"Tonight is lovely, wasn't it?" Camille whispers from the chair next to mine.

Lovely is not how I'd describe this clusterfuck, so I don’t say anything.

“I have a photogenic memory, I know I've seen you before," Camille shouts across the table to Addie.

I stifle my sigh. This is the third time she’s said this. It has made dinner at best, awkward. Addie puts her fork and knife down and looks Camille in the eyes with barely masked annoyance.

"Maybe. I live in London. Maybe you just saw me in passing," she’d said. Her shoulders were slightly hunched in discomfort, but a smile played on her lips at Camille's use of the word photogenic instead of photographic. Everyone at the table, except Freya, was trying not to laugh.

"No, I loathe London. I only go when forced. Where in London do you live?" she asks. Her tone was imperious, turning her question into a demand as she addressed Milly.

"I don't live in London," Milly returns quietly and hooks her thumb at Addie, “she does.”

"Oh, so sorry. It's so hard to keep all the details straight," Camille says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. "I've lived in Coventry my whole life, and our circle of friends is small - mainly the landed families in the area - I'm not used meeting such exotic women." You’d think she was saying she was the queen of England by the imperious tone in her voice.

"They are rather exotic, aren't they? Like beautiful blooms in a sea of stones. They always stand out,” their father says, grinning at his three daughters.

"Yes. Quite!" My mother says enthusiastically. "Your daughters are lovely. They're going to cause quite a stir this week."

"Oh, will there be lots of eligible men here?" their mother asks excitedly. "Lilly's single, it would be wonderful if she could meet someone this weekend."

"Mom." Lilly's voice is pleading and quiet. It stirs a pang of sympathy I don't want to feel in my gut.

"Will you all stop talking about us like we're not here?" Milly says. A smile appears on her lips, but her eyes are quite serious when they rest on her mother.

"You can join in the conversation, no one's stopping you," their mother says, not the least bit chagrinned at Milly's rebuke.

"I'll join in by changing the subject," Milly says. My mother claps her hands together excitedly and I see Lilly’s shoulders drop in relief. My anger spikes.

"Are you single, Lilly?" I ask. The entire table stops to stare at me. I immediately regret my outburst when I see her head drop and her eyes slide to me, allowing me to see how pained she is by my question.

"I'm sure that's none of your business, Harry," Freya says. There’s a laugh in her voice and a twinkle in her eye that I know is completely false. She turns to look at Lilly for the first time this evening. "Ignore him Lilly. There'll be plenty of available men here at the wedding. I'm sure your dance card will be full," she says. It's only because I know Freya so well that I hear the challenge in her otherwise perfectly cordial tone.

"Yes! Dance Cards!" Cara exclaims from across the huge table we're all sharing. "We're having dance cards at the reception. I'm so excited. It's going to be like a fairy tale."

The conversation turns to the wedding details and my awkward outburst is forgotten.

* * *

It's after one in the morning when I get back to the house from taking Camille home. The library's light is burning bright and I know I'll find my father there. He used to fall asleep in his chair when we were children and still lived here.

I walk in expecting to see him with his feet up, his head resting on the winged back of his favorite chair. Instead I see her. Lilly’s head is bent of over the computer, those ridiculous headphones over her ears as she sits in my father's chair typing furiously on her keyboard. The click of her fingers on the keyboard is the only sound in the entire room. Her hair, as unrestrained as I'd ever seen it, falls forward and hides her profile from view. But her face is burned into my memory. I’d never be able to forget what she looks like, even if I desperately wanted to.

She’s dressed in dark gray flannels and her feet are encased in thick woolen socks. There’s a thick white blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The room is cold and the fire has been banked. I walk over to the fireplace and prod the logs with poker, coaxing them to reignite. The room is silent. She's stopped typing but neither of us say a word. I steel myself before I turn around.

It’s an exercise in futility. Her face, the beauty of it, the way her hair creates a wild, dark halo around it, steals my breath. Just like it has every single time I’ve looked at her.

Her eyes are wide, her gaze is expectant, her mouth parts slightly as if to speak before she closes it again. I turn away to look at the fire again.

"The entire estate was given indoor heating and cooling when my parents renovated a few years ago," I say as I grab a log from a neatly stacked pile beside it. I poke the fire, trying to revive it and watch the logs crackle and hiss at the friction. The sparks shoot off and die in the cold corners of the fire place.

It reminds me of Lilly and me. Great start, dead on arrival. I force my words around the lump of regret sitting in my throat.

"It was a huge expense, but a necessary one as the house started to play host to year-round visitors, movie productions..." I turn around to look at her. Her eyes are wide, unblinking

"Hi," I say to her. I curse the softness in my voice when all I want to show her is the hard edge of my anger.

"Hi," she says uncertainly. She closes her laptop and folds her hands on top of it. She looks at me, her eyes as wide with anticipation as the defendant in a court room waiting to hear the finding of the jury. I let my eyes roam her face. I try to see something I can find fault with. Something that will help me hold onto my anger.

"I am so fucking angry at you,” I say, my jaw clenched so tightly it hurts.

"I know.” Her eyes are full of pleading. “And, I’m sorry. I know it was wrong, but at the time, I thought it was best. But, I didn’t ever want to hurt you. I just…," she looks hopelessly sad.

She sounds sorry, she even looks it, but everything about her response feels muted. I don’t know how to respond to her apology. It doesn’t feel like enough, but I don’t know if it ever could be.

"What are we going to do?" I ask her what I’ve really wanted to know since I saw her yesterday.

She stares at me, not saying anything for a few minutes as if she's trying to discern my meaning.

"About us, Lilly. Here we are again. What are we going to do about us?"

Her face loses its softness. Her eyes harden and her mouth twists in a bitter smile.

"Us? You've got a girlfriend now, right?" she says. The anger in her voice renders me speechless for a moment. She pushes back from the table and stands up, pulling her laptop to her chest like shield.

"Are you fucking serious? You're mad at me?” I take a step back. “You disappeared on me. You lied to me. You didn't even tell me your goddamned name, Lilly!" I yell at her forgetting how good the acoustics in this room are. My voice bounces off the wall and seems to slam into me. It affects her too. She stumbles backwards as if she's been pushed. But when she speaks, her words hold no bite, just bone deep resignation.

"And I’m sorry for that. I didn’t set out to lie to you. And I panicked the night you were leaving. I shouldn’t have just left you hanging, I’ve done nothing but regret it since. But you’ve clearly moved on. So, I won’t make things awkward for you. Let's just pretend we don’t know each other. And in a week, I’ll be gone.”

The defeat in her voice, along with her dismissal of the torment we’re both clearly feeling incites a panic and anger in me that my rational mind knows is totally out of proportion.

But it’s my wounded pride and my bruised heart that rule me right now. I reach her in less than three strides before I can think better of getting this close.

I drop my voice to a low rumble. My words spill from me, fast and hot. Disappointment and anger lead my speech. "You want to pretend we never met, Lilly? I fucking feel you in my sleep. I remember every single taste of you. I know what your nipples feel like when they swell under my tongue. I know how your scream catches when you come.” I shake my head in disgust and scoff.

“Even you're not that good of a liar." I whisper, lowering my head so we're eye to eye. And I don't miss the golden flare of awareness before she backs away from me. Anger erases her sadness at my last sentence.

"You’re on your high horse, aren’t you, Harry? Well, Mr. Viscount, you weren't exactly the picture of transparency. Your father's a fucking Earl? No wonder you were in an arranged relationship? Farmer my ass."

I ignore her jab, "I am a farmer. And my title wasn't important. I didn't hide it. I would have told you. When it mattered.”

She lowers her eyes and shrugs her shoulders in defeat. "Well now, it won't ever matter," she whispers. Lilly bites her lip so hard that the skin around her teeth turns white.

“Yes, Lilly. I tried to move on. Yes, Camille is here visiting this week for the wedding. I’m not going to apologize.”

She looks at me then, her eyes shimmer with tears and my heart clenches at how sad she looks. It’s exactly how I feel. God, what a mess.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything, Harry, and I promise I won’t make things weird for you or her. I’m glad you’ve met someone. You deserve that.” She sounds more defeated than I’ve ever heard her sound before. I want to comfort her. But, I know I shouldn’t touch her. Hell, I shouldn’t even look at her.

The room is quiet, despite the loud whirl of emotions raging inside of me. I look out the window into to the silent night and wish I could find a semblance of calm to match the serenity I see.

"I'm so sorry, Harry." She whispers a few minutes later, I hear the thud of the door closing.

I’m tired, disappointed, and confused. I don’t know what to do about the conundrum we’re in. Yes, we’ve been thrown back together in another random and improbable way. It must mean something. But, even if Camille wasn’t here, can I trust Lilly? There is a lot she didn’t tell me. But there was plenty I didn’t tell her either. I sit in my father’s chair all night. When the sun starts to rise, I’m not any clearer on what the hell I’m going to do.