We talk easily and freely on the way back. Even if I weren’t attracted to him, I’m sure we’d be friends.
He doesn’t seem keen to leave me when we get to the front door.
“Quaint house,” he says, admiring Ms. Fernsby’s roses. “It’s very storybook-ish.”
We linger for a minute at the front door. The sunshine, roses, lingering whiskey, and August make me forget that I’m supposed to be sad now. My widow’s jewelry works for me about as well as Heather’s purity ring worked for her. Drat.
“Shall we do this a second time? Can you endure me again?” he asks.
“Maybe. You do know, though, that I’m only here for a few weeks.”
“Let’s just worry about the time you’re here, shall we?”
@ADHemmings *Lizzie and August’s selfie*:
Drinks with the lovely @LizzieWells at Café Royal. Plotting and general debauchery.
14
“You weren’t kidding!” Sarah says, staring at her phone.
I sit across from her at Monmouth and order a very strong tea as the post-whiskey headache spreads across my temples.
She shows me her screen. It’s August and me. For a selfie, it’s not bad, particularly with the flattering brightening filter. I’m smiling, looking less tense than usual, my cheeks flushed from the drinks. August looks rakish, dimple showing more with the filter, one eyebrow raised roguishly.
“God, is that bad?” I groan.
“Not at all! He’s just a notch above you sales-wise—more weeks on the bestseller list. The publicity is marvelous. And look—it already has over 700 likes!”
She always looks so well put together. The upper-crust British accent only accentuates this. Even after a long flight from the States, her red hair remains smoothed back in a chic ponytail, her printed blouse tucked French style into her jeans. Sarah wraps her fingers around her mug, nails manicured with a soft teal polish.
“As you know, we have offers for a film and book sequel. I’m afraid Bella got ahead of herself, but they’re on the table. The actors’ agents have been notified and want them out and about to keepThe Heathcliff Sagamomentum going. Timing is crucial.”
“Absolutely.”
She leans across the table. “So here’s what I wanted to talk with you about: there are some caveats. You gave Cathy and Heathcliff their happy ending. They want this one to take place in the next generation. Cathy, Heathcliff, and Linton are immortals thanks to the moor’s magic, so they’re still young and beautiful, but the stakes are higher. They want Heathcliff and Cathy to break up again—create some sort of complication. They want intrigue—maybe a war or high-profile murder. This one needs to be darker but not depressing. You can hammer it out in the proposal. The nonnegotiable, though, is another happy ending.”
I take a long sip of the tea, noting hints of pepper and cardamom in the flavoring. “We’re getting further away from Brontë territory by the second.”
“But you’ll do it?”
“Of course I’ll do it. The happy ending too.”
She smiles, relieved, as she texts our film agent and publisher.
“Ironic, isn’t it?”
She glances up, arching one carefully waxed eyebrow.
“Of all people,I’mcontracted to write happy endings.”
“Oh, Lizzie...”
“Sorry, I wasn’t seeking sympathy. It’s just...”
Sarah straightens. In her expression, I see whatever Mary Poppins nanny told her to keep a stiff upper lip throughout her childhood. “You—Lizzie Wells—have more control over your happiness than you think.”
I stare down into my tea, unsure what to think about that one.
