“They encouraged me,” James offers. “And where were you? I can’t believe you left so early. Why, the sun hadn’t even risen yet.”
Another groan escapes my lips before I can stop it. “When are you going back to London?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Tonight, maybe tomorrow,” James offers. “Why?”
“I need to get back.”
“A driver can always take you if you really must leave. But don’t you want to eat some breakfast? Toast?” James entreats. “It’s the most important meal of the day, you know.”
At last, I sit up, looking at them all. “Sorry.”
James shoves a side plate with some dry toast over. “Here, have one piece, at least. It’ll do you a world of good, trust me.” He has the look of a man whose faith in the restorative qualities of bread has never ever let him down.
I retrieve a half slice of toast and eat it aggressively. “Right, cheers. Must dash.”
“Give my best to Eddie!” James calls after me. “Solid material, right there. Don’t forget the plan. That’s what you need.”
But Edward’s not who I want.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
As soon as I’m back in my room and reunited with my phone, I text Stef to wish him a good morning. But there’s nothing back a few minutes later. To be fair, it’s around 6:00 a.m. in New York. Reason, however, struggles to make a foothold.
He’s sleeping, calm down.
I pack up my things and give my regrets to James about staying another day for the full roster of birthday weekend celebrations at the castle. All I want is to go home. My chest is hot and tight every time I think about James’ social media post, my face burning. I’ve got to deal with this situation right away.
Edward texts me too, and I don’t have the heart to message him back yet.
I had a wonderful time with you last night. I would love to see you again soon x
Which, remarkably, doesn’t make me feel the least bit better, no matter what James is trying to orchestrate between us. Kissing people generally comes as easily to me as breathing—but not when it upsets Stef. Shit. I should have thought about this more last night. My shoulders droop.
By the time the driver takes me back to London a couple of hours later, there’s still no response from Stef. Has he seen James’ post? Well, odds are good, after all. They’re friends. The algorithm knows that they’re friends too, and it will prioritize James’ post about the party.
When we reach the M25, it’s got to be after 9:00 a.m. in New York, and there’s still nothing. I squeeze my phone in my hand, as if by doing so I can manifest a text from him. Stef may or may not be sleeping. I try to call, but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Fuck.”
You’ve done it again, Theo. Not in a good way.
And there’s still nothing by the time I get home. With a certain amount of dread, I walk into my flat, throw myself down on the sofa, and send off a sting of texts as I doom spiral. This is all my fault, possibly also a little bit of James’ fault too. Neither of these facts makes the situation any better.
I can’t stop thinking about you x
You were so, so hot last night
Also if you’ve seen James’ Insta — it was all part of his cover plan for me, I’ll explain. I’m so sorry
Please text me when you see this?
Then, I force myself to shut my eyes and take a few deep breaths. After an eternity passes, I send one more text.
I miss you x
Somehow, despite my angst, the exhaustion catches up with me, and with the familiarity of home, I doze off to sleep. I’m awoken a while later by the buzzing of my phone on my chest while I lie sprawled on the sofa. Blearily, I reach for the phone.
I was travelling, my plane just landed
