Page 116 of The Moon & His Tides
We were just finishing filming in Naples four months after I’d left behind my life in England when the news broke.
Savannah Meyers had filed for divorce from her megastar husband, Adam Meyers.
My heart stopped clean in my chest for so long, I worried it wouldn’t start again.
But when it did with a shuddering jolt, it beat harder and faster than it had in weeks.
Because I thought I knew what this meant.
She was coming for me.
My note had hit its mark, my love had left an indelible tattoo on her heart, and myduchessawas coming for me.
I waited for her to arrive every day for the rest of the week of filming in Naples, leaving orders with the crew to send her directly to my trailer.
When she didn’t come, I figured she was waiting for me to wrap up filming. As a consummate professional, that would be important to her.
I returned to New York City and waited some more.
I woke up with her name in my mouth and went to sleep dreaming of her clothed only in moonlight approaching the side of my bed with open arms.
Six weeks passed, and she did not come.
Finally, I reached out to Chaucer to ask her if she knew anything.
My friend had, unsurprisingly, decided to stay working for Adam instead of Savannah after the split, but last she had heard, Savvy was moving to America.
My heart beat faster. I could taste the metallic surge of adrenaline on my tongue every time my phone rang or my email pinged.
Still, nothing.
And then, two weeks after that, I was out for dinner with Cosima who had recently moved to the city for good, when I noticed I caught a faint whiff of lilac and freesia.
Instantly, my heart moved into my throat, and I lifted my gaze from my sister to scan the restaurant.
“Are you looking for someone?” Cosi asked with a teasing lilt.
Her usually bright yellow eyes had been stale since she moved to the city, but they were crinkled now with mirth.
“I thought I smelled something,” I said before I realized how that sounded and winced.
Her laughter soothed my nerves. “Ah, so you’re looking for a woman. Of course. Well, one just walked behind you to that table over there.”
She tipped her chin over my shoulder with a coy smile half-hidden behind a wine glass.
My breath crystalized with hope in my lungs as I turned slowly to face where she indicated.
And there she was.
Savannah Meyers in the middle of a posh New York City restaurant looking every inchla duchessa. Her short, paleblonde cloud of hair was curled into a soft halo around her delicate face, blue eyes bright even from halfway across the room. She was wearing her iconic white, a cashmere cream dress that accentuated her slight curves, and those red-soled boots I’d watched her buy one day in Harrods last year.
The sight of her punched a hole straight through my chest.
She washere.
And while she didn’t appear to know I was in the restaurant, that didn’t mean she wasn’t in town to find me.
Finally.
