I catch Lily-Anne around the waist and pull her sharply into an alcove, half-hidden behind a suit of armour that looked real earlier but is actually plastic. She stumbles as she finds her feet, then she goes still as I draw her close, her back against my chest, my arm braced around her.
We hold our breath.
“That’s ridiculous. I need it fixed, not a shutdown,” she argues.
To my horror, she slows to a stop right beside us.
Lily-Anne leans back against me, her weight pressing against me, my grip tightening instinctively.
“No. We are not cancelling events.” Thewoman pauses to listen. “Absolutely not. They can speak to our lawyers.”
Then she strides past, arguing with her caller as she disappears down the hall.
The moment she’s gone, the tension drains from us both, our shoulders sagging as breath rushes out in shared relief. We don’t move right away, still pressed together, as if separating too soon might tempt fate.
Only when the sound fades do I ease my grip, though some darker instinct resists, reluctant to let her go.
Lily-Anne’s hand brushes my chest as she turns, steadying herself, and she lets out another shaky exhale. She looks up at me then, close enough that I can see the faint tremor of her lips and the light dusting of freckles across her nose.
“I think we’re clear,” she says, though her hand is slow to drop from my chest.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak as we step apart and return to the corridor.
When we rejoin the others, Jack’s hand finds the small of her back, light but possessive. The ache in my chest intensifies.
She’s not mine.
And it seems she never will be.
“Where were you two?” Ellenor asks. “I thought Filch got you.”
“We were avoiding Peeves,” Lily-Anne deflects with a shrug.
I feel a surge of gratitude for her quick thinking—and her discretion in not mentioning my lapse in the Mallandain Room.
Jack concludes the tour and, apart from a near call when we almost cross paths with a departing group by the front door, leads us safely out the way we came.
We have lunch on the tearoom terrace. I have no appetite, but I order something anyway.
Lily-Anne and Ellenor excitedly scan the menu, but Jack overrides their preferences with his recommendations. It grates on me, though the sisters seem happy enough with his suggestions.
I mull it over as I pick at my food, watching them enjoy the sandwiches no one wanted except the man who ordered them. And yet, by the time we stand, not a crumb remains on their plates.
Perhaps the problem is me.
It’s time to face a hard truth. For all my criticisms of Jack Willoughby, he has one considerable thing to recommend him: at leastheisn’t seeing ghosts.
29
Offbeat
Lily-Anne
Back home, I’m still wound up from our castle escapade. It was an adrenaline rush for sure, but one I could’ve happily gone without.
I’m not sure what bothers me more: that I agreed to trespass, or that Ellenor’s so unfazed by it. It’s not like her. She’s like a bull when she sets her mind to something, unstoppable and maybe even reckless—but she doesn’t usually break the rules.
I find her downstairs in Brandon’s living room, remote in hand, socked feet on the coffee table in all their green-and-silver-striped splendour, browsing for something to watch.
