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Until he opens his mouth. “Good grief, what took so long?”
I glare at him and take my time answering while I perch on one of the Queen Anne chairs, framed in the same dark wood as the chaise lounge in my bedroom and padded in the same white. Considering I’ve known Ben less than a day, he does seem maybe a little too comfortable with me. Or living deep in a patriarchal society is going to his head.
“Have you seen the pile of clothing I’m required to put on?” I eye his simple ensemble. Sure, his three-piece suit is more than he might be wearing if he were in the present, but while I haven’t studied Victorian men’s undergarments in depth, I know they’re much simpler than the ridiculousness of everything I put on underneath this dress. He opens his mouth, probably to tell me he knows exactly how much, but I stop him. “Not to mention my hair. It has to be brushed a hundred strokes to keep it as clean as possible without modern shampoos. It’s a wonder I’m here now.”
He smirks, which is infuriating and, honestly, sexy. “Maybe next time you should get up earlier.”
My mouth drops open. “Excuse me?” I snap. “Maybe at dinner and afternoon tea and whatever else we’re doing I have to pretend as though I answer to you for everything, but I don’t actually. I’m an adult with my own schedule.”
The smirk disappears and he nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I had someone I could really talk to, and I got impatient.”
I soften immediately. All of this is frightening and new to me, but Ben’s been dealing with it for two years now. I can see how time would slow while he waited for me this morning.
“What’s so important?” I ask, my voice warmer than before.
“I’ve asked Annabelle to pack some things for you. We’re going to San Francisco.”
I start. “Really?”
He nods. “You need clothes of your own and corsets that fit you correctly.” His gaze slides down to my waist, and the protectiveness in his tone sends a shiver through me. My knowledge of historical fashion spans a vast amount of time. I know a little about a lot of time periods. Ben’s focus may be on a shorter span of time, but no doubt he knows the dangers of too-tight corsets for women. His eyes return to my face, and his expression brightens. “President McKinley is also going to be in San Francisco tomorrow, and the teacher in me can’t pass up the opportunity to show you some real history.”
I smile at his excitement. And there’s the fact that I get to see a Gilded Age city and distract myself from whatever’s happening—and this blasted uncomfortable corset—by living out more of my own personal historical romance. Ben leans back into the uncomfortable couch and puts his hands behind his head.
I point a finger at him. “I think you’re starting to have fun with this.”
His grin widens. “I haven’t had anything this interesting happen in a long time, Clara. I’ve just been sitting here, waiting for some kind of portal to open and take me home. This charade is far more fun than my leisurely days at The Villa.” There’s a beat of silence before he adds, in an almost offhanded way, “My family probably thinks I’m dead, then?”
I draw in a breath, taken off guard by the question. I don’t blame him for wanting to know more about his family. Actually, I’m surprised it’s taken him this long to ask me what I know about them. But it’s also strange to be having such a familiar conversation with someone I only met yesterday.
“I don’t think your mom believes that,” I say softly.
He blinks and swallows, and I think about the sheen of tears that she held back during her entire meeting with me. “You know,” he says, then clears his throat. “I’ve considered trying to somehow get a message to her in the future, but I’m not sure how to word it. ‘Hey, Mom. Trapped in the past. Please send help. Otherwise I’m fine.’” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Is anyone even still looking for me?”
Meeting him yesterday or not, I’ve already figured out that Ben likes to hide serious conversations behind jokes. “Do you think your mom would stop if she thought you might be alive?”
“You met her once and you got that vibe?” he teases, still trying to keep everything light. But the tightness around his eyes belies emotion anyway.
“What mother wouldn’t?” I ask.
“True.” He looks down, hiding from me, but I’ll give him that. Sometimes it feels like we’re already besties. I need to remember we’re basically strangers. “What did they say about me when I disappeared?” he asks.
I squint at my hands, thinking back to two years ago. It was a big news story for our small town, and Aunt Vi was beside herself. She’d talked all the time about the “young man” who was renting the condo. She loved Ben’s knowledge of The Villa and had given him the lease based on a story he’d told her about one of its early residents that he’d found in his research.
“No one knew what to say,” I finally answer. “There was no explanation. Your car was there, your phone was sitting on the counter, nothing in the apartment was disturbed, no forced entry. You’d vanished into thin air, and no one knew where to start looking. The police leaned into the narrative that you’d deserted your life, but they couldn’t come up with a reason why.”
Will the search be different for me? Will people start to question the strange coincidence of the tenants of 1F disappearing mysteriously? How long before Morgan misses me? I’m not scheduled to work at the library until sometime next week, but not showing doesn’t mean people will immediately start to worry.
Maybe if my mom was alive.
And does this train of thought mean I’ve accepted that this is real?
“They would’ve never guessed that I didn’t go very far, and yet I’m so far out of reach,” Ben murmurs. He looks up at me with a half-smile. “We are, that is. So, who’s missing you?”
I think this question is doing double duty. He wants to direct the conversation away from himself and probably also gauge how soon before people question my disappearance.
My throat constricts even though I was just thinking of this. “No one. Well, maybe my friend Morgan, but it might take her a while to figure out I’m gone.”
His brow furrows. “No family?”
