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The audience murmured before falling into anticipatory silence.

“Yes,” I said immediately.

“Mm,” Silas followed.

“Don’t mm me in front of four hundred people.”

The audience chuckled.

“I wasn’t disagreeing,” he said mildly.

“You… weren’t?”

“No.”

“You believe you can fall in love with someone’s mind before meeting them?”

“I’m agreeing that the way someone thinks, how they argue, what they defend, and what they can’t let go of, all of that is the most essential part of someone.

“Although,” he went on when I couldn’t think of anything to say, “it does present certain complications.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the difference between knowing someone’s mind and knowing their true character. The mind can seduce you into believing it is the whole picture. It rarely is.”

“But it’s a start.”

“A considerable start.”

“Okay. Now, I can totally see why you think Willoughby is the better match for Marianne.”

The second the words left my lips, I wanted to suck them back in.

I’d screwed up.

Epically.

Life-changingly.

I knew it.

Judging by the silence, the audience knew it as well.

Because not once in all our calls did we discuss the characters in Sense & Sensibility.

No.

Because Silas and I talked about that in person. In his home. Just a few days before.

What were the chances that he wouldn’t remember?

My heartbeat thundered in my ears.

My belly did jumping jacks.

My mind shot off in a million different directions, but all leading to the same place: horror.

My gaze shot helplessly down to my phone, watching the way the camera focused in on Silas, like the operator suddenly knew the jig was up, that Madison on the feed was not the real woman Silas was speaking to.