Page 101 of My Faire Lady

“It’s nice hearing a familiar voice,” she says as the barista pours a layer of foam onto a cup behind the counter.

“Agreed.” I slip a stopper into the mouth of Bethany’s coffee. “What brings you to Edinburgh, then?”

She shrugs. “It’s a long story.”

“I love long stories.”

Something shifts in her eyes, a slight shimmer of her irises. Or it could be a trick of the light. “I thought you might.”

“I’m Lottie,” I say, extending a hand.

She takes it, and there’s a slight spark between our palms, like the electric shock of two fabrics rubbing together.

She blinks. “I’m⁠—”

The barista slides a cup onto the counter. “Flat white for Scarlet.”

Not Jade. Not Ruby.

Scarlet.

37

She’s more beautiful than I remember.

There was never anything missing from her, but seeing her here, in the city she dreamt about living in, it’s like all the pieces of her life have slotted together.

And she doesn’t remember me.

Despite how my hands have memorized every curve of her body, how she’s pressed into my memory, made a home in my heart—I’m a stranger to her.

I should turn back and leave her be. After everything I did and the way I hurt her, it’s selfish to force myself into her life again, when she’s found happiness.

But as I push the door open and hold it for her, lavender wafts over me. My chest tightens, and the air in my lungs bottles up. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think my feet could walk away from her. Since the day I met her, I’ve told myself it was temporary. That she was better off without me. But as she lifts her umbrella over our heads, her eyes catch mine, and my heart flips over itself.

I don’t think I’ll survive without her.

And I owe her this—the choice I never gave her. The choice to choose me, too.

The fog presses in close, coating us in a thin mist, but I trace a simple drying rune against the back of my hand. This close to Lottie, my magic responds to the summons—strengthened.

I watch her, waiting for her to notice the way the water dries from the hem of her tailored pants, but she doesn’t break her stride. I don’t miss the way she swallows, though. Or the way her knuckles blanch around the handle of the umbrella.

A smile pulls at my lips, and I twist the vial between my fingers, centering my breath. We turn left, and the university comes into view in the distance, looming closer with every step.

“I came here because I need to apologize to someone.”

“Oh?” Lottie’s brow lifts, and she looks at me out of the corner of her eyes.

A low breath passes my lips. “There’s this woman I know. She has a smile that could light up the dark and the most beautiful, unruly curls I’ve ever seen. I’m deeply in love with her.”

Lottie’s face falls for a heartbeat, then she stitches her lips into a feigned, concerned smile. “Then what’s there to apologize for?”

The outline of the theater building inches closer, and I steel myself. Here goes nothing.

“She was in love with me, too. Or at least I think she was. She worked at the same Renaissance Faire as me, and I helped her with a contest to win a scholarship to this university. The one for the costume design program.”

Her footsteps slow, brow pinching, but I press on. She needs to hear this, even if it’s too far-fetched to believe.