“Okay then. And thanks for the reminder that my ex is a lying psychopath. Seriously, what’s gotten your panties in a twist?” I handed him the note, which he read with a snicker. “You know what this means, right?”
“If did, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”
“It means you need to get home and look in that box.”
“But—”
“No excuses. Trust fate for once, would you?”
Was it my imagination, or did the doorman wink when he greeted me? I shook my head in the elevator, seriously contemplating getting on medication if these kinds of things kept up.
I stopped in my tracks when the elevator doors opened. On the floor at my feet was an old, beat-up paperback, its spine cracked as though it had been abused. I picked it up. It was The Princess Bride, open to the scene toward the end where Westley and Buttercup finally have their epic kiss. I smiled. It was one of my favorites. I guessed one of the Millers’ teenagers from down the hall had dropped it on their way to school.
Two steps later, I stopped again. A playbill for Rent was open to the song list, and “No Day But Today” was highlighted in garish yellow. This was getting weird.
I unlocked my door, still wondering what I was doing here. Chasing after an anonymous note was insane, but there I was. I dumped the book and playbill on the couch and tossed my keys down next to them. I went over to the closet and withdrew the striped box Alex had sent me months ago. It was just as light as before. Nevertheless, I took a deep breath before opening it, looking at the Concordia ring I still couldn’t bear to remove.
“Okay, Concordia, if you exist, here’s your chance to prove it,” I whispered, slowly pulling off the lid.
There it was. A single white envelope bearing the words, “Open me when… you finally know…”
I turned it over, surprised to find that unlike all the others, the message continued on the back flap. “…we’re meant for each other.”
My stomach did a small somersault. Alex had been here. In this country. In Chicago. In my apartment. I felt like hitting myself upside the head. Stupid, Annabeth. The book and the playbill are from him. Hello, they were clues. He must still care for me even after everything. Why else would he fly across an ocean to deliver a note? And why go through all the trouble of leaving clues if he didn’t want me back? Suddenly, the room felt as though the heat was on full blast, and my hands and feet started sweating profusely.
I tore open the envelope. Inside was a handwritten note with a quote from Rent in block letters at the top. It was from the song he’d highlighted in the playbill, the closing number of the show, a beautiful anthem about letting go of past mistakes and regret and embracing the only thing we’re guaranteed in life—this very moment. Beneath that was written, Go into the bedroom. You’ll find further instructions there.
Intrigued, and so nervous I thought I would puke, I did as instructed. On the bed was a gorgeous floor-length silk gown the color of a blooming pink rose along with a pair of teardrop pink-diamond earrings and a pair of silver slingback Christian Louboutins.
Normally, I’d have assumed those were Mia’s latest castoffs, but given we weren’t speaking, that was highly unlikely. When I picked up the dress and held it up in front of the mirror, I noticed a small note pinned to the sash.
Dinner at 8 p.m. Wear this. Be ready by 7:30.
It was signed simply A.
The limo pulled up to the Hancock Building at the stroke of eight. The driver got out to open my door.
“Ninety-fifth floor,” he instructed with a slight tip of his cap.
The Signature Room. Butterflies took flight in my stomach again as my imagination ran through a range of increasingly unlikely scenarios while an elevator shot me up to the ninety-fifth floor.
The doors opened to reveal Alex in a tux with a tie, vest, and pocket square that matched my dress. I practically ran to him and flung my arms around him, kissing him as if he were a sailor just home on leave.
When I finally ran out of breath and pulled away, still on tiptoe with my arms around his neck, he grinned. “Hello to you too.”
“I take it this is your way of saying things are okay with us?”
“They’re more than okay. Consider this a starting-over date.” He kissed me again then glanced around at the gaping crowd. “We have all night to catch up. Why don’t we take our seats?”
He offered his arm like a gentleman out of a movie and led me to a table by one of the many floor-to-ceiling windows wrapping around all sides of the restaurant. The table was covered in candles and a long arrangement of hydrangeas varying from midnight blue to deep purple interwoven with lily of the valley. Off to one side, a bottle of champagne was chilling in an ice bucket.
Alex pulled out my chair then took his seat across from me. “Well, what do you think?”
I shook my head. “I think I’m dreaming,” I said, thoroughly convinced I was.
Alex smiled, and my heart lit up. “No, you’re very much awake.”
“I don’t deserve this.”
“Love isn’t about what we do or don’t deserve. If it were, we’d all be alone. It’s about forgiveness and second—and third and one hundredth—chances and being there for one another in good times and bad. As my note said, I’ve come to realize there’s no time in life for regrets. All we have is today.”
A waiter approached us, introduced himself, and informed us that our pre-selected meal would be served shortly.
After he poured us each a glass of champagne and departed, I held out my hand to Alex. “Please forgive me for not trusting you.”
He placed his hand in my palm. “But you did. Regina lives in your building, and you’re actually friends with her, of all things. If that’s not trust, I don’t know what is. Plus, you trusted me enough to come here tonight.”
“But this was something so simple.”
He smiled. “Baby steps.”
“Then maybe we should talk about something bigger. Tell me about this new class at Oxford.”
“I’m not going to take it. Don’t worry.”
“Maybe you should—if you want to. I’ll be okay here without you one more term. It’s only two months, right?”
Alex nodded. “Yes, but are you sure?”
I smoothed the napkin in my lap with my free hand. “I am. And this time, I promise to hear you out if they want to give you another extension—no matter how long you wait to tell me.”
“And I’ll try not to be the center of any more compromising photographs.” He chuckled.
I squeezed his hand. “It’s a deal.”
Over a main course of lobster and fresh vegetables, Alex told me about the end of his first lecture term and his research with Jolie’s dad. They’d ended up uncovering another topic, so they’d submitted two articles to two different journals.
“We should hear about our original idea in about a month. The other journal has a more stringent review process, so it could be up to six months on that one. But the best news is that John has asked me to co-author a book with him, and Oxford University Press has already agreed to publish it.”
“Seriously? Oh, Alex, that’s wonderful.” I raised my glass. “We should toast to that.”
We clinked our glasses together. As Alex raised his to his lips, I noticed a thin line of sweat had formed above them and was also making his temples shine.
“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned that he perhaps didn’t feel well.
“I’m perfect.” He flashed me his famous grin, the one that had made my heart melt that night at the Drake more than a year and a half ago. “Actually, I have something for you. It’s from London.” He reached into his suit jacket and produced a small velvet box.
My heart leapt into my throat then promptly stopped. Oh my God. This was it; he was going to propose. After all we’d been through, he still wanted to marry me. Was I ready? What would I say? I couldn’t breathe, and the tall glass walls seemed to be pressing in around me.
The lid opene
d with a creak under Alex’s gentle pressure. I’d been expecting a diamond ring but instead found myself staring at a white gold chain with a small fortune cookie pendant. My heart zoomed back to my stomach and hit my feet with a thud that made me nauseated.
I did my best to blink back my disappointment and keep my voice level as I fingered the tiny charm. “It’s beautiful.”
I started to take the necklace out of the box and put it on, but Alex stopped me. “Don’t you want to see what your fortune is?”
“It has one?” I turned the cookie around in my fingers. It was no bigger than the fingernail on my pinkie. “How is that possible?”
“Just open it.”
I looked again and saw tiny hinges I hadn’t noticed before. I pulled gently, revealing a thin scrap of rolled paper. I held it up to the flickering light of the candles to read it. “Your life will change when you next meet his eyes.”
Confused, I sought Alex’s gaze only to find he was no longer sitting in his chair.
He had gotten down on one knee and was holding out a ring. “Annabeth Coe, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Every nerve in my body sang, urging me up out of my chair. I knelt beside him and kissed him. “Yes,” I answered between tears of joy.
He slipped the ring on my finger, and we kissed again. I was vaguely aware of the entire restaurant applauding.
When we were back in our seats, he said, “Do you remember when we met that you said you thought this was the kind of place Al Capone would have hung out? Well, I wanted you to have a ring that would have made him jealous.”
I gazed in wonder at the round diamond countersunk into the white gold band. It was edged on both sides by filigree lilies that looked as if they would have been at home in a Tiffany lamp. “It’s—I have no words.”
Alex took both of my hands. “I wish with all my heart that your dad could have been here tonight, but I want you to know he gave his permission. I was already planning this at Christmas, and I talked to him then. When we broke up, I felt like I was somehow letting him down, but I didn’t know how to make things work. And then I received his letter.”
My whole body tensed. “What letter?”
Alex looked at our hands, rubbing my knuckles with his thumb. “It was a few weeks after he died. I—I guess he wrote it sometime between then and Christmas because he addressed me as your future husband. He obviously wasn’t aware of our breakup.”
I shook my head slightly. “No, I didn’t tell them. I didn’t want my mom to know.”
“In the letter, your dad told me that my number one duty to you was to watch over you, to love you and be there for you. He told me how much he loved you and that now it was my duty to take his place in loving you. I spent a lot of time thinking about how quickly our lives change—in the blink of an eye. His did, yours did, and so did mine. I just didn’t know it yet.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Your dad’s words made me realize just how short life is and how ridiculous we were being by letting Mia’s antics drive us apart. What you and I have comes along once in a lifetime. I couldn’t let another moment go by without setting things right and making sure you never left my side again.” He gestured to the blue hydrangeas. “Since your dad couldn’t be here in body tonight, I thought it only fitting that he was here in spirit. In many ways, this is all his doing.” He fingered one of the small bells of the lily of the valley. “My mom is here with us, too.”
A tear trickled down my cheek. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much your thoughtfulness means to me.”
“You have the rest of our lives to try—starting in Oxford.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I’m going for Michaelmas term, so are you. You’ve been saying you want to study creative writing. Why not audit a few courses while we’re there?” He leaned across the table to kiss me. “You don’t think I’m going to leave you here now, do you? What if I meet another ex? Who will keep my lips chaste?”
I almost spit out the champagne I’d just sipped, and I covered my mouth with giggle. “I—I’m grateful, but what about my job? I can’t just leave.”
Alex’s grin was cunning. “Actually, you can. Laini has already approved your sabbatical. She said it was the least she could do after all the work you did for our campaign. After that, she said you can work remotely. That is, if you even want to work at all. You’ve always said you want to be a writer. Now’s your chance.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.”
“Yes.” I stared at him in wonder. “Are we really going to start our lives together in England?”
“It’s just a new chapter. Which reminds me—I should have plenty of reading material on the plane ride over.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Twenty years of letters should take some time to comb through, I’d imagine.” Alex gave me a playful look. “Then we’ll start a new tradition. We’ll write one together on our wedding day then do the same thing on each anniversary. After all, we have a new story to tell for future generations.”
I smiled, my heart warming that he wanted to expand the tradition I hadn’t even known I was starting for him when, as a sixteen-year-old girl, I’d first set pen to paper. “It will be a chronicle of our love.”
He kissed my hands. “One that began with a letter addressed ‘To Whom It May Concern’ and won’t end until the preacher says, ‘Dust to dust.’”
Before You Go …
Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it, please leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Word of mouth is crucial for authors to succeed, so even if your review is only a line or two, it would be a huge help.
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Previous novels include:
Daughter of Destiny (Guinevere’s Tale Book 1)
Camelot’s Queen (Guinevere’s Tale Book 2)
Future releases include:
Madame Presidentess (historical fiction about Victoria Woodhull, the first American woman to run for President) – July 25, 2016
Mistress of Legend (Guinevere’s Tale Book 3) – Late 2016/Early 2017
Please visit me at nicoleevelina.com to learn more.
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Acknowledgments
Even though this is very much a work of fiction, this book is very, very personal to me, so I first want to express my gratitude to everyone who reads it. The fact that you connected with this story—its characters, situations, or whatever drew you in—helps me know I’m not alone in the world.
As you may have noticed, many of the places in this novel are real landmarks in Chicago. The Drake Hotel, University of Chicago, Navy Pier, the Harris Theater, the Odyssey, the Hancock Building, and its Signature Room are all places you can visit. I discovered them on several trips to that amazing city. Thank you to the staff and student volunteers at the University of Chicago for the tour, answering my questions about the English department and showing me what Alex’s office may have looked like.
Courtney, this all began with you and a Civil Wars song. Thank you for being my best friend, sounding board, advisor on the male mind, and title consultant!
Thanks to my beloved editor, Cassie Cox, for helping me shape this story into something beautiful. Thanks also to Jenny Q. for the beautiful cover and to The Editorial Department for the elegant layout. I would be remiss if I didn’t thank the judges of the 20+ contests this book went through under its original title of He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not. I may not know your names, but this book couldn’t have been what it is without your feedback and guidance; even if you hated it, your comments helped.
This book
wouldn’t be what it is without my fabulous beta readers, especially Kerry, Kay, Courtney, and Suzanne, who all pushed me to go beyond my comfort zone to make it better. Thanks also to betas Tessa, Jessica, Terry, Lee, Liz, and Colleen for your overwhelming enthusiasm for this book and its characters.
Thank you to Mat Devine/Kill Hannah for the constant musical inspiration. Even though the band is no longer together, you’re immortalized in these pages. Mat, I hope you someday find the one you’ve been searching for. In addition to inspiring the title of this book, your music has helped me be more patient during my own search.
And as always, thanks to my parents for their constant love and support. Dad, thank you for helping me see a father’s perspective on a son-in-law’s responsibilities to his wife. Mom, thanks for listening every step of the way and always offering suggestions. Last but not least, thanks again to Connor and Caitlyn for letting my attention be diverted into Annabeth’s world for a while.
About the Author
NICOLE EVELINA is a St. Louis-born historical fiction and romantic comedy writer. Her previous releases include Daughter of Destiny and Camelot’s Queen, the first two books in a historical fantasy trilogy that tell Guinevere’s side of Arthurian legend.
Been Searching for You is her first foray into romance/women’s fiction. Her goal in writing romantic comedy is to create strong female characters who are role models for women of all ages in stories that are fun and romantic. These women represent the modern independent female spirit and are meant to appeal to women who feel they’re outside of the norm of society whether by age (her heroines are almost always over thirty), race, sexuality, or natural inclinations—those things that make us feel like freaks. She hopes her readers can find something in her books that makes them think, “Oh, thank goodness, I’m not alone.”
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