Page 12 of I Know You

My confession to Ben yesterday evening about saying my parents have been gone for four years to keep it closer to the truth is more than I want to say to someone I know so little, so I just shake my head. “Nope.”

“I assumed the woman who arranged my lease was family,” he presses.

I hate the way my chest is caving in on itself, thinking about the last piece of my family being gone, leaving me alone. “My great-aunt Vi. Her parents bought the condo as a vacation residence when The Villa was renovated in the forties for permanent residents rather than hotel guests. It’s been in the family ever since.”

“Yes, she loves it. I could tell.” He leans forward on his elbows to watch me. “She promised to spend an afternoon telling me what she knew about the history of The Villa. You’re close to her?”

It still feels fresh, even after all these months. Like Aunt Vi’s favorite nurse’s number is just coming up on my phone, and I immediately know something’s wrong. She was getting older, yes, but there’d been nothing to predict her sudden absence. Since my parents’ death, she’d been my anchor, and now she’s gone too.

“Was,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “Very close.”

Ben’s mask drops, and pure compassion fills his features. He stands to come to me, taking my hands in his. “I’m sorry, Clara.”

I nod, not daring to speak again. I think it’s being here at The Villa, and not just the moving in part, but the fact that I’m immersed in the history Aunt Vi loved. Her stories came from the forties, fifties, and sixties, but seeing the glory of its past transcends that time somehow. It makes sadness crowd inside my chest, not letting anything else out.

Ben, who’s been so very careful about his emotions around me, seems to sense that I need a change of subject. He straightens. “Let’s go to my room and try the mirror some more,” he suggests, helping me to stand before threading his arm through mine.

Even the day dress, which doesn’t have that much embellishment, is so much heavier than anything I’ve ever worn, and I lean on Ben as we make our way down the hall.

“I feel like an invalid,” I joke, shaking my head at the effort it takes to just walk around.

“Not an invalid,” he says with a grin down at me, “a lady.”

Warmth jets through my chest at the way he looks at me. These are the moments that distract me from the weird nightmare I’ve fallen into—a devastatingly handsome man staring at me like I am an actual lady. No novel or period drama will ever be able to replicate what this feels like right now, and I grab hold of the memory to keep it safely tucked away in my brain.

“So, you’re a teacher and you did your master’s thesis on the Gilded Age?” He might not let me dig into too much about his family if it involves confessing emotions, but maybe basic facts about him will be okay.

“And my doctorate. I was supposed to start teaching at the college the year I disappeared. Western Civ. And yet, here I am stuck right in the middle of my specialization, and what I wouldn’t give for my phone and my PlayStation and a couple hours just staring at a screen.”

I tilt my head, trying to imagine Ben in headphones, controller in hand, and I just can’t. I swallow back a giggle at the weird image of him in this suit, sitting on a couch, staring intently at a big-screen TV and looking befuddled. “A gamer with a PhD in history?”

He catches the smirk and shrugs. “Was. I’d probably make myself look like an idiot after two years where the most technology I’ve seen is a telegram. Tell me, does Amazon offer teleportation as a shipping option yet?”

I snort with laughter, and it seems to echo in the hallway. I slap a hand over my mouth, looking around us and hoping that no one saw that very unladylike display, and Ben presses his lips together to hold back laughter.

“No,” I say. “Not yet.”

He shrugs. “Then no use going back.”

The way he turns this all into a joke is a dangerous thing, but I like it all the same. “Fair point.”

We reach his room. He lets go of my arm to open the door and then gives another glance around to make sure we’re still alone before he ushers me inside and then closes the door behind him. If anyone knew we were alone in this room together, my reputation would be completely ruined.

I walk across the room to where the mirror is prominently displayed next to a chair. I put my hands on the surface, palms down, the same way Ben placed them when I first dropped in here yesterday. The way Ben probably has a million times. My hands tingle with energy, but several minutes slide by with both of us staring into the surface and nothing happening.

I drop my hands in disappointment. “When I fell through the mirror, it was a shock, a hard one.” I squint at the mirror, then run my fingers lightly along the surface. Is there some kind of process? It doesn’t seem like it.

I lean in close to inspect it, the way I did when I was looking at the handprints. Little pinpricks dance across the edges of my fingers, like tiny shocks, but when I press my palms to the surface again, nothing happens. I sigh and drop them again.

“I felt that shock too when I fell through.” Ben steps up beside me and puts his hands on the mirror. “But there’s nothing now.”

I frown at him. “Nothing? There’s definitely something there for me…” I peer at him. “How did you fall through?”

“I found the mirror in the closet when I moved in. I was inspecting it, trying to decide if it was real. The surface is pristine for a historical piece. Then—bam.” He shrugs. “My hands sank in, and before I could do anything, I’d tumbled all the way through into the lobby.” He gives a shudder, and I know already not to question him further. If he showed up here in modern clothes as confused as I was? Based on the way he treated me when I arrived, I can guess it wasn’t pleasant.

I nudge his hands out of the way of the mirror and try again, focusing on that shiver of energy. It’s like I can reach out to it but can’t quite pull it in. “It’s not enough,” I finish in a soft voice. I drop my hands.

Ben surprises me by taking my hands in his, something new crackling over my skin at his touch. “Maybe that means eventually there will be enough.” His expression is full of hope, and that sends a shiver through me.