Placing it around my neck, I remembered exactly what it felt like when Leo had put it on me. I’d been devastated because he was about to leave, but also confused as to why he was entrusting me with such an important family heirloom when he wasn’t ever going to see it—or me—again. It had seemed like some strange form of insurance and left me a little unsettled. I couldn’t imagine him wanting me to keep something so important forever.
When it hit me, chills ran through my body. This is it. This was the sign I’d prayed for. Mrs. Angelini had led me to where she kept the necklace, but only I could interpret what that meant. I closed my eyes and knew she wanted me to follow my heart and go to him. That’s what I wanted, too, even though I was scared.
Fiddling with the sparkler around my neck, I picked up the phone and dialed Bailey to fill her in on everything that had just happened.
“Have you Googled him at all?” she asked.
“No. I don’t want to see photos of him with her. And I’ve managed to not Google him all these years. I’m not going to start now. I wouldn’t even know what to believe.”
“Okay. So what’s your next step?”
“Do you think I should call him?”
“What if you just went there?” Bailey suggested.
“With no warning?”
“Maybe you need to see him to know whether you want to go through with stopping a freaking wedding. Don’t you feel like you have to be there to know whether the connection is still there? If you call and fuck everything up for him, it might be premature. This kind of thing has to be done in person. I say get your ass on a plane and go. Look him in the eyes, and I think within seconds you’ll know whether it’s right. And if it’s not, at the very least, you can have one final goodbye.”
If I allowed myself to overthink things, nothing would ever get done. And I didn’t have the luxury of time in this instance. I needed to make a decision before I could even begin to waffle.
My stomach started churning, not because of my internal debate, but because I knew I’d decided to go.
* * *
Felicity
Track 19: “Long Long Journey” by Enya
Riding through the English countryside seemed like a dream, more picturesque than I could have imagined—animals grazing off the sides of the road, beautiful stone architecture, sprawling green fields for miles. Chills ran through me almost the entire length of the car trip.
My driver finally dropped me off at the cottage covered in vines where I’d be staying.
The little old woman who ran this bed and breakfast greeted me at the door. “Welcome to the Bainbridge Inn.”
She stepped aside to let me enter. I’d chosen this place because it was only two miles from the Covington estate in Westfordshire.
By the time my flight landed, it was too late in the day to go straight to Leo. I would go in the morning. I needed time to find my bearings. It had been a long flight, and the stress of anticipation left me mentally exhausted. I didn’t want to see him like this. I needed a good night’s sleep and then, come hell or high water, I’d go to his house in the morning.
“I’m Lavinia,” the woman said. “I’m at your service for the length of your stay.”
She was short and frail. Asking her to do anything for me seemed wrong.
“You’ve provided me with a safe place to sleep, and that’s all I need.”
“Serving my guests is what I live for.” She smiled. “And I very much enjoy the company. Let me make you some tea. I’d show you to your room, but stairs and I haven’t been getting along lately. I try to limit the number of trips I have to make.”
That made me feel bad. She was too old for this shit.
“Tea sounds great,” I told her. “And no worries at all. I don’t need you to accompany me. Just tell me where it is.”
“First door on the left as soon as you reach the top.”
The upstairs room had an old-school charm. With floral wallpaper and an iron bed frame, it looked like a life-sized version of a 1970’s dollhouse bedroom. The bed was creaky and a bit uncomfortable, but it would obviously have to do.
After I situated my bags in a corner, I went back downstairs.
Lavinia had already set the table in the kitchen. The tea water began boiling on the stove.
“Are you hungry for a meal, my dear?”
“No, thank you. I ate something at the airport when I landed.”
She placed a plate of cookies in front of me. “What brings you to Westfordshire?”
She had to know who Leo Covington was, so no way was I going to mention his name. I kept things generic.
“I’ve come to reconnect with a man from my past,” I said as she poured the tea.
She leaned in. “Well, that might be the most exciting thing I’ve heard around here in a while.”
I took a sip and laughed. “It’s more terrifying than exciting, actually.”
“Tell me the story.”
Without getting into specifics, I told her about the summer I fell for a handsome, charming British man from Westfordshire who swept me off my feet. I ended with the gist of the letter.
“It’s just so romantic,” she gushed.
“It is, but equally scary. I wish I’d gotten the letter when it arrived two months earlier. At this point, he’s likely assumed I received it and chose not to answer him. It’s going to be quite a shock to see me.” My heart sank. “This might not end well, Lavinia.”
She pushed the plate of cookies closer. “Have hope. If it’s meant to be, all will work out in the end.” Lavinia tilted her head. “Is there a reason you chose not to call him first?”
“I decided it would be more meaningful if I just came. This seems too important for a phone call. If he doesn’t see me in the flesh, he won’t truly know whether the feelings he thinks he has are really there. I need to see the look in his eyes, you know?”
“I think the poor bloke might have a heart attack.”
I cringed. “I hope not.”
“That wouldn’t be a very good ending to the story, now would it?” She carefully stood from her chair. “Well, if I’d known what you were about to embark on, I would have offered you something a lot stronger than tea.”
I chuckled, remembering my first tea with Leo and Sig, which turned into tea-quila.
“Can I interest you in something to calm you before bed?” she asked.
I was just about to refuse, because it was way too late to be drinking, but then I noticed what was in her hand: a bottle of Fireball.
My eyes widened. “You drink Fireball?”
“Well, I have a few different options. But this is my favorite, yes. Do you not like it?”
“That’s not it. It’s… Well, someone who was very special to me who’s since passed away—that was her favorite drink. I can’t help but think you taking that out was a message from her.”
“Well, see, now you must have a drink before bed.” She poured some Fireball into a small glass for me.
“Thank you,” I said as I gulped it down.
“There you go.” She laughed.