Page 81 of The Book of Lost Stories
‘We’ll both need to do a lot of rewriting – that is, if you really are serious about finishing your PhD?’
‘I am serious about that, and about a few other things,’ he said, putting his mug down. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking in the last couple of weeks.’
‘Oh?’ I said absently, because my mind had gone back to my novel. ‘I did wonder if I should change the names of the main characters inLord Rayven’s Revenge, in case there are still family descendants, especially Lord Rayven’s, and they might not be happy about it.’
To my surprise he said, ‘Well, I’m the horse’s mouth on that subject.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’ I demanded, turning to stare at him.
He looked blandly back at me. ‘That Alys was quite right about her younger daughter, Louisa, being domestically inclined, because she married at eighteen and had one of those enormous Victorian families.’
‘How on earth do you know that?’
‘Because I’m a descendant. The Rayven name and title might have died out, but the family continued in the female line. Dad told me all about it. He’s such a genealogy geek these days, the whole family tree is up on the wall back in Florida in a gilded frame in pride of place.’
‘Are you serious?’ I said, and he nodded.
‘Well, then, that has to be the weirdest coincidence ever!’ I said, stunned. Then I realized that his curling chestnut hair and those smoky quartz eyes might well be a legacy from Alys herself.
‘The elder daughter, Vicky, married an archaeologist and worked alongside him. They had one daughter, but that line is now extinct.’
‘I suppose they were a Yorkshire family,’ I said, thinking about it. ‘And yours is too, so it’s not quite such a massive coincidence.’
‘Coincidences happen – and history can repeat itself,’ he said. ‘You know, while I was reading the journal and then your novel, it struck me thatwe’rejust like Alys and Rayven – we fight like cat and dog most of the time, but we enjoy our verbal sparring matches!’
‘I suppose so, except that in our case we’re just friends – bestfriends,’ I said uncertainly, because there was something in his eyes as he looked at me that I’d never seen before …
Once again, I felt that strange, swooping sensation in the pit of my stomach that I’d had when he arrived.
He moved a little closer. ‘Cleo …’ he began, then stopped and ran a distracted hand through his hair. ‘Goodness, this is difficult!’
‘What is?’ I asked, puzzled.
He took a deep breath and said, ‘Cleo, you’re the reason Marcy and I broke up. She said that since I FaceTimed you more than I talked to her, I was obviously with the wrong woman and should be with you – and I suddenly realized she was right and it was you I loved … only I had no idea how to make you see that, too. I was afraid of losing you altogether, but now I’ve burned my boats and told you I’m in love with you, haven’t I?’
For one moment I thought he was joking – he had a mischievous sense of humour – but then I saw the strangely intent and serious look in his eyes and knew he meant it – and in that moment the old, familiar Tris and the new exciting stranger coalesced into one and I exclaimed, with astonished realization, ‘I’m in love with you, too!’
‘Well, thank goodness for that,’ he said, and pulled me into his arms. After that, we didn’t say anything at all for a considerable time.
*
‘Unks is going to be so surprised when we tell him we’re going to get married!’ I said, when we finally resurfaced.
‘No, he won’t, because he asked me last night when I was going to make an honest woman of you.’
‘Really? I can’t believe he realized we loved each other before I did! He never seems to notice much beyond the covers of a book.’
‘I think the way we rushed into each other’s arms in the shop when I arrived might have been a bit of a giveaway,’ he said gravely, but his grey eyes danced with the old mischief. ‘How long does it take to get married?’
‘A couple of weeks, I think, unless you have a special licence.’
‘I’ll check it out online – I think we’ve wasted enough time.’
‘OK,’ I said, ‘but you realize I’m only marrying you because I want to connect myself to Alys, don’t you?’
‘You know, Cleo, you are so much like Alys that I think I’ll have to ask Dad to trace your family tree too,’ he said.
‘You mean, I might not have to marry you, after all?’
