The One In My Heart

Shit. I never thought to ask whether his parents had come with him to Cos Cob.

Mrs. Somerset took the flowers from me and called toward the interior of the house, “Bennett, Rowland, Evangeline is here.”

I followed, my face as red as the balloons, only because I couldn’t run. Where was I going to go, looking like a huge blue meringue?

“They’re still outside,” explained Mrs. Somerset. “I came in to get a drink of water; that’s how I heard the doorbell. Let me take you to the kitchen so you can put everything down.”

Maybe there was time for me to sneak away to my car and change out of the stupid costume. Maybe—

As we entered the kitchen, so did Bennett and his dad from the door leading in from the backyard. Mr. Somerset grinned at my surfeit of romantic gestures. Bennett, after a moment of stunned stillness, was trying not to laugh out loud.

I narrowed my eyes at him, as I set down the stuff I’d brought.

“Wonderful to see you again, Evangeline,” said Mr. Somerset. “It’s really too bad that my wife and I must head back to the city now. We’re having dinner with friends.”

“Oh, right,” said his wife. “I almost forgot. Let me grab my handbag.”

“Take my car,” said Bennett. “I can get it back from the station later.”

We saw his parents off and Bennett burst out laughing, collapsing against the doorjamb.

“Oh, shut up.”

He tried, only to succumb again. I rolled my eyes, went back to the kitchen, and found a vase for the gladioluses.

When I set down the bouquet on the kitchen island, I saw a hardcover notebook exactly like the one Mrs. Asquith had given to Bennett when we visited her. I flipped it open, thinking it was the same one.

But on the inside cover was the image of Bennett that I’d seen at his parents’ house, the one with him in his Eton uniform, looking to his left. Except here, on the opposite page, was a picture of Mrs. Asquith, her lips pursed, her cane raised in mock threat toward him.

An inscription read, To my young hooligan. What a shame you never gave me a reason to use that cane on you. Your favorite old lady, bar none.

I smiled, my heart melting like ice cream on a hot sidewalk. The notebook was actually a custom photo book, with pictures of them together throughout the years, in her house and all over the world. The last image made me suck in a breath in surprise. It was the three of us at lunch that day—I remembered now that she’d asked Larry to take a photo.

Bennett stood between us, one hand on Mrs. Asquith’s shoulder, the other on mine. And on this page Mrs. Asquith had written, Have faith, my dear, it will happen. I wish the two of you a wonderful life together.

My phone pinged with an incoming text. Bennett.

I’ve known, since the moment I first saw you in Central Park, that you’re fragile. When I came across your princess picture within minutes, that impression was only further reinforced.

But sometimes people forget that there is no strength greater than that of the fragile who carry on in spite of their fragility. You are strong. You have always been. And I hope today you proved it to yourself beyond a shadow of a doubt.

I’ve missed you. And there are no words to tell you how much I love being rescued with food, flowers, and balloons. But did you forget the chocolates in the car?

I snorted. He was already behind me, lifting my hair and kissing my neck. “I saw your texts only after my parents left. Or I’d have booted them out much sooner.”

“I’ll never live down the big poufy dress.”

“Don’t. It’s already one of my favorite memories of you.”

He unzipped the costume and disentangled me from the enormous skirt. Underneath I had on my camisole and my jeans—the weather was still too cool for going around in nothing but crinkly tulle.

Wrapping his arms around me from behind, he sighed and held me against him. The sweetness in my heart rivaled that of all the maple syrup in Vermont. I reached back and looped an arm about his neck. “I actually bought some chocolates in Montreal for my friends. I’ll totally shortchange them for you.”

“If that’s not true love,” he murmured against my ear, “then I don’t have one of the most viewed asses on the Upper East Side.”

I giggled and turned around.

He cupped my face. “Can I tell you again how much I love being rescued?”

I tugged his earlobe. “Anytime. But you know, rescuing you is hard work. Do you have a bed I can lie down on for a few minutes?”

He laughed softly. “Of course. This way, Your Highness.”

We stopped a few times to kiss along the way, but finally arrived in his bedroom. “Hey, it’s that drawing!” I exclaimed. The framed charcoal rendering of my ‘princess’ picture, a good eighteen by twenty-four inches, took up his entire nightstand. “I’ve been wondering whether you ever bought it.”

He scooped me up and laid me down on the bed. “Of course I bought it.”