Page 102 of My Faire Lady

“I rigged the contest in her favor, and she found out. We haven’t spoken since.”

She comes to a stop and turns to me. “I won that contest.”

Rain slides off the umbrella and waterfalls around us. I can’t stop my hand as it lifts and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know.”

Blinking, she steps back, but my hand wraps around her wrist, and that familiar spark passes between us.

“Please,” I say, gently pulling her closer. “Let me explain.”

She studies my face, and I’d like to think there’s a voice buried deep within her subconscious, begging her to stay. To listen.

She presses her tongue into the side of her cheek and nods. “How’d you rig the contest, then? Did you pay the judges? Hack into their⁠—”

“I used magic.”

Her words halt, and she scoffs, shaking her head. “I don’t have time for this.”

My mouth goes dry, but I force the words out. “The faire you worked at this summer was magic, and you knew. But when you found out about how I rigged the contest, you had your memories taken away.” I hook a finger under my necklace and hold the vial between us. “These are your memories, Lottie. Right here. I know you don’t believe me, but if you’ll just give me a chance, I can give them back. If you want them.”

“Prove it,” she says, staring at the vial. “Prove to me that this is real, because right now I feel like I should go tell the nearest campus security that I’m being stalked.”

Warmth creeps into my chest.

There she is.

I let go of the vial, and it falls against the space over my heart. I set down my coffee cup. “Hold out your hand.”

She hesitates, but she obliges, setting her cup down and hovering her hand in the space between us.

I cradle it in mine. “I would explain it all to you, but I have a feeling you won’t believe me if you didn’t see it yourself.” I press the pad of my finger against her palm and trace a warmth rune onto her skin.

Her lips part, gaze flicking up to mine as she whispers, “What was that?”

My lips curl into a smirk. “Magic. I’m a witch.”

“I don’t believe in magic.” She closes her hand into a fist and pulls it away, pressing it against her side as she tilts her chin at the vial. “But even if you are a witch, how am I meant to know that’s not some sort of curse?”

“If I wanted to curse you, I wouldn’t ask. If I wasn’t in love with you, Lottie, I wouldn’t have flown across the world to beg for a second chance.” The words tumble out faster than I can stop them, and a lump forms in my throat. “If you decide you don’t want to be with me once you remember, fine. I’ll leave you alone. But please, give me the chance.” Tears spring into my eyes, and I swear they well in hers. “I haven’t seen you in almost two months, but I look for you in every room I walk into. In the sliver of time between sleep and wake, my hand reaches to the other side of the bed, thinking you’ll be where I left you in my dreams. I miss you. I finally got to leave, and I came here. For you.”

“The man at the airport,” she breathes, eyes widening.

I shift on my feet. “What?”

“His name was Jeremy, one of the jousters at the faire. He said something about me not remembering, and it was strange enough for me to ruminate over what he thought I had forgotten.” She swings her bag to her front and rummages through it, pulling out a postcard. The Kelpies. “He was talking about you, wasn’t he?”

Tears spill over my eyes and roll down my cheeks. She lifts a hand, as if she’ll brush them away, but she stiffens, reconsiders, and her hand lingers in the air, until finally, it drops back to her side.

My stomach sinks, but I school my face against the hurt. “Jeremy is one of my closest friends. And the postcard you’re holding was my mother’s. I was wondering where it went off to.”

“So it’s true,” she whispers. “There are entire weeks of my life I don’t remember?”

I drag my bottom lip between my teeth. “Yes, there are. But if you take them back, I need you to know how sorry I am. I thought I’d never be able to leave, and I wanted you to have a life that was better than mine, bigger than mine. I acted on impulse, and it was the worst decision I’ve ever made.” Raindrops splash on the crown of my head, and I blow out a breath. “If you choose to remember, and you still can’t find it within yourself to forgive me, I’ll understand. If you tell me to leave, I’ll go.”

Her gaze shifts between me and the vial hanging around my neck. Then to the theater building. I brace myself for her to refuse. It’s a possibility I’ve played over and over in my head in the days since I sold the land and bought a one-way flight to Edinburgh. Who would want to relive the kind of hurt I put on her?

She turns back to me. “Okay.”

My thoughts screech to a halt, and every sense hones to a pinprick on her. “Okay?”