It was working.

He was almost sure it was working, but not in the way he’d expected. All of his plans…his ways of talking to her hadn’t come out the way he’d meant them to. That was partially his fault for throwing aside his plan to make her wait a few more days to see him. He’d meant to be mysterious. He’d meant to make her desperate to find out about him.

But the questions she’d had… Salim cursed himself for not having realized Ophelia would be so suspicious. Of course she’d had men pursue her. Of course she’d be dubious about his intentions. Of course the way he’d swooped in and bought the ballet would raise questions about who he was and how fairly he’d treated her mentor.

He’d mismanaged this seduction; he could see that, now. And yet, here she was, standing in front of him, with that wonderfully expressive body opened to him, telling him everything he needed to know about the way things were headed.

“Have you ever been to London before?” he asked, though he knew the answer.

He’d studied every performance of her career and every tour she’d been on to try to get a sense of what was expected of this one, and none of them had taken her to London. And, from his research, there certainly didn’t seem to be the time for an independent trip.

“This is my first time here.”

“Ah,” he said, and he put a big enough smile across his face to try to pull them out of the serious moment they’d somehow found themselves in. “Then there are a lot of things you should see. The Crown Jewels, the Tower of London, all of that. But can I show you my favorite thing I saw, on my first trip to London?”

She must have been tired from the day, and all of its demands on her. But even so, she instantly agreed.

Taking the chance, Salim offered his arm. The most they’d touched so far had been his hand on the small of her back earlier, and that had seemed to confuse her, somehow. But he couldn’t help himself. If he was going to lead her where he intended to lead her, then he was at least going to have her arm in his while he did so.

When she slid her arm into his, she looked at him with a grin. It was like she thought she knew something he didn’t. He felt his heart rate rise. When had been the last time he’d felt his heart race because of a woman? Paintings, yes—there was always a chance he’d lose out on acquiring them. But when was the last time a woman had made him feel that kind of uncertainty?

Salim felt a strange surge of nerves as they walked along the riverfront towards his destination. He’d picked this path, he’d picked even the restaurant so that he would be close enough to bring her here. He’d figured it would humanize him to her. It usually worked with girls he met in London. For them to be really comfortable, they liked to feel that they were special, learning something about him that most people don’t.

And this spot usually accomplished that end for him.

But as they grew closer to the steps down towards the river, it seemed less and less like a good idea to bring her here.

“We’re under a bridge.”

He looked at her with mock shock.

“What, you don’t think this is better than the tower of London?”

She smiled.

“Well, the Tower of London trip isn’t until Thursday, so I can’t really compare.”

“Ah,” Salim said, “then I’ll have to make the best first impression as I can, so you can be as disappointed on Thursday as possible.”

He reached out his hand, and was pleased that she didn’t hesitate to take it. Then, he began climbing up the side of the riverbank, to reach the point where the bank met the underside of the bridge.

This time of night, there were few, if any, cars passing on the bridge up above them, but there were a few people milling around, most of them on their ways home from a long night out.

Up here, if you knew how to find it, there was a little shelf, just large enough for two people. You couldn’t be seen from anywhere, not from above, or below. But you could, if you looked, see those who were passing by below. Salim sat, and offered a steadying hand as Ophelia tucked herself into place beside him.

The first group they saw pass were two boys, probably still in high school. They could have been brothers—they certainly acted like it. They were arguing about something that Salim couldn’t quite make out, between their thick accents and lack of context. But they certainly seemed to care about it.

Next, there was a couple, walking nearly folded up into one another. They didn’t speak a word, but their body language said more than enough for them. Normally, on one of these trips, if a couple passed by, it would be a perfect moment to make a move on the woman he’d brought here. An arm around the shoulder, at least.

Witnessing romance makes one romantic, he’d found.

But this time, he found himself really looking at the couple in question. The perfect trust in what he could make out of the woman’s face. The serenity in the man’s. For the second time tonight, and yet the first day in his life, he felt a pang of jealousy.

It was short-lived, as a group of university students came by next. They were so young and foolish and free that Salim felt himself involuntarily smiling.

“This is London,” Salim whispered into the quiet of the bridge in a lull between groups. “It’s not the old buildings, or the eccentric history. It’s the people. It’s how they are with one another when they don’t know they’re being watched. That’s what a city really is.”

He could kiss her, now. He felt it. Maybe a bit of a rush, but with the moment and the feeling between them in the quiet, he could do it.

But he didn’t. Instead, he waited for her to ask the question that every woman asked.

“So, you came here on your first trip to London?”

And he answered the way he always did.

“I did. I was a mischievous child.” He winked. “Nothing much has changed. Terrified my schoolteachers that they’d misplaced a student, but I had a grand time until they found me.”

The little speech—the same one he always gave—felt out of place tonight.

“And here is where you came? Why here?”

I liked watching the people, and I didn’t think anyone would find me.

That was what he always said. But instead, he found himself saying something entirely different.

“I spent the whole day looking there, to that ledge along the bottom of the bridge. I thought if I could get on there, then I could drop down onto a boat. I figured I’d be taken somewhere—anywhere. Start a new life as a sailor.”

The memory was a fond one, and a strange one to say after the years of lies that had taken its place.

“I was just figuring out what it meant to be who I am, and I didn’t want to go back.”

Not the thing to say. Not at all the right thing to say. What was going wrong with him? This should be such a simple, straightforward task.

But beside him, he could make out Ophelia nodding through the shadows.

“I ran away from ballet camp one year,” she offered. “Not nearly as exciting, and they found me immediately, but it was the same thing, I think. The way people were talking…it had all just been for fun up until then, but then, things changed. And I realized that this was my life, and this was who I was going to be for the rest of my life.”

The huskiness in her voice came out more when she was tired, and Salim treasured hearing it. It was indescribably sexy. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was, with all her muscles loose and her body in an obvious state of exhaustion. How little she had to try to be enrapturing.

But suddenly, she straightened up.

“Do you mean that ledge, there?” she asked, pointing out at it.

“Yes,” Salim said, not sure he liked where this was going.

But Ophelia was already standing up.

“It doesn’t look that hard to get to.”

He didn’t comment that there was a little bit of a difference between what was easy for a world-class dancer to get to and others. She was already on her way, carefully finding her footing and navigating the gaps and obstacles.

Salim was conflicted. On the one hand, he wanted to go after her. He knew he had to. On the other hand, watching her make her way along was very much like watching her dance—a strange, improvised, sensual dance that she made up on her own as she went along.

“Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to come along?”