At Last by Dineen Whitney

Author:Dineen, Whitney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 33 Partners Publishing
Published: 2023-02-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Arlo/Present Day

I’ve spent the better part of a year living in the capital and have yet to see Sophie anywhere, and I’ve looked for her everywhere. What are the chances I’d run into her on the night I go out on a first date?

After she walks away, Avery points a finger at me, and orders, “Go after her.”

Sarah is holding onto my arm like a lobster trying to keep from falling into a pot of boiling water. “Excuse me?” she demands.

Avery ignores her and repeats, “Go after her, Arlo.”

I smile at my date while physically trying to disengage from her. “I should talk to her.”

“Why? Who is Princess Sophie to you?” Given her seeming dislike for the royals, this moment couldn’t be any more agonizing.

“We’re old friends,” I tell her. “But we haven’t seen each other in years.”

“Then why do you need to run after her?” She sounds like a jealous wife, which is surprising given her behavior during supper. Earlier this evening she was calm, cool, and confident.

“Because he has to,” Avery insists. Then to me, she adds, “Now, Arlo. I’ll entertain your friends.” She glares at Sarah so hard that if looks could kill, Sarah’s moments on earth would be numbered.

I finally disengage my arm. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” My instinct is to run toward Sophie, but I fight it. Instead, I follow at a brisk pace as she walks right by the ladies’ room. She passes the buffet and appears to be heading toward the front of the building. Is she leaving?

She stops at the coat check and hands them a ticket she pulls out of her purse. This gives me time to catch up with her. “Sophie,” I call, as soon as I’m within earshot. She doesn’t turn toward me, so I call out louder, “Sophie!”

She doesn’t answer until I’m standing next to her. “What, Arlo? What can you possibly want from me?”

“We should talk.”

I take the wrap the attendant passes over the counter and hold it open for her. Once her arms are in, she steps forward to break any connection with me. Turning around to glare at me, she asks, “How long have you lived here, Arlo?”

“I’ve been here for just over a year.” I say this so quietly, I can barely hear myself.

“And in all that time, you’ve not tried to contact me.” There’s a slight wavering in her voice.

“I haven’t,” I tell her honestly. “But not because I didn’t want to.”

The arch of her eyebrow causes me to feel small.

“Explain.”

“You’d recently broken up with your fiancé and I didn’t want to come across as insensitive. I didn’t want to approach you too soon.”

“I see, so you’ve decided to date other women while you wait.” I open my mouth to reply but she cuts me off. “Thirteen years is a long time, Arlo.” Finally making eye contact, she says, “I’ve moved on, too. I even got engaged.”

“Sophie …”

“It was nice seeing you,” she boldly lies as she turns around to leave.

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