Page 126 of Eternal Surrender

Ingrid followed us over, seemingly rattled by the way I held Anaïs precariously close to the ledge. “William, what’s going on?”

“These feelings are natural,” I told Anaïs. “My commitment to you is unwavering, but you must obey.”

Anaïs frowned up at me.

I scanned the other rooftops hoping to glimpse Marcus, or even Zachary, who might just be tracking this newbie and making sure she didn’t mess up too much in her early days. After all, they’d promised just that. Anaïs tried to ease out of my grip.

I tightened it.

“You’ve been summoned by Fabian Snowstrom,” Anaïs said, her free hand reaching inside her coat pocket. She withdrew a cream envelope with F. S. initialed into the wax stamped seal. She offered it to me. “You both have.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Navigating the red Ferrari along Edward Street, I glanced over at Ingrid. “How did James take it?”

She slid her phone into her purse. “Right now I’m seriously questioning my judgment for getting back in a car with you.” She buzzed her window down and strands of hair blew over her face. “How loud does my internal screaming sound?”

A glance left, and there she was, almost unreal, her hair drifting across her face, like an old-time movie. Her lips pouty, and her tongue grazing the side of her mouth, as if she were thinking. In that moment, all she did was exist, and it was exquisite.

I steered the car westward.

“I’m hoping you’ve grown bored of driving into rivers.” She rested her stiletto heels upon the dashboard.

“Where’s the trust?” I asked.

“Yet to be earned.”

Reaching inside her mind, I realized she’d twisted the truth a little about meeting James for dinner. Ingrid had dressed up for me.

I feigned interest in my side view mirror, hoping she’d not catch my boyish grin.

She twisted in her seat to face me. “Who was that girl?”

I pulled back on the smile. “Anaïs.”

“How is she connected to you?”

“The question you should be asking is, who’s Fabian Snowstrom.”

She removed the note from the envelope. “Well?”

“Someone you don’t keep waiting.”

Ingrid read the note from him again. “Meet me where the past, present and future meet, beneath the once shadow of Nonesuch House. -F. A. Snowstrom.”

“He wants us to meet him at London Bridge,” I said.

“I’ve never even heard of Nonesuch House.”

“In the late fifteenth century a four-story house was built on top of London Bridge.”

“Nonesuch House, meaning no other house like it?”

“Exactly. The building was an unprecedented workmanship of its time.” I steered the car around the traffic circle, taking the third exit toward St. Martin’s Le Grand. “It was originally built in the Netherlands. Later it was dismantled and shipped to London and reassembled piece by piece.”

“What happened to it?” she asked.

“It was torn down in the eighteenth century.”