly up at me at the top of the stairs, my stomach dropped, even though I’d known who it was the moment I’d seen him walk in.