Page 147 of False God

“It didn’t seem like you wanted to see me in New York.”

“Idid,” she insists. “You just—I mean,Ijust—you caught me off guard.”

“Good thing I’ve had months to prepare for your arrival.”

She blushes. “You’re right; I should have called. If you want me to go, I will. I didn’t mean to intrude or?—”

“I don’t want you to go.”

That’s the one thing I’m certain of. Everything else is murky.

It’s bizarre that she’s here, standing in the sprawling gardens of my childhood home. A backdrop to her beauty I didn’t think I’d ever witness.

Elizabeth Kensington has an exhilarating, exasperating habit of stripping me down to the most basic of impulses. Of removing all the layers of my careful control.

She never reached out to me after the gala. And I’ve been especially busy negotiating a deal with the company Asher put me in touch with. Between that, checking in with Blythe, visiting with my grandmother, and overseeing everything else I’m responsible for, I didn’t even realize two weeks had passed. Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about her—a lot—as the matchbox in my office could attest to.

I thought her silence meant we were done.

But now, she’s here, smiling tentatively like she’s not sure what to say either, and I’m confused again.

“Do you want a tour?” I ask.

Lili glances—very deliberately—at the moors that stretch until they meet the horizon. Grass interrupted by the occasional stretch of stone wall or shadow of an oak and nothing else.

“Of what?” she asks.

I snort. “Stable’s this way.”

Lili follows me out of the garden and around the front of the house. She gazes up at the strands of ivy clinging to the crumbling brick as we pass the exterior, her expression unreadable.

I have no idea what her childhood home looks like, but I could make a good guess. In California, probably one of those fancy, modern, minimalistic white mansions right on the beach with lots of glass. In New York, probably the top floor of one of the coveted buildings overlooking Central Park.

Newcastle Hall is stately and majestic, but it isn’t new or expensive. It has creaks and aches. Locks that stick. Stairs that squeak. The upstairs taps take a full minute to start running hot water.

I’m not embarrassed of this place, but I’ve never been more aware of its flaws than I am right now. My entire life, I’ve assumed I’d marry a woman who saw my title as a selling point. I didn’t have the same fear as Lili—that it’s all someone would see—but I assumed it would be a factor. Apositivefactor.

And I developed feelings for the one woman I’ve met who sees my title as a disadvantage.

So, the fact that she’s here, seeing all this from a perspective and a background so different from mine, is strange. Makes this part of my life seem like a larger section of who I am.

Kensington sticks his head out as soon as we enter the horse barn. Gilbert ignores us, chomping on some hay.

“This is the famous Kensington?” Lili asks, coming up beside me.

“I never called you famous,” I tell the horse.

“He’sbeautiful,” she says, rubbing his nose.

I smile. Kensington bobs his head.

“See? He likes it.”

“Uh-huh.”

I glance across the aisle. “And that’s Gilbert. Blythe named him.”

Lili nods. “LikeAnne of Green Gables.”

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