“Please tell me you’ve read Harry Potter,” I said fervently as we stepped onto The Shambles. The narrow Medieval street was purportedly one of the sources of inspiration for Diagon Alley. Therefore, it was fitting that York’s first and best Harry Potter shop was located here.

The Shop That Must Not Be Named opened up to our left, the display window full of Quidditch paraphernalia. I bounded up to the shop to stare inside, tugging Scott along in my wake.

“I’ve read them,” he confirmed. “Several years ago.”

“And?” I demanded, turning a challenging stare on him. “What did you think?”

His response might affect my opinion of him.

His grin hit me square in the chest. “I thought they were great. I usually read thrillers, but I really enjoyed the Harry Potter series.” His smile turned sly. “Although, a certain someone has turned me on to romance novels recently. At least, by one esteemed author.”

I blushed and poked his chest. It was stone beneath my finger. “I’m not esteemed,” I insisted, trying to ignore the rush of lust that surged through my system. The reminder of his hard body that was concealed by his bright blue button-down was enough to get me hot for him.

“You shouldn’t downplay your accomplishments.” He grasped my finger where I’d poked him, squeezing my hand in reprimand.

There was an answering squeeze between my legs. Was he being domineering on purpose? Or was this a natural reaction?

I shook it off before I could become more hopelessly enamored with him. We only had a few hours left together. I’d enjoy what time we had, and then I’d be left with a happy memory.

I tried to pretend it wouldn’t torment me, once I was alone again.

“Do you want to see the inside?” I asked. “It’s a really cool shop.”

“Sure,” he agreed, crossing the threshold with me. He didn’t take his eyes off me to study the wizarding décor. “What Hogwarts house are you?”

“Ravenclaw,” I answered definitively. “Let me guess. You’re a Gryffindor.”

“Of course.”

His smile really was sinfully sexy. I liked when he smiled more than when he stared into my soul. It was easier to be with him like this: carefree, happy. Not peering at the raw, ugly things inside me.

“Why Ravenclaw?” he pressed.

“I love books and learning. Education is the best way to better society. It’s the most important thing in the world. Although, I do love Hermione, so that’s a point in Gryffindor’s favor. She’s so badass. I wanted to be like her when I was growing up: intelligent, brave, and loyal.”

“I’d say that’s an accurate description of you.” He was staring into me again, his pale eyes pinning me in place.

I tore my gaze away and immediately picked up a plushy Hedwig stuffed animal. “I think it would be really cool to have an owl,” I babbled. “But I’m a cat lady, so I’d probably have a cat instead if I were a witch. Or both. Both would be good.”

“You’re really cute, you know.” The words rumbled with mirth.

My gaze snapped back to his to assess if he was mocking me. I detected nothing but warmth in his sparkling eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said: you’re cute. There’s something innocent about you.”

My cheeks burned as I thought about all the depraved things I’d written. Things that he’d read.

“I’m not innocent,” I mumbled.

He stepped closer to me, inserting himself in my space as his hands bracketed my waist. My head tipped back so I could meet his eyes, and I found myself trapped by his steady stare. “You are. It’s not something I get to see often. Don’t ever lose that.”

“You don’t know me,” I protested weakly. “Not really.”

“I know enough,” he said firmly. “Never change.”

Never change. He’d issued the same low, soulful command on our first night together; the night he’d seen only a fantasy of me. Surely, he was beginning to see me more clearly now. I’d given him far too many glimpses at my damage over the last twenty-four hours.

If he wanted a fantasy of me, he could have it. He must need it. Thinking he was protecting something good and pure probably kept him going on his darkest days.

I swallowed further words of defiance. He didn’t need to know the real me: the mess of a woman who could barely get out of bed every day. Besides, it felt nice being his fantasy woman. I longed to be her. She had worth. She wasn’t damaged beyond repair, her life empty and meaningless.

He plucked the owl from my fingers. “I’ll get this for you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I don’t need it.”

“You like it. I want to get it for you.”

“I… Okay.” I knew I should refuse. It was inappropriate to accept a gift from Scott. He was buying it for a woman who didn’t exist, not for me.

But a selfish part of me wanted it. I wanted something sweet to remember this day.

“Thanks,” I added as I accompanied him to the register.

He paid for the stuffed animal, and the cashier placed it in a black and gold gift bag. I accepted it with another “thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Scott smiled down at me and took my hand again. I loved how he didn’t seem to want to release me, not even for a minute.

“Do you want lunch?” I asked. “There’s a great place just down the street. They do a prosecco high tea.”

“Sure,” he agreed, easily accepting my suggestion.

We walked the short distance to the Earl Grey Tea Rooms, where we were ushered to a table on the back terrace. The sun was high and hot—unusual for York this time of year. I tilted my face back to soak in the sunshine and took in a deep, blissful breath.

When I lowered my eyes again, I found him watching me with a small smile. “You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I said softly, cutting my eyes away as I took my seat beside him. I picked up the menu and started to peruse it, giving myself a reason to divert my attention from him.

I could still feel his heavy gaze on me.

“You are beautiful,” he said, more solemnly.

I peeked up at him. “Thanks,” I said lamely. His attention was overwhelming. I’d built up my self-confidence in my twenties, but I still wasn’t great at taking a compliment. When Thomas had told me I was beautiful, the praise was usually followed by a critique of my shortcomings as a partner.

“You don’t believe me,” he surmised.

I shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not that, necessarily. It’s just…” I didn’t want to go into the mindfucks Thomas had put me through. I didn’t want to ruin this perfect day. “I appreciate the compliment,” I hedged.

He regarded me in silence for a moment longer before nodding. “You’re welcome.”

He looked down at his own menu, breaking the tension. “What’s good here?”

I let out a small breath of relief. “We really should do the high tea. It’s super fancy. You get a sandwich, a scone with jam and cream, and a slice of cake. It’s wonderfully British. Oh, and it comes with a glass of prosecco.”

“Shouldn’t it come with tea?”

“I mean, you can get it with tea, if you want. I just think the bubbly is fun. And it’s a nice day to sit outside and have a cool drink. Tea would be really hot, you know?”

“All right,” he agreed. “Prosecco it is.”

A waitress arrived, and we put in our order. When she left, Scott started questioning me again.

“What are you working on right now? Your book, I mean.” One corner of his lips twisted up. “Another ménage?”

“Oh god,” I groaned. “Please, don’t tease me about that. I’m so mortified that you read it.”

“Why? It was really interesting.”

“Interesting?” I squeaked, his word choice confirming my worst suspicions. He’d thought it was ridiculous, surely.

“Well, I thought the dynamic between three people was a little… Well, different. But it helped me understand your lifestyle better. It wasn’t violent. They really cared about her.”

“Of course they did.” I waved off his observation, trying to ignore the way my heart tugged at the idea of being cared for and cherished. “It’s a romance novel.”

“Some of your other books aren’t like that,” he countered. “Some of them are really dark. Why did you write those? Surely, no woman wants to be kidnapped and abused.”

“It’s not about promoting that,” I said, suddenly fervent. “It’s about helping women embrace darker facets of their sexuality. A lot of women have those fantasies, but no one would ever want that in real life. I think it’s a biological imperative that’s built into a lot of us; our bodies have learned to accept nonconsensual sexual interactions to survive. It’s been that way for women for millennia. Some of us have these fantasies, and they can be confusing or bring on shame. By writing these books, I’m allowing women to explore that aspect of their sexuality in a safe way. It’s empowering, not debasing.”

I didn’t even want to begin to touch on the memories that surfaced. Those dark recollections brought on their own confusion and shame. I was speaking from experience, but Scott didn’t have to know that.

“That’s an interesting way of looking at it,” he said, jerking me out of my fucked-up thoughts. “I still didn’t like reading those, but I can understand when you put it that way.”

“You didn’t like them?” My heart sank.

“I think you’re a talented writer. But no, I didn’t like those particular books. That’s not a fantasy in my world.”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. I had no idea what he’d seen, but I’d known he was troubled by his experiences. A different shame made my insides burn. He must think I was really depraved to romanticize things that haunted him.

The waitress arrived with our food, which was arranged on a pretty three-tiered tray. I couldn’t muster up the interest to admire the display. Instead, I grabbed my glass of prosecco and took a long gulp.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Scott said when she’d left.

“You didn’t,” I replied, my voice tight. “It’s just… I never should have told you my pen name. I should have known you wouldn’t want to read those. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to understand you better. I do understand a little, now that you’ve explained some. And I really did like your other books. The ones that weren’t dark.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, unable to look at him. This felt just like being with Thomas: a compliment sandwich with a gut punch in the middle.

“I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I lied, taking another draw of my prosecco.

“It’s clearly not fine.” His hand covered mine where it was fisted on the table. “Hey. Look at me.”

I couldn’t resist the direct order. My eyes met his.

“I’m sorry.” The apology held the weight of truth. “I know it must be hard to make yourself vulnerable by putting your work out there. I should have been more careful with my words.”

“No. I’m glad you said how you actually feel. It’s hard to hear, but I understand completely. I’d prefer honesty to a pretty lie.” That much was the truth, even if my stomach was still in knots.

“All right,” he allowed. “I really do think you’re talented. You should be proud.”

Proud. There it was again: the reminder of how Thomas had told me he was proud, right before he’d blame my career for all of the problems in our marriage.

I picked up my sandwich and focused on eating so I could escape as soon as possible. I ignored the way the egg and cress tasted like ashes on my tongue.

Scott tucked into his food as well, and we ate in tense silence. The beautiful day was marred now. I blinked back tears, the intensity of my swinging emotions irrational. I’d been flying so high, and now I was crashing. It felt like I was dropping after a BDSM power exchange scene. Like I’d been whipped and then left without proper aftercare.

The sun no longer warmed my skin. I slipped back into my jacket to ward off the chill.

“I’ll walk you to the station,” I offered in a monotone when we’d split the bill. There was no reason to be rude, even if I did want nothing more than to run away from him.

He nodded his agreement, his jaw tight. When he stood, he didn’t take my hand. Mine twitched, tempted to reach for him. I balled my fingers into a fist at my side.

We walked out of the tea room and back onto The Shambles in awkward silence. My feet nearly carried me toward my Airbnb so I could get in bed and huddle under the covers. Resolutely, I forced my steps in the opposite direction, heading for the train station.

We made our way down the quaint Medieval street, but I barely paused to appreciate my surroundings. I no longer wanted to share this with Scott. I didn’t want any more memories with him. He was going to leave in half an hour. Why torment myself with more painful conversation when he was about to disappear from my life?

I stared straight ahead as we came out of the street and into King’s Square. The sweet scent of chocolate permeated the air, emanating from York’s Chocolate Story, an interactive museum about the candy manufacturer that had been established in the city back in the nineteenth century.

Despite the sweetness in the air, my stomach instantly soured. I stopped in my tracks with a sharp gasp.

“Shit.” The curse dropped from my lips without a thought.

Thomas stood in the square, watching a street artist perform a magic act. A woman stood next to him. She was pretty.

Nausea curled up my throat. She was my opposite: Slender. Petite. A mass of curly blonde hair framed her delicate features.

Jealousy didn’t flare. No part of me wanted to be tucked next to Thomas’ side. I wanted to be as far from him as possible. And yet, he stood only a few yards away from me.

I wanted to go to the woman, to warn her that he’d destroy her. He could be charming at first, but he’d rip her apart and wear down her spirit until there was nothing left.

“What’s wrong?” Scott’s warm hand touched my lower back.

I leaned into him, unable to resist the support. “That’s my ex,” I whispered.

“Where?”

“The guy with the dark hair. And the beard.” Per usual, it appeared that Thomas hadn’t bothered to shave in several days. It wasn’t exactly a beard. Just a disregard for his personal appearance. It had driven me nuts when we’d been together, but I hadn’t dared harp on him about it. According to him, I was already the source of his depression and callousness. I didn’t want to add to that by being a nag.

“Him?” Scott’s tone was colored with incredulity.

“Yeah.” I remained frozen in place, trapped by shock. I’d known that I’d probably run into Thomas around town. I’d told myself I was ready for this. But nothing could have prepared me for the turmoil that raged inside. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to coldly smile at him and pretend I didn’t give a shit about his wellbeing. I wanted to cruelly mock him and make him look pathetic in front of the woman who accompanied him.

I wanted to run the fuck away and never look back.

Thomas glanced my way. His brown gaze held, his eyes widening with his own shock.

I forgot how to breathe. My skin pebbled beneath the protective layer provided by my leather jacket. I shifted back into Scott’s touch.

“Are you okay?” His voice floated down to me.

I nodded, but I couldn’t stop staring at Thomas. Tumultuous emotion kept me rooted in place, drowning me in indecision.

Suddenly, a hulking body blocked Thomas from my view. I blinked up to find Scott’s flame blue eyes burning into me. His hands cupped my face, and he leaned toward me. His soft lips captured mine without invitation, as though we’d done this dozens of times. As though he had every right. His tongue branded mine, stroking in to claim me.

My fingers curved into his shoulders, and I clung to him, barely able to match the passion of his mouth on mine. All thoughts were obliterated from my mind as I was swept up in his possessive kiss. The knots in my stomach loosened, melting with the heat that ignited in my belly. My panties grew damp, and a soft moan rolled from my chest. He devoured the sound, keeping my lips locked under his until my head spun from lack of oxygen.

When he finally pulled away, I sagged against him, gasping for breath.

“Let’s go,” he commanded.

He wrapped his iron arm around my waist and guided me forward, away from the square. Away from Thomas.

A giddy laugh bubbled in my throat, but it held no humor. I was flying high again. No, I wasn’t flying. I was caught in a riptide of emotion; tossed in the storm.

My lips tingled, and heat still simmered in my veins.

Anger followed lust. Why did Scott have to do this to me? Why did he have the power to raise me up high and send me crashing back down? I barely knew the man, but he had thoroughly captured all my senses.

And now, he was going to leave. We were walking toward the train station. In a few minutes, he’d be gone. I’d never see him again.

I tried to step away from him. He held me fast.

“I need to go,” I announced. “Do you know how to get to the station from here?”

His jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath.

I shrank out of his arms.

“I’m sorry,” the apology tumbled out. Despite my confusion, I hated that I’d upset him. “It’s just… You’re leaving. And I’m… I need to go home.”

I don’t have a home, either. He’d shared one of his soul’s secrets with me last night, after plucking my own from my psyche.

Because I wasn’t going home. The York flat I’d shared with Thomas and our cats wasn’t my home anymore. It never would be.

All I could do was return to my rented apartment and cry in the only private place I had.

“Bye.” I offered Scott a jerky wave and turned on my heel, half-fleeing down the cobbled street. I blinked back the burn behind my eyes. I could crumble in a few minutes, when I wouldn’t make a public scene. I straightened my spine and drew in a long breath, willing my steps to slow. Even now, I couldn’t bring myself to let Scott see what a mess I truly was. I much preferred being his fantasy woman.