Chapter 21
The next morning, I leave the comfort of the Verity Hotel for the first time since arriving in the city of Vernon. Three things surprise me next. The first is that our destination is right across the street, at a bookshop. The second is that even though I’ve seen no break in the snowfall outside my hotel room window, only the lightest, most perfect dusting of fluff coats the streets, and the sidewalks aren’t at all slick, filthy, or icy. It’s nothing like the snow in Bretton, wreaking havoc on the roads, sending coaches and automobiles careening into each other.
The third thing that surprises me is the massive line that starts at the bookshop door and winds all the way around the next corner. Maybe that shouldn’t come as a shock. This may be the first time I’ve seen a line out the door in advance of our signing, but William has been popular everywhere we’ve gone, whether it’s a signing, a party, or a pub.
“Let’s go around back and enter through the alley,” Monty says as we cross the street from the hotel. Today, I am not on time, having woken up a half hour later than I was supposed to. William and Daphne are already inside, so it’s just me and the publicist. Thankfully, I still have twenty minutes to spare before the signing begins.
Monty leads me down the opposite end of the street from where the line is going, then guides me behind the row of buildings to a snow-dusted alley. I rub my gloved hands over my arms to generate heat. Even in my warmest wool coat and the long-sleeved tartan day dress I wear beneath it, the chill is pervasive. We stop at a door and Monty raps his knuckles on it. My breath comes out in misty puffs of air as I bounce on the balls of my feet—anything to distract myself from the cold.
The door opens and an elderly man with gray hair and watery blue eyes greets us. “Come in, come in!”
I could weep from the delectable warmth that surrounds me as we step into the back room of the bookshop. Crates upon crates fill nearly all the available space, some haphazardly stacked, but there’s a charm to the clutter. Not to mention the scent of paper that always sets me at ease. How could it not? The smell of books is universally loved and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.
Monty introduces me to the man. His name is Mr. Cordell and he’s the owner of the bookshop.
“It’s such a pleasure, Miss Danforth,” he says, his tone gentle yet refined. His expression turns bashful. “I’m a big fan of yours. The Governess in Love series is one of my all-time favorites.”
My mouth falls open. “Really? Which book of mine do you like best?”
“Oh, don’t make me choose. But please allow me to take your coat and gloves. Then I’ll warm you up with a nice cup of cider.” He grins and his eyes crinkle at the corners.
What an adorable man. A kindred spirit if I’ve ever met one.
I hand over my outerwear, which he hangs on one of three coat racks that stand in the back room amongst the crates. He places my dark-green coat beside a much larger black one. I can’t help wondering if that’s William’s. Monty didn’t bother to wear a coat to cross the street, so there’s nothing of his to take. Mr. Cordell leads us out of the back room and into the main portion of the bookshop.
The first sight of bookshelves has me relaxing even further. My eyes dart this way and that to take it all in. The shop is nearly as cluttered as the back room was, with overstuffed shelves, clusters of bookcases used to section off different genres, and tables stacked with featured titles. Handwritten notes are interspersed throughout the shelves with personalized recommendations from Mr. Cordell or the other employees.
The bookshop may not have the whimsy of Flight of Fancy or the elegance of the university library, but there’s a charm to it that makes this my favorite stop yet.
“We’re over here,” Monty says, peeking out from behind a bookcase. I must have gotten distracted in my admiration of the shop, for I have no recollection of losing him or Mr. Cordell. I hurry over to Monty and the maze of shelves opens to the most beautiful sight I could ever hope to see. The romance section. It consists of an entire wall of shelves flanked by two smaller bookcases to create a comfortable little nook. Two tables are set inside it, where William and I will be signing. Spines in every color march along the shelves, and I nearly have a heart attack at the sight of my Governess in Love series featured with their covers facing out and taking up four whole shelves directly behind our tables.
Movement draws my eye to where Daphne’s tiny paw sets a copy of The Governess and the Fae on the table from behind. I’m about to help her but Monty does first.
“I told you not to unpack the crates alone,” he mutters as he crouches behind the table and stacks my books, several at a time, upon it.
I still can’t see much of Daphne behind the table, but I catch her monotone. “I wouldn’t have had to if you were on time.”
“Weenie.”
I stiffen at the sound of William’s voice. My pulse skitters. With all the composure I can manage, I face him. His appearance greatly contrasts with how he looked last night. Though his hair maintains the same reckless abandon it normally does, it’s less mussed. His blue eyes are clear instead of heavy-lidded. He wears a full suit, charcoal gray this time, and his cravat is neatly tied. The jewelry in his ears is now silver, the same shade as his brocade waistcoat.
There’s no sign of discomfort or embarrassment in his posture or the crooked curl of his lips. Why would there be? He may have taunted me to use my free pass while he was inebriated, but it’s not like he wouldn’t do that while sober. And even though I flustered him when he caught sight of me in my chemise, he recovered faster than I did.
I’m the one who stayed flustered. I’m the one who busied my hands between my legs while thinking of him, something I’ve never done before. By that, I mean I normally fantasize about imaginary lovers, letting scenes from my books play out in my mind. Last night, though…
I absently rub my fingers over the back of my hand. The place he kissed. The place I kissed while I came last night. My breaths grow shallow at the memory.
Thank heavens he can’t read my mind.
“Mr. Cordell asked me to give you this.” He hands me a porcelain mug, one of two he’s holding.
I accept it, looking anywhere but at him. The steaming mug fills the air with the delectable scent of apples and cinnamon. The taste is even better, tart and sweet with the perfect balance of spice. I take another sip, letting it distract me from the heat of William’s proximity.
“Did you see the line?” he asks, tone casual.
“It’s a little early to boast, isn’t it?” When he doesn’t answer, I hazard a glance at him.
He’s staring down at me, a bemused look on his face. “You still don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
William opens his mouth, but Mr. Cordell’s voice cuts off whatever he was going to say. “Ah, good, you got your cider. There are only a few minutes before I open the doors for the ravenous readers. First, though, you have a very special guest, Mr. Haywood. One I took the liberty of inviting inside early.”
Mr. Cordell steps to the side and waves someone over. From behind one of the bookcases emerges a stunning creature—a tall, slender fae with wide brown eyes and the longest, feathery lashes I’ve ever seen. Their skin is tawny with light-tan freckles over their nose and cheeks. Two dainty antlers protrude from either side of their head, while their russet chin-length tresses are arranged in a loose wave. They’re dressed in flowing white trousers and a blue silk robe-style top with long, trailing sleeves.
William’s face breaks into a jovial grin. He sets his cup of cider on his table and greets the newcomer with a warm embrace. “Zane, what are you doing here?”
“I performed at the Verity Hotel last week. I saw your name on the sign outside the bookshop and decided to stay for your signing.”
“We’ve been in the same city and the same hotel this entire time? You should have found me sooner.”
“I couldn’t abuse my influence and force the hotel staff to divulge your room number.”
As I stare between the couple, something tightens in my chest.
Mr. Cordell beams. “My bookshop is full of famous people today. A true honor.”
That’s when I realize who Zane is. This is the famous opera singer, one whose reputation has crossed the channel to Bretton, despite them never performing outside of Faerwyvae. Only humans leave the isle, and only under strict guidelines. Fae remain safe within the magic-infused border of standing stones that mark the perimeter of the isle. One that prevents humans from entering without a designated fae escort, all to prevent Faerwyvae’s bloody history of war from repeating.
Yet somehow this famous fae whom I’ve heard so much about, from their incredible vocal range to their beauty…is friends with William? I was already jealous that he was cast opposite Greta Garter.
“Ah,” William says, his mood sobering as if he only now recalls he has an audience. He introduces Zane to me, Monty, and Daphne, then adds, “Zane and I went to university together.”
“Another school chum,” Monty says. “You really got around at university, didn’t you?”
Zane scoffs and elbows William in the arm. “Get around, he did.”
William’s gaze slides to mine, but I avert my face before I can read too much into it. My chest continues to tighten. Am I truly so envious that William has such famous acquaintances? Or am I envious of…
I shake my head before I can finish that thought and occupy myself with setting up my table. I stack my books in several different ways until Daphne slaps my hand and tells me to stop ruining what she’s already made perfect. Then I settle into my chair, watching William do the same from my periphery. He and Zane are still chatting amicably, and the latter perches at the edge of his table.
After a few more minutes, Zane says, “I should go. I don’t want to occupy your time once your fans arrive.”
“Are you not among my fans?” William quips.
“No comment. You on the other hand…” Zane swivels on William’s table until they’re facing me. “I’m really excited to read your newest book.”
I straighten. “Oh! Oh, thank you.” For the love of all things, Zane—the famous Zane—is looking at me. Smiling at me. Wanting to read my book. I flutter my fingers, eager to smooth my hair, or…do something.
Then I catch William’s glower. “Don’t let it get to your head, Weenie. Zane is merely a hopeless romantic. They’ll read anything with a kiss or a tryst.”
I give him an exaggerated smile. “They have wonderful taste then, unlike you.”
Zane chuckles and rises from the table. “I’m off?—”
“No, Z,” William says. “Please stay. Save me from boredom.”
I frown. Since when has any signing been boring for him?
“Fine,” Zane grumbles and settles back on the table. “Just for a while.”
“It’s time!” Mr. Cordell says, glancing down at his pocket watch. He returns the timepiece to his waistcoat pocket and scurries away.
Daphne darts after him. “I’m on crowd control.”
Monty crouches beside my table. His blond curls fall over his brow as he gives me a pleading look. He speaks in a whisper. “Can I stay in your room tonight?”
My heart leaps at the question. “What? Why?”
He gives a significant look to the chatting pair beside me. “I think we both know how tonight will end.”
I swallow hard. “You think William and Zane…”
“Look at their body language,” he whispers. “They’re more than old friends. That is the aura of two people who’ve fucked. Forgive me. Two people who’ve courted.”
He doesn’t need to watch his language on my account. I glance at the couple with fresh eyes, taking in William’s easy smile, devoid of the seductive mask he wears for his fans, the way Zane swats his arm as they tease each other. They do seem closer than university friends. Could Monty be right? Are they old lovers ready to rekindle their flame?
Am I at risk of losing a point to William tonight?
“I’m sleeping with you and Daph tonight,” Monty says, drawing my attention back to him. “Not in a sexual way, of course. Unless you ask nicely.” With a coy grin, he saunters off. Just then, a flood of chattering bodies fills the bookshop, jostling each other in their excitement to reach our tables. Daphne growls and threatens ankle bites to corral them into a line. I expect the line to extend from William’s table.
But it doesn’t.
Instead, dozens upon dozens of figures line up with mauve books in their hands, tears in their eyes, and squeals of anticipation on their lips.
For me.
The line outside the door, the buzz of excitement…
It’s all for me.
The crowd goes quiet as the leader of the line approaches my table. She’s a tall human female outfitted in a deep crimson day dress lined with black lace, her hands tucked into a fur muff. Her black hair is pinned in a low chignon, and her expression is somehow exuberant and dignified at once.
“Hello, Miss Danforth,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “I cannot express how pleased I am to meet you.”
Something clicks in my mind, a reminder of what one of my readers said at Flight of Fancy Bookshop. I study this woman’s appearance all over again, from her elegant state of dress to the way she carries herself. How the guests who stand behind her cast awed looks her way. How they don’t seem afraid of her yet maintain a respectful distance.
“You wouldn’t happen to be…”
“Gemma Rochester.” She extends a hand for me to shake, her beautiful smile growing even wider. “I’d like to think I’m your biggest fan.”
My mouth falls open as I rise to my feet and grasp her hand with maybe even more excitement than she has for me. Gemma Rochester isn’t just any reader. She’s Queen Gemma of Queen Gemma’s Book Club. She’s the wife of the Unseelie King of Winter.
And she’s my biggest fan.
Pride flares inside me, and my eyes find William’s at once. He shrugs as if to say, Now do you get it? I lift my chin with a smirk and expect him to do the same, but there’s no arrogance in his eyes. No taunting. Just a soft smile, a tip of his chin in a subtle nod, and a strange flutter in my heart.