I was putting on my eyeliner that night when my phone rang on the lip of the sink.

The thought was there before I could grab it. Squash it.

Rob.

My heart leapt.

Then it fell when I saw that it was Philip. I drew a sharp breath. That wasn’t fair of me. Or smart. Philip was my boyfriend. Rob was…I didn’t know what he was. But I did know he’d never be my forever guy.

Setting down my eyeliner pen, I grabbed my phone and answered it.

“Hey!” I said, forcing brightness into my voice. “Running early? I just need another twenty.”

“Aly,” Philip croaked. “I’m so sorry to do this. But I’m going to have to cancel tonight. I think I’m coming down with some sort of virus. I was feeling fine all day, then all of the sudden it hit me. I would’ve called you sooner, but I—uh—haven’t exactly been able to leave the, uh, loo. If you catch my meaning.”

“Oh,” I said. “Oh my God, Philip, that’s awful. Are you okay? Need me to bring you anything?”

“I”—burp—“don’t want you anywhere near this thing. Thank you, though.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“All right.” I crossed my arm over my stomach. “I hope you feel better. Keep me updated, okay?”

“Of course. Sorry again for cancelling so late.”

We said our goodbyes, and I hung up. Poor guy. Stomach bugs were the worst. I honestly wouldn’t wish one on my worst enemy. I shot him a text, reminding him to let me know if he needed anything.

Then I waited for the disappointment to come. I’d been looking forward to our date. At least I thought I had. But if I was being honest, all I felt at the thought of not seeing Philip tonight…was relief?

And that made me feel like a schmuck.

I looked in the mirror. I’d gone the whole nine yards tonight. Blow out, make up, the purple Emilia Wickstead dress. Lingerie underneath it, with the hope that Philip and I might actually do something more than just kiss. Was I trying too hard?

I was definitely trying too hard.

I knew I’d liked talking to Rob too much today. Probably what had spurred me into putting more effort than ever into Philip. Into our date. Maybe this will be the night, I’d thought as I’d shaved my legs. The night lightning strikes, and magic happens, and I feel those butterflies I’ve been waiting for.

I was so freaking determined for that night to happen with Philip. But it seemed like no matter how hard I tried, it wasn’t happening. It hadn’t happened on our last date. Or the one before that. Made me wonder if he was a sleeper like Mr. Darcy, or if he just wasn’t the one.

Sighing, I set my phone down. Part of me wanted to just wash my make up off and stay in. I had a bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge. Plenty of episodes of The Mindy Project to binge. I was tired.

Another part of me wanted to belly up to a bar and treat myself to an ice cold martini and something good to eat. I’d moved to London not knowing a soul other than Emily; bellying up to bars alone was something I’d gotten pretty great at. Sometimes it was lonely. Other times, it was nice to sit with my thoughts over a drink.

And I had a lot of thoughts tonight.

So I finished putting on my eyeliner. Before I could change my mind—damn did my couch look especially welcoming right then—I grabbed my purse and my coat and hustled out the door.

Ten minutes later I was at the bar at one of my favorite neighborhood spots. It was quiet. The bar stools were cozy. Best of all, the martinis were served extra cold.

I was halfway through my martini when my bag began to vibrate against the back of my stool. Thinking it was Philip with an update on his poor tummy, I dug it out of my bag.

My stomach flipped when I saw that it actually was a text from Rob.

Has Philip picked up his jaw from the floor yet? Please tell me you DID NOT WEAR THE PURPLE

I bit my lip. He was being charming again. Pulling a total one-eighty from the guy who had to be forced to walk me to my door.

I did wear the purple, I typed back to Rob. But I wouldn’t know if Philip liked it. He cancelled last minute. Stomach bug.

I’d barely just sent the text when a call came through. Rob again. For a second I just stared at it. My hand began to shake. I began to shake. What did he want now?

“Rob?” I answered.

“Where are you?”

“Do you ever say hello?”

“Hello. Where are you?”

“I’m at Oak Social,” I replied, glancing around like I expected to see Rob staring at me from a corner. “Why?”

“Don’t move. I’ll be there to pick you up in”—a pause—“twenty minutes.”

My stomach was flipping again. This time the flip was harder.

“No. Wait. Rob…” I grabbed my martini. “I’m almost done with my drink. I’m, uh, going home.”

“No you’re not. You’re going somewhere with me. I’m not about to let a beautiful girl who got all dressed up go home on a Saturday night.”

My fingers were trembling, spilling my drink. I set it down. “Rob, I’m not going on a date with you.”

“It’s not a date. It’s just two friends getting together to make plans for the ghastly joint stag/hen party their friends want to have. We never got to talk about it at lunch that day. I still have some ideas.”

I drew a breath. Rob and I were friends now? I couldn’t tell if that disappointed or delighted me.

“Really?”

“Really. I know how much you’re into this wedding stuff. So meet me. We’ll plan the most brilliant stag night ever.”

I felt my lips moving into a smile. A smile I wanted to fight but couldn’t.

I probably should’ve said no. Even if this wasn’t technically a date, seeing Rob again after all the things I’d felt talking to him today…

It wasn’t the best idea.

But we did need to talk about the bachelorette weekend. We’d nailed down a date with Kit and Em earlier this week. And Rob and I were adults. He knew I was dating Philip. I knew Rob was Rob. We could control ourselves.

“Okay. A get together. That’s it.”

“That’s it. Stay right where you are, yeah?”

After we hung up, I ran my hand down my thigh. Had I really been tired earlier? Because right then I felt more alert and more awake than I had all week. I slid my fingers around the stem of my martini and looked at it, too wound up—too excited—to finish it.

Honestly, what was wrong with me? I was relieved to be blown off by the guy I should want. And I was excited to see the guy I shouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole.

It was too easy to blame it on my vagina. But God damn it, Rob won there, hands down.

Not that he’d ever be putting his hands on me or my vagina again. That era of our relationship—of my life—was over.

I checked the time on my phone again. Exactly twenty minutes since Rob called.

Sipping my drink, I glanced toward the door.

And there he was. Prince Robert, the clean shaven version. Looking fucking handsome as he searched the restaurant. He was casual but polished in jeans, suede boots, a sweater, and jacket. His hair was rakishly, boyishly mussed. He was all broad shoulders. Arms that bulged against the sleeves of his jacket. So tall and striking and gorgeous that people would’ve stopped to stare regardless of his royal status.

I swallowed him in one long, slow glance, my heart swelling to fill the entirety of my ribcage. He was hot, yeah. But it was the way he carried himself that made my whole being light up with longing. The total ease with which he owned his body. The confidence.

Belligerent. That was his word. He was belligerently handsome. And he made no apologies for it.

In that moment, I wanted him to own me with that belligerence. Use me up until there was nothing left.

Stop. I had to stop thinking like that about him. This was a get together. A meeting. Nothing more.

His blue eyes found mine across the room. The way he looked at me right then—the contradictions that flicked across his face—it was like a bullet to the chest. His eyes softened and his jaw hardened and his mouth moved into that smirk of his. He was sweet. Angry. Cocky. All at once.

I couldn’t breathe.

I somehow managed to stand up at the same moment he started walking toward me. I felt his eyes on me. Shamelessly I leaned forward to set my glass down, making the dress ride up my thighs. It was stupid.

I did it anyway, because I wanted to rile him up. Return the favor.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, even as he kept smirking.

“He’s an idiot,” Rob said.

I looked away, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Who?”

“Philip. He’s an idiot for missing this.” I looked to see his eyes flicking over the dress.

“Well. It’s not his fault that he’s missing it. The guy is puking his brains out right now.”

Rob shrugged. “He’s still missing it, regardless of the reason. You look gorgeous. Although one too many lads are looking at you. I don’t blame them, but I don’t like it, either. Let’s go.”

Spearing him with a glare, I said, “What if I like it?”

“You’ll like where we’re going more.” He met my gaze head on, his eyes steady on mine.

I reached for my coat, but Rob got there first. Of course.

I turned around and let him help me into it. People had begun to stare, but Rob either didn’t notice or was pretending not to.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He put a hand on the small of my back and led me out the door. “You’ll see.”

He kept saying that. Just like he kept delivering on those promises of his.