Page 89 of The Thing About My Prince

“God, no.” I recoil at the hideousness of that thought. “She wouldn’t do that.”

“How do you know? You’ve known her for how long? A week? You can’t possibly be sure what she’d do for a story.”

The idea that anyone could think that poorly of Lexi, even someone who knows no better because they haven’t met her, is physically painful. It’s like my insides are twisting into a tangled mess.

“Look, mate, I realize you’re trying to help and everything. But I’m sure she wouldn’t do that. I know you’re going to ask me how I can be certain, and I can’t give you an answer. I just am. There’s something between us. I can’t explain it. I can’t define it. I don’t think I can even describe it. To say it’s a connection is too much of a cliché and isn’t enough. It’s more than that. But I don’t know what it is because it’s uncharted territory for me.”

It’s only when I stop talking that I realize I’ve been walking back and forth in front of the window, thumping the edge of the sill with my fist. And my breath is vibrating with energy. Not pissed-off energy at Chase for suggesting that Lexi might be manipulating me, but a buzzy energy of hope and excitement.

After giving me a moment to calm down, he says, “I know what it is.”

I lean forward, rest my elbows on the windowsill and gaze out over the large rectangular flower bed that’s currently a sea of leafless brown stick-plants but in the summer will be in the full blue-and-white bloom of the Scottish flag.

“Are you going to tell me?” I ask. “Because I might be going out of my fucking mind over here.”

“It’s the feeling you get when you’ve met ‘the one.’”

“Well that was a swift one-eighty,” I scoff. “Now tell me what it really is.”

“I wasn’t kidding. All those things you just described, or rather didn’t describe because it’s not possible to describe them, that’s how it feels.”

“But doesn’t it take ages to figure out if someone is the one? Like you need to date them for a year or whatever before you know?”

“You are a thirty-seven-year-old man, not a teenager. How can you not know this?” he asks.

“Because maybe the way my family raises every generation to be exactly as fucked up as the last means we’re all about twenty years behind in our emotional maturity.”

“Well, take it from me, that’s the way it goes.”

“So you’ve felt all these things?”

“A very long time ago. And never since. But this conversation is about you. And, yes, you’ve brought me a full one-eighty here with just a few sentences. You’ve turned me from thinking you were being used and abused by the enemy to thinking you’ve mether—the woman who will either make you happy till the day you’re six feet under, or smash your heart in a way that will make you think it will never recover.”

“I’m guessing yours was a case of the latter.”

“Like I said,” he hedges quietly, “this conversation is about you.”

“Well, Lexi is going to be on assignment in Eastern Europe after she’s written the book.”

“Then all I can do is tell you I’m here for you if you ever need me. And in the meantime, I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Chase.”

“Damn shame she’s a reporter though. But it’s up to you to see if you can figure that out.”

“Ten minutes ago, I couldn’t have imagined I was ten minutes away from a life-changing revelation.”

“Yup, I am quite the hero,” Chase says with mock pride. “And also, if I’m going to get to the gym before this meeting, I have to go now.”

“Yeah, yeah. You go. And thanks. For everything.”

“Take care,” he says and hangs up.

Christ. Is he right? He might be right. But these are new and overwhelming feelings. Maybe it does mean Lexi is my person.

I let my eyes rove over the lawns and the hedges and the raised beds and the trees beyond while I contemplate the possibility of looking at the future in a whole new way.

Over to the right, most of the vegetable beds are empty, but there are still some bits of unidentifiable greenery growing in a couple of them.