Beauty and the Brit by Poppy St. James
STERLING
After a long day at work, it’s already after eight o’clock when I leave the office.
I texted Camryn earlier to be sure she was free for me to stop over tonight. I told her that we needed to talk, and she agreed. Now I’m at the door to her building, waiting to be buzzed in.
Finally, the door clicks, and I pull it open and take the narrow staircase to the sixth floor.
When she answers the door, she’s barefoot with a messy bun on top of her head, a woolly cardigan pulled around her shoulders, and a huge glass of red wine in one hand.
“Hi.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure,” she says, taking a step back.
I can’t help but feel that something between us has changed. She leads me into the living room, but rather than inviting me to join her or asking if I want a glass of wine, she merely stands there with a hand on her hip.
“I, um . . .” I rub the back of my neck and look down at my shoes. “I came here to apologize.” My gaze lifts to meet hers, and what I see staring at me is icy resolve. “I realize that what I did crossed a line. I had no right to step in like that, but I want you to know I was only trying to help.”
She releases a sharp sigh. “I know that. I mean, I was angry at first, but rationally, I get what you were trying to do.”
“I truly am sorry.” I reach out and touch her shoulder.
“That debt, it’s a source of embarrassment. My ex, he . . . you know what? Never mind, it’s my responsibility now. It is what it is, and you’ve probably saved me by doing that.”
I shrug. “It will save you thousands in the long run, but I should have asked first. I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you,” she says, and those are the sweetest words I’ve ever heard.
Camryn swirls the wine in her glass, looking down at the wave of red liquid. “I have something I need to tell you too. I’ve moved up the event.”
“Moved it up?”
She nods. “It’s Saturday.”
“As in two days from now?”
“Yes.” The look in her eyes is sad, like she’s made the decision that she can’t keep doing this with me.
“I see.”
I thought I had more time, but it appears it’s all but run out. I wanted to tell her tonight that I wanted to end my search for a wife, wanted to say forget it—let’s call off the whole thing. I’ll deal with Charles, figure something out for my mum, but what I absolutely can’t do is continue living like this.
But the words lodge in my throat and stay there. I’m speechless.
The mood around us changes, grows more urgent, and the gaze she gives me is filled with curiosity and longing.
“We can go over all the details tomorrow after work,” she suggests.
“Okay. Let’s meet for dinner somewhere.”
“Sounds good.”
I feel like an utter fraud because we’re still searching for my wife, while all I want is Camryn. I’m pretty sure this is the one thing not to do—fall for your matchmaker. But it’s entirely too late.
“Tomorrow then.” I lift her hand to my mouth and press a kiss to the back of it. Then I see myself out, my heart in my throat.