The bus carried us down Kentish Town Road, and as we neared the stop for Camden Town Underground station, butterflies joined the knot in my stomach. It was around here that I’d fallen asleep wishing Darcy would appear, so if Enzo’s theory was correct and there was some kind of tear between Darcy’s fictional world and ours, then this was the point at which he’d potentially pass back through, and I’d lose him.
I glanced at Darcy, who’d finally stopped staring at the punk and was looking out the window, his eyes wide as he took in the busy, colorful streets of Camden. He must have sensed me watching him, as he turned to me.
“Are you quite all right, Miss Knight?”
I nodded, my mouth dry. How to put into words how much I appreciated this man, and how important he’d been to me and my mum, without telling him who he really was? I cleared my throat.
“I just wanted to say…if this works and you’re about to return home, then thank you. I know this won’t make any sense, but you’ve been a big part of my life, and I will forever be grateful for the way you’ve supported me.”
He looked at me in surprise. “I do not understand, Miss Knight. We have only known each other for a matter of days, so how have I been a big part of your life?”
I didn’t reply, my eyes fixed on his face as I felt the bus pull into the stop. If this was going to happen, then he’d disappear any moment now, and I wanted to make the most of every second I had in this wonderful man’s presence.
“Miss Knight, pray tell me what you mean?” Darcy said. “Zoe?”
“Zoe?”
I jolted as another voice said my name, and then I looked past Darcy and my heart plummeted. Walking down the bus aisle toward me was a face I knew very well. A face that had destroyed my life. A face sporting one of the most unattractive, pube-like beards I’d ever seen.
“How funny seeing you here!” my ex-boyfriend said, sliding into the newly freed seat in front of me.
Shit! I needed to get us out of here, but when I glanced toward the doors, they were already closing. We were trapped! I gritted my teeth, praying that Darcy would keep his mouth shut. If Crispin worked out who Darcy was, then he was exactly the kind of self-publicizing dick who would go straight to theDaily Mailand tell them he was best mates with a famous fictional character, and then I’d never be able to protect Darcy from the world.
And then, just when I thought things couldn’t get any more stressful, I saw a tall, willowy blond slide into the seat next to Crispin.
“Zoe, have you met Petra?” Crispin said casually, although he knew full well I hadn’t, the prick.
“Hiii,” Petra drawled, her voice rich with money and disinterest.
No one said anything for a moment, and I realized they were waiting for me to introduce Darcy.
“Sorry, this is Da—Will,” I stammered. “And this is Crispin Carter, my ex-boyfriend, and his new girlfriend, Petra.” How I managed to say that sentence without gagging, I still don’t know.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Darcy said. Then, to my absolute surprise, I felt his arm move behind me, not touching me but like a protective barrier around my shoulders. I pulled myself up a little taller, feeling immediately calmer.
“Dawill, that’s an unusual name,” Crispin said, and unless I wasmistaken, I swear I could hear an edge of jealousy in his voice. Did he think Darcy was my boyfriend? The thought made me strangely pleased.
“Crispinis uncommon too,” Darcy said coolly. “Although I believe I have heard your name once before. Are you not the author ofShadows of Albion?”
What?!I was certain I’d never told Darcy that Crispin was an author, let alone the pretentious name of the book he’d written.
I saw a smug little smile creep across Crispin’s face, and I wanted to punch him. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.”
“Have you read Crispin’s work?” Petra asked Darcy, and I stifled a snort. Hiswork?!
“I confess I have not,” Darcy said. “But I have read a review of it.”
“Was it the one inThe GuardianorThe Telegraph?” Crispin asked. “Or maybe you read the feature on me in theNew York Times?”
“Was that the piece that described your book as ‘breathtakingly original’?” Petra asked Crispin.
“No, that was theFT. TheTimescalled it ‘profoundly compelling.’”
“I do not believe it was either of those,” Darcy said. “I think the review I read was in theIndependent.”
I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but clearly Crispin and Petra did, as their faces had both gone pale.
“Yes…well, that reviewer didn’t understand the complexities of what I was trying to achieve,” Crispin mumbled.
