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For no apparent reason at all, tears pricked my eyes. I was here, in the city that had beckoned my entire life, in the arms of the man I’d only dared hope could love me. The world was still big and scary, and the future was unknown. But it had him in it.
And right now, that was all I could ask for.
FOUR
“It’s very…empty.”
A few minutes later, I found myself standing in the lobby of the British Library. Otherwise known as Mecca.
And there wasn’t a soul here.
I turned, trying not to notice the way my heels echoed in the great hall. “Xavi, where is everyone? They aren’t closed, are they?”
It didn’t make sense. The main doors had been open, after all.
Xavier shrugged, even as he stared up at the ceilings, taking in the sheer enormity of the place. I had a feeling he hadn’t ever been here either, despite growing up in this city.
“Today’s a bank holiday,” he said. “I simply requested they open a few rooms for us instead of closing completely.”
I blinked. “Open a few rooms.”
Meaning, what, the entire block-spanning complex? I didn’t even want to think about how much essentially renting out one of the largest libraries in the world must have cost him. Or what kinds of favors he’d have to repay.
“Good evening.”
We turned to find an approaching woman in a tweed skirt, hair in a bun, glasses perched on her nose, and a pair of oxford shoes that clipped noisily as she walked across the stone floors. She looked like she had stepped out of a BBC series where she was playing a bookish extra in the background.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” she said, nodding in Xavier’s direction.
“Xavier, please,” he replied, tensing slightly at the address as he reached out to shake her hand. “Or, Mr. Parker, if you must.”
“Mmm.” The woman did not seem to approve. “I am Edith Willoughby, Chief Librarian of the British Library. And this is your wife, I take it?”
“Girlfriend,” Xavier said shortly.
“I—yes,” I confirmed, too gobsmacked by the woman addressing us to notice Xavier’s quickness to correct her.
This wasn’t just someone who spent her days reshelving books or creating Dewey Decimal labels. Edith Willoughby was in charge of some of the greatest treasures of the English language at one of the largest caches in the world. Her being here was like having the President of the United States substitute for a tour guide at the White House.
“Very nice to meet you,” I told her.
Ms. Willoughby nodded primly, though she did not return the compliment. “Our collections are entirely at your disposal for the next three hours. However, per His Grace’s instruction, we have prepared the requested materials in the Manuscripts Reading Room. Come with me, please.”
She turned on her heel, leaving us no choice but to follow her up the steps of the entrance hall.
“Bit stuffy, isn’t she?” Xavier whispered.
“Shh,” I reprimanded. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”
For that, I received a cheeky smirk. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
So this was what it felt like to be with the bad boy in high school, I thought with a thrill. I’d always been the girl too busy reading to get mixed up with the wrong crowd.
“You sound like a naughty schoolboy,” I told him.
“Well, I’m always naughty with you, aren’t I?”
As if to demonstrate, Xavier reached behind me to pinch my backside, causing me to emit a squeak that echoed off the tall ceilings. I stifled a giggle when Ms. Willoughby looked over her shoulder at us and quickened her pace.
