We pulled up to the International School, my heart pounding as I stared up at the building that was both my redemption and the chink in my armor. He was everywhere here—inextricably linked to my love for this place. I got out of the cab on shaky legs, paying the driver before pulling my bag up the steps.
There were new boys standing outside smoking, new voices, new accents, new laughter. It wasn’t him. I knew that. But I couldn’t help but see him there, smiling at me. Just as he had the first day.
I pushed on.
I checked in with housing, got my room assignment—Fleur, Mya, and I were roommates again—and headed upstairs. I opened the door. Fleur stared back at me.
“You look better than I expected.”
I dumped my bags, rushing over to give Fleur a hug. “Thanks, I think.”
She grinned. “No, I totally meant it as a compliment.”
“How is that a compliment?” I teased.
“I thought you’d be heartbroken, a shell of your former self.” The smile slipped from her face. “Are you okay? Really?”
I shrugged, a habit I’d picked up from Samir along the way and never bothered to shake.
“It was a tough summer. But yeah, I’m okay.”
It was the most honest answer I could give; for some reason I just didn’t feel like explaining the rest of it. More than anyone, Fleur would probably understand that everything reminded me of him, that there was still a part of me that expected him to walk into the room or to be sitting in the cafeteria. It was hard. I missed him more than I’d ever missed anyone.
Fleur stared at me. She opened her mouth like she was going to speak and closed it again.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I know you. That’s not nothing. What’s up?”
She hesitated for a moment. “I have to ask you something.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“If you had a chance to be happy with Samir, I mean really happy, would you want it?”
“Fleur.”
I should have known it would be like this. I hadn’t been back for an hour and he was already everywhere.
“I’m serious. It’s important. Do you still love him?”
“I can’t...” I struggled for the right words to make her understand. “It’s been hard, okay? Really hard. I don’t want to talk about Samir.”
“Trust me, though. You want to talk about this. This is important. Do you still love him?”
“Why are you pushing this?”
“Because he’s here. In London.”
For a moment, I was convinced I’d misheard.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s in London. Now.”
My heart began pounding. “Why? How? How is that even possible?”
“He’s doing a master’s at the School of Oriental and African Studies.”
I sank down on the bed, shock flooding my body. Emotions ripped through me. “Why? Since when? Why didn’t he tell me? How could he come back and not tell me?”
“He came back for you. Well, and for him. But probably more for you.”
“What? What do you mean? Did he tell you that?”
“I went to see him this summer. He was only in Beirut for a couple weeks and then he went to St. Tropez. I found him there.”
I just stared at her.
“He was a mess and he was miserable. Absolutely miserable.”
“So how did he end up here?”
“I told him you lied. I told him you loved him.” Fleur grinned. “And I told him if he loved you, he needed to fight for you.”
“But his parents—”
“He has a trust fund from his grandfather. It’s not huge, but it’s enough.”
“I didn’t want him to give up his future. His legacy—”
“SOAS is a good fit for him. He’ll be fine. It was his choice. No one held a gun to his head. No one made him do anything he didn’t want to do. He wanted this.” Fleur hesitated. “He wanted to get his shit together before he saw you. He was nervous.”
“I don’t— So—”
“He loves you. He wants to be with you.” Fleur was silent for a moment. “I know you. I get it. I get why you’re scared. I get why you lied to him. I get why you’re afraid to take a chance on him. But you need to stop it. He loves you. He’s never loved anyone the way he loves you. Don’t throw this away because you’re scared.”
I was still somewhere back at Samir is here in London. I’d always known there could be a life for him in London. I’d always loved the idea of him doing a master’s—he was smart enough and he loved IR. But I’d never wanted to push him into anything. His parents had done that—pushed him and tried to mold him into someone they could control. I’d never wanted to do that to him.
I’d been so scared to love him. So scared that when he left, I’d shatter into a million pieces. I’d been scared to give anyone that kind of power over me. But I’d loved him despite my fear. And he’d left. And I’d shattered. And I’d put myself back together.
The problem had never really been whether or not I trusted Samir. It had been whether or not I trusted myself.
I could be happy here in London, without him. I could graduate from the International School, do a master’s, get a great job doing something I loved. I could be happy. But that wouldn’t be enough, not anymore. Not now that I knew what it was like to love someone with everything I had. My life would be a shadow of its former self. I would be a shadow of my former self. I wanted more. I wanted it all. I wanted him.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
Excitement filled me, and I stopped caring about the chance I was taking or the risks or anything other than the fact that he was here. He loved me. It was time for me to let him and to let myself go.
“Okay.” I stood, my body feeling strange, my limbs a little shaky. Adrenaline coursed through me, pushing me on. “Where is he?”
“He’s supposed to be meeting me in Hyde Park in an hour. But I think I may be coming down with a cold.” She did a fake cough. “So you should definitely go instead.”
“In an hour?” I squeaked. “I look terrible. I just got off of a nine-hour flight.”
“I think you look good. And Samir will definitely think you look amazing.” She grinned. “But if you want, I may be willing to offer my hair services. For old times’ sake.”
I grinned at Fleur. “How much of this was you?”
She shrugged. “I just did what I could to make sure you guys ended up where you were supposed to be. The rest of it was him.”
I’d never loved her more. “You’re kind of like a sexy fairy godmother.”
Fleur flashed me a stunning grin. “I’ll take it.” She gestured toward my hair. “Come on. Let’s make this happen.”
Samir
I WALKED DOWN the streets, heading back toward Kensington, toward the place that started it all. It felt weird, being in London and not being at the International School. Felt weird not being around her.
SOAS was a different planet. I put the Rolex away—my fellow students seemed more interested in organizing a protest than going to a nightclub. It was different, but not in a bad way. For the first time in my life I was doing something that mattered, not because my last name was Khouri and it was expected of me, but because I wanted to. It felt good.
I walked down the familiar path, heading into the park. It was a bizarre place for Fleur to want to meet. As long as I’d known her, she’d never shown any interest in the outdoors. I figured Harrods was more her speed. But she’d insisted, so here I was.
I turned my head, staring down the familiar view. From where I stood, I could almost make out the top of the International School. I missed it so much it hurt.
Missed her so much it hurt.
I’d been in London for three weeks now. I knew school started back in a few days, imagined she was back in London getting ready for her junior year. I couldn’t help but wonder the same thing I’d been wondering all sum
mer. Did she miss me? Was Fleur right, did she really love me?
I knew it was a big gamble. I’d thrown my future away on the hope that Fleur hadn’t totally misread the signs. But even if she had—I felt free. For the first time in my life, I felt free of my family’s expectations, of the lie of living a life I didn’t want.
I wanted to be someone Maggie could be proud of. I wanted to be someone I could be proud of.
I cut through the park, moving toward a tree near Kensington Palace. I glanced down at my phone. Fleur was late, big surprise. People filtered in and out of the park, as I kept my eyes peeled for Fleur’s tall frame.
Then I saw her and my world stopped.
A girl entered the park from the International School side. Her strides were long, impatient even. Her head scanned the park as if she was looking for someone. I couldn’t take my gaze off of her.
She stopped in her tracks, looking back at me. For a moment, we just stood there, the park between us, staring at each other. My heart pounded madly. She began to walk, her strides even longer, her gorgeous brown hair flowing around her. Everything around me faded away. All of the nerves and doubt of the past few months disappeared.
I knew in that moment that no matter what happened, I’d do whatever I had to in order to keep her.
She was mine. I would always be hers.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Maggie
HE LEANS AGAINST a tree.
His body is lean, his hair dark. Even from a distance, I can see his clothes are impeccable—his black coat perfectly formed on his body, his long legs encased in expensive jeans. Diesel, of course.
His face is hard to read, and yet I know his every expression better than my own. That face—the one I dream of, the one I have traced every curve of, the one that no matter how hard I try, I can’t forget.
For a moment, my feet are rooted to the ground. I want to make them move, and yet the sight before me has my limbs freezing up, unable to move beyond the smallest twitch. I’ve dreamed this moment enough that part of me wonders if that’s all this is—another cruel dream, in which for a moment I have everything, only to wake and discover I have nothing.
But he’s still there.
My legs move faster, not quite running—but eager now. After all, it has been four months.
As I walk toward him, time seems to shift, and I remember the first time I ever saw him—standing on the front steps. I remember the feeling I had at the sight of him and am blown away by the journey it has taken for us to end up here.
He doesn’t move from his perch against the tree. But because I know him—because I love him—I watch the tension leave his body as our eyes meet. He is lighter because of me.
There’s no denying the deck is stacked against us, but it doesn’t feel insurmountable. Not anymore.
“Hi.”
I stop before him, just out of his grasp. I blink, unable to believe he’s really there. I’ve imagined him so many times, yet the reality of him feels infinitely better.
“Hi,” he echoes, his expression solemn, a wealth of emotion in that word. He’s so serious, this version of the boy I have come to love. There’s something different about him now—he looks as if he’s in transition, halfway between his old life and his new one.
He reaches out a hand and I link my fingers with his, that meeting of flesh on flesh as natural as always.
I was born to hold his hand.
The air vibrates with tension, a crackling energy that too feels familiar. There’s something comforting in knowing no matter how much time passes, there’s still a part of me that gets nervous—giddy—at the sight of him.
“What now?”
Every fiber of my being hangs on his next words.
His lips curve as he leans forward, brushing them against mine. Finally. It’s a familiar kiss, a beginning of sorts.
And of course, a continuation—of something never abandoned.
It has always been him.
He breaks away, flashing me a smile that’s all too familiar, seducing me with his gaze.
“Well, I have a year at SOAS and then I’ll have my master’s degree. I can get a job here in London. Maybe doing something with Mid East policy. I want to help my people, want to feel like I’m making a difference. Not because I’m a Khouri, but because I have something to contribute. I want to be more—for you and for me.” For a moment he looks unsure of himself. “I can’t promise it’s going to be as glamorous as it was. Or that I’m going to get it right. But I promise I’m going to try.”
“I don’t care. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re giving up everything for me.”
“Maggie. You are everything.”
I close my eyes for a moment, his hand clutched in mine. I cloak myself in his words, bathing in their warmth, their promise. I’m afraid that if I open my eyes it’ll all be a dream. But if these last few months have taught me anything, it’s that I can be alone. I’d just rather have him by my side.
I open my eyes, dazzled by the boy staring back at me. I see commitment in his eyes, a promise I know I can trust. This time is different. This time we’re all in. We’re both making the leap and I can’t wait to fall.
“I love you,” he whispers, so softly only I can hear him.
But it’s enough. It’s everything.
“I love you, too,” I answer, my heart tumbling in my chest, the words locked inside me for far too long. “It’s always been you.”
I stare into his eyes—Samir’s eyes—
And I see my future.
* * * * *
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, I’d like to thank my amazing agent, Kevan Lyon. I couldn’t have done any of this without you! Thank you to my wonderful editor, Margo Lipschultz, and the team at Harlequin for believing in this story and in Maggie and Samir. To my publicist, Jessica Estep, and everyone at InkSlinger PR—thank you for all of your help! Thanks to my amazing writing friends who have given me so much support—especially Katie McGarry and Chelsea M. Cameron, who read I See London and were kind enough to blurb it. To all of the readers and bloggers who have read and promoted I See London and London Falling, thank you for making my dreams a reality. Your support means more than you’ll ever know. You guys are awesome! Thanks to my family, especially my parents—for their love and for making my London dream possible. Thank you to all of my London friends—you gave me an unforgettable adventure. Most importantly, to my husband—thank you for giving me a happy ending better than any I could have written. I love you more than words.
Did you miss the book where it all began?
Read on for a sneak peek
of Maggie and Samir’s first adventure,
I SEE LONDON,
now available from Chanel Cleeton
and Harlequin HQN
wherever ebooks are sold.
CHAPTER ONE
I WAS GOING TO die and I wasn’t even wearing my best underwear.
My Southern grandmother loved to tell me a girl should always look like a lady—even down to her “unmentionables,” as she liked to call them.
“But no one’s going to see them,” I would insist.
“It doesn’t matter. You could be in a car accident and then what? Would you want people to see you in those?” (Cotton, black, perfect for fat days.)
I wasn’t sure if the underwear rule applied to plane crashes. But if it did? I was about to die in the world’s ugliest pair of black cotton underwear.
“Are you okay, dear?”
I loosened my grip on the armrest, turning slightly to face the woman in the seat next to me. My head jerked.
“It’s just a little bit of turbulence. Perfectly normal.” She looked to be about my grandmother’s age; unlike my grandmother’s smooth Southern drawl, though, her voice had a clipped British accent. “Is this your first flight?”
I cleared the massive, boulder-sized knot of tension from my throat. “It’s been awhile.”
“It can be scary a
t times. But we’re only about an hour away.”
The plane hit another bump. I gripped the armrests, my knuckles turning nearly white.
“What takes you to London?”
“I’m starting college.”
“How exciting! Where?”
I loosened my grip on the armrest, struggling to focus on her questions rather than the plane plummeting from the sky. The irony of my fear of flying wasn’t lost on me.
“The International School. It’s an American university in London.”
According to the glossy brochure I’d conveniently received the day my dreaded thin-envelope rejection letter from Harvard arrived in our mailbox, the International School boasted a total of one thousand undergraduate students from all over the world.
“Do you know anyone in London?”
I shook my head.
“I’m surprised your parents let you move over there by yourself. You can’t be more than what, eighteen?”
“I’m nineteen.”
I was a little surprised, too. My dad hadn’t been a big fan of the whole London idea. He could travel the world, heading to exotic locations. I just couldn’t go with him. I’d heard all the reasons before. He couldn’t be a fighter pilot and a single parent. It was too difficult for him to predict when he would be sent away on another mission. If my mom were still around—It hung between us, the rest of the words unspoken.
I could fill in the blanks. If my mom were still around, we would be a family. But she wasn’t. When she left my dad, she took our family with her, dooming me to life in a small town in South Carolina, my dad’s elderly parents assuming the role of my legal guardians. I loved my grandparents and they tried the best they could.
But it wasn’t the same.
“You must be awfully brave to come to London by yourself. Especially at such a young age.”
Brave? I wasn’t sure if it had been bravery or desperation spurring my sole act of teenage rebellion. But ever since I’d received that rejection letter in the mail, my thoughts had been less than rational.
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