‘I have no map for any of this, Kit,’ she told him. ‘No frame of reference. No idea what I’m doing.’
‘Nobody does when they fall in love, Amy. That’s why it’s calledfalling. You don’t stroll cautiously into love via a predictable, tried-and-tested route. You don’t get a pre-booked seat on the 9.40 from London Euston and then arrive in love fifty minutes later. It’s supposed to be scary and exhilarating– like that moment where you reach the top of a roller coaster and know you’re about to go whooshing down, screaming like a loon but loving every second of it.’
‘I don’t like heights,’ Amy said. ‘Remember?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Kit said, grit-grinning so sheepishly that even Amy laughed. ‘The balloon. How could I forget?’
Amy woke up early without the need for her alarm. She scrabbled on her bedside table for her iPhone, read 05:28 on its home screen and sighed.
This was a stupid time to be up unnecessarily, but there was no way she’d get back to sleep now; there was too much to do today, and too much at stake. Somehow or other, she needed to get Sam alone, apologise to him for everything and admit how she really felt. Alongside this last-ditch attempt to salvage things with him, she had authors’ talks to oversee, social media channels to man and a Regency dance to perform.
The light streaming in through her bedroom window was pale and new, like the day was still being born. For some reason, this added to Amy’s vague sense that something momentous was going to happen between now and when the sun set again. Such woo-woo imaginings were very unusual for Amy, and always made her think of her mother. She felt a sudden urge to speak to Lily, remembering what she’d said in one of her recent texts: that she’d like the chance to listen, should her daughter ever feel she needed someone to talk to. Amy did a quick calculation in her head and worked out that, in LA, it was around half past nine at night. Lily would probably pick up if she rang her.
Not pausing for long enough to talk herself out of it, Amy swiped and tapped her phone until it was calling out the long, drawling ringing sound signifying the distance this conversation would span.
‘Hello?’ Lily said, sounding alarmed. ‘Amy? Is everything OK?’
Amy felt a pang of guilt. Her mother had assumed something must be wrong because she called her so rarely.
‘Everything’s fine, I’m safe and so’s Gran,’ Amy told her. ‘I’m just up early. I felt like I wanted to speak to you.’
‘Well, that’s great,’ Lily said. ‘Big day ahead? It’s the festival, isn’t it?’
Amy was impressed that she’d remembered. She spent so much time talking about intangible, other-worldly things that it was always a shock when Lily revealed she had some idea of what was happening in the mortal realm.
‘That’s right,’ Amy said. ‘RomFest– complete with Q&As and speeches from a variety of bestselling authors, stands that celebrate fans’ favourite romance tropes, themed food and drink and even a Regency dance showcase.’
‘It sounds wonderful,’ Lily said. ‘Your dad would be so proud of you. No doubt he’d have had a ball.’
‘Maybe,’ Amy said. ‘I’ve been thinking a bit lately about how into romance he seemed, but how reluctant he was to try and find a new relationship after … Well. After you two broke up.’
She didn’t want to say ‘after you left us’. Far too loaded for any chat, pre-6 a.m., even if it was true.
‘Oh?’ Lily said. ‘What’s brought this on?’
‘I guess I’m kind of … in a bit of a situation myself,’ Amy admitted. ‘Erm. I’ve discovered I have– havealwayshad– feelings for someone I’ve hurt. And now I don’t know if I can make it better or convince him that …’ she swallowed. ‘Convince him that I love him.’
‘My, my,’ Lily said. ‘Can I assume we’re talking about Samuel Ainsworth, the Viscount-to-be?’
‘Yes,’ Amy sighed. ‘We are. Have you been gazing into your crystal ball again?’
‘No,’ Lily said, a wry smile in her voice. ‘I just remember how you used to complain about him when you were at college– and how defensive you were about the idea of being friends with him when we spoke a few months ago. Also, he’sincrediblyhandsome.’
‘How have you divined that?’ Amy asked, surprised.
Lily laughed. ‘I googled him. Did some light Instagram stalking. Not everything I find out comes to me via the tarot deck, Amy. Though if you’ll forgive me for saying I told you so, this morning’s revelationdoesexplain the four of cups. And the moon.’
It kind of did, but there was no way Amy was going to admit it.
‘If you say so,’ she grumbled. Then she steeled herself and said: ‘I’m scared, Lily. What if I tell him how I feel and it doesn’t change anything? What if he doesn’t want me, after everything that’s happened?’
Now she’d given voice to her fear, it took shape in her mind too. Amy imagined herself sliced open: raw, afraid and vulnerable but left to bleed out.
‘You have to take the chance,’ Lily said simply. ‘Trust me when I say thenotknowing will eat you up– to the point where you’ll wish you’d just been honest, risked being rejected, faced the possibility that you might have to rebuild yourself afterwards.’
Amy was surprised by the soft, sad certainty in Lily’s voice. Her tone was melancholic– like she spoke from personal experience.
‘And you know this how?’ Amy asked.
