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“I would never ask you to.”
“I know. Just… If you really want to know, you can Google them. It’s not a big secret.” Fred closed his laptop and stood up, tucking it under his arm. “It’s that simple.”
I glanced at my own screen before I looked away, towards the window, out at the garden.
“Pass me your phone.”
“Pardon?”
“Pass me your phone,” Fred repeated, holding out his hand.
I picked it up and handed it over.
“Unlocked, Ellie.”
Of course.
I unlocked it with my thumbprint and gave it to him. He tapped and swiped a few times before he held it back out towards me.
“You’ve got my number now,” Fred said quietly, holding my gaze. “I’m not hitting on you, I swear.”
I fought a smile, only just losing the battle.
“Max is my best friend. He’s… protective of his emotions, for many reasons. I don’t usually interfere with his life because I understand his position, but I like you, Ellie. I think there’s something about you—something that’s changing him. For the better,” he added quickly. “I don’t understand the weird little relationship you have, but I think you’re good for him. I’m also not blind, so that means he might not be good for you.”
“I don’t know,” I said softly. “He’s going to break my heart, and I think I’m going to let him.”
“Maybe he will. Maybe he won’t.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I just know I’ve never seen him be this way with anyone other than you.”
I swallowed.
“I love him dearly,” Fred continued, smiling. “But he’s a difficult little sod, and I know him better than anyone else. I’m going home tomorrow, but if you ever need to talk, now you know how you reach me.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary, but thank you anyway. I appreciate the offer.” I returned his smile with a small one of my own, and he turned away, dipping his head as he left the library.
The door clicked shut, and I sighed.
“You can Google them.”
I wasn’t daft. I figured that a duke and duchess dying at a relatively young age would be information that was readily available on the Internet, one way or another, but I’d never quite been able to bring myself to search for it.
It seemed wrong, somehow. Even if their deaths were a matter of public record, it almost felt as though I was prying into Max’s life. Reading his diary, in a way.
It wasn’t right.
No matter how badly I wanted to know, I wasn’t going to do it. It was something he was either going to tell me or he wasn’t, and if he wasn’t going to, then…
Well.
I was going to have to suck it up, wasn’t I?
I huffed at the screen. I could not focus for the life of me. My head was in thirty different places—when I wasn’t thinking about Max, my brain was flip-flopping between my current scene and all the ones I had yet to write, but I had little more than vague ideas and random bits of dialogue flitting through my brain.
When I wasn’t thinking about that, I was thinking about my brother’s situation. And Meg’s work issues. And Winston’s great escapades. And if I really wanted to stay in London or move. And if I did, where?
See?
I was thinking about everything other than the fact I was very bloody stuck on this plot hole. What kind of issue could possibly have an aristocratic family be in a situation where they barely spoke?
