Something about him crouching down felt very familiar. Like it had happened before. I saw realization dawn in his eyes at the same time.
“You’re the man from the pedestrian mall.”
“And you’re the woman who dropped her mobile.” He said it in a teasing voice, like I was some perpetually clumsy person he had to continually rescue.
That this had been true so far was beside the point. “After you slammed into me.”
“Slammed into you?” he repeated, now sounding slightly offended. “I barely grazed you.”
Enjoying his mock outrage I said, “Oh, really? It was like a move from the WWE.”
“The what?”
“Professional wrestling.”
“Which is fake, correct?” Now he was triumphant, as if he’d caught me.
“So? You still hit my shoulder.”
He bowed gracefully at the waist, as if I were the princess Milo had proclaimed me to be. “My deepest and sincerest apologies, my lady, for any injury, fake or otherwise, that I might have caused you.” He straightened up, his smile full of a mischief I was finding a bit irresistible. “It seems you’re quite desperate for my attention. You don’t have to leave your things on the ground hoping I’ll speak to you.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“No?” His eyes were teasing. “Because all evidence points to the contrary. Although, now that I have your shoe, according to fairy-tale law, I get to keep you.”
That made my heart beat faster, in a good way. “What?”
“Cinderella? My grandmother read it to me as a warning for the kind of woman I should avoid.”
“Women who think they can talk to animals and have ball gowns conjured out of thin air?”
That made him laugh, and I felt my insides warming from the rich sound. “Not quite. My granny saw her as the ultimate gold digger.”
His words triggered something in my brain. Not just because I once had been that kind of gold digger, at my mom’s insistence and direction, but the accent, the fairy-tale thing, the familiarity of his face. It wasn’t just because of the phone-dropping incident.
I knew exactly who he was.
“You’re Griffin Windsor.”
CHAPTER FIVE
His smile flickered, fading off his face. My revelation seemed to displease him, but it was like I couldn’t shut up.
“You’re that prince or duke or whatever.”
“Not a prince. Or a duke. Just an earl.” That teasing lilt in his voice was gone, but I couldn’t focus on that. All I could think about was that this entire situation was completely impossible. How had I ended up at a party, one that I wasn’t even supposed to be at, with the very man Alice had hoped would be here? It was like she was reaching out with her puppet master hands, tugging at my strings, willing this entire encounter into being.
For a second I wondered whether I was having some kind of guilt delusion, a wonderful fantasy that I’d conjured up to share with my sister, but it was very real.
And he was looking at me like I was a ditzy airhead.
Which might have been warranted, considering how I was gawking at him with my mouth hanging open. I snapped it shut.
“My sister’s obsessed with you.” The words were out before I could snatch them back.
“With me, specifically?” He edged back slightly, as if afraid I might rush him.
“No, your whole family. She . . .” There was no way to tell him about my conversation with Alice and her sending his photo to me without us sounding like weirdos. “She’s just a fan.”
He squared his shoulders. “Could I ask a rather large favor? Would you mind not mentioning to her that I’m here? I don’t want anyone to know.”
“I . . . She won’t tell anyone.” I could have lied to him—easily and in a very professional way—but I found that I didn’t want to. “She’s really sick and this will bring her so much joy. To know that we met. She’s not on social media or anything. I’ll swear her to secrecy and she won’t tell a soul. I promise.”
Griffin hesitated, as if unsure how he wanted to respond. That charming smile of his popped back onto his face. “So long as I have your word, I suppose it’s fine, then.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “Thank you. That’ll mean a lot to her.”
“I’d rather hoped no one would recognize me.”
Walking around with that face? Not likely. “How did you think that was possible? I have it on very good authority that you’re England’s most eligible bachelor.”
He ducked his head, as if embarrassed. “No one here knows who I am. I can usually stay fairly anonymous in the States.”
“Until me.”
“I’ve actually never been recognized outside the UK. Although I suppose that if I wanted to be truly incognito, I should have worn a mask to this event.”
“I’m sure that wouldn’t have drawn any kind of unwanted attention to you at all.” He smiled at my slightly sarcastic jab, and it was then that I realized that he still hadn’t given me my shoe back. “So, were you planning on keeping my shoe or were you going to return it to me at some point?”
That mischievous glint was back and I was realizing that I had no power to resist it. If he’d been wearing this expression when he asked me to keep things about him from Alice, I might have done it.
“If I’m remembering the stories correctly, one can only return a shoe with a marriage proposal.”
I knew he was joking, completely joking, but I swear I had a moment where I imagined myself in a white dress walking down an aisle toward him.
Which freaked me out. I had to take a deep breath before I said, “I’m sorry, but that only applies if you’re a prince.”
“Just a lowly earl, I’m afraid.”
I still didn’t get how this whole nobility thing worked. “I don’t even know what that means.”
He nodded seriously. “No one really does, but they all pretend as if they do.”
“Is saving damsels in distress part of your earl thing?”
“Yes, but only if they’re in mild distress. Dropping a mobile, losing a shoe. There’s a special license required to slay a dragon.”
I couldn’t help myself. He made me laugh. He grinned at me in response and it was doing funny things to my insides. I pressed a hand against my stomach, trying to calm down. I couldn’t remember ever being this attracted to someone who wasn’t also sporting a neck tattoo.
Maybe I was growing as a person.
He was undeniably attractive, though. The way the light hit the golden strands of his hair, and how I would have to get much closer to be able to figure out the actual color of his eyes . . . Again my fingers itched for a canvas and a brush. Then my stupid mouth, the one Alice had tried to teach to be only honest, decided to let him know what I was thinking. “You’re a lot prettier than I thought you would be.”
I wanted to die. I wanted a giant hole to open up underneath me and suck me down into oblivion. What was wrong with me?
Not to mention that pretty was wholly inadequate for how he looked. Gorgeous. Handsome. Perfect. The kind of face that would make a nun forsake her vows.