Page 3 of Parallel

Someone who doesn’t even exist.

But on the way home, the motion of the car lulling me to sleep, it’s not Jeff who’s in my head. It’s Nick, just as I imagined him when I fell.

I wake in Nick’s flat just before he does. His hand is on my hip, possessive even in his sleep, and I’m smiling at that when his eyes flicker open. I’m also smiling at the view, given that a sheet is only covering his lower half, leaving the rest of him—bare, tan, flawless—on glorious display. Last night he said he’d stopped swimming competitively in college, but he’s obviously still doing a whole lot of something.

“You stayed,” he says, his grin lifting high on one side. My heart flutters at the sight of it. I can’t believe I crossed an ocean only to fall for a guy who grew up a few hours from me.

“I did. Although to be fair, I kind of had to since I have no idea how to get back to my apartment from here.” Given that I could easily have called Uber or pulled up a city map on my phone, this doesn’t make much sense, but he’s kind enough not to point it out.

That dimple of his appears. I want to marry him based on that dimple alone. “All part of my evil plan to keep you here.”

I glance around his flat, which I saw little of last night because it was late when we got in and the two of us were, um, a little occupied. It’s bachelorish—bare walls, windows in need of curtains, ash-gray hardwood. I decide I’m open to the possibility of being kept.

“Evil plan?” I ask. “So this is something you’ve been working on for a while?”

“Absolutely. Though ‘meet gorgeous female with no knowledge of London’ was a surprisingly difficult first step.”

We are both smiling right now. How can it be so comfortable? How can I already feel so connected to him? From the moment we met yesterday, it was as if I was meant to know him, or perhaps, somehow, already did. “So far I sort of like your evil plan.”

He raises himself up, leaning on his forearm. It brings him closer to my mouth. “And I was a perfect gentleman as promised, wasn’t I?”

Our eyes lock. He kissed me for hours the night before, until I was on the cusp of begging him to undress me, but it went no further. His gaze flickers to my mouth. He’s remembering it too.

“You were a perfect gentleman.”

He leans over me, broad, tan shoulders sculpted by God himself. “You can’t kiss me until I’ve brushed my teeth,” I warn.

“Then I’ll focus on other parts.” His lips brush against my jawline and move to my neck. He pulls at the skin just hard enough to elicit a sharp inhale, my body arching against his without thought.

“Jesus,” he groans. “I’m trying to behave here, but you’re not making it easy.”

Since he’s only wearing boxers, that fact was already clear to me, but I don’t care. My hand skims down his broad back to his waistband. I want to slide my palm over his hard ass, and let my nails sink into his skin…

“I want you to make that noise again,” he says, his voice husky and low. He pulls at my neck in the same place he just did.

“Oh God, I like that way too much,” I murmur. “Just don’t give me a hickey.”

He laughs apologetically. “I think it’s too late.”

“Then,” I reply, pulling him back down, “you might as well do it again.”

“Hon,” says Jeff, shaking my shoulder. “Wake up.”

I blink, trying to make sense of the fact that Nick is no longer with me. And then I look over at my fiancé, at his sweet face and his furrowed brow, and feel sick with guilt. It couldn’t have been real, with Nick, but I still have the sinking feeling that hits when you discover you’ve done something very, very wrong.

“Where are we?” I ask, my voice raspy with sleep. We’re surrounded by the cement walls of a parking garage, deep underground and lit only by flickering fluorescent light. It provides no clues.

“The hospital. You fell at the inn, remember? Hurt your head?”

Argh. It comes back to me in a rush. Planning the reception, the sense of déjà vu, the sight of that white cottage in the distance. And then the time I spent with Nick—the time I thought I spent with Nick—during which Jeff didn’t seem to exist. It was so real. It still feels real. It would be enough to make me believe in reincarnation, except it was all happening now, or close to it. I remember his iWatch on the nightstand. I was thinking about Uber. It was recent. And the very last thing I want is to be poked and prodded by some doctor while skirting around the fact that part of me still thinks it happened.

“I think we can skip it,” I tell him. I’m sure to Jeff this whole thing seems monumental, but my childhood was littered with bizarre little episodes none of us could explain, and this seems likely to fall in the same category, if a thousand times more extreme. “I’m fine now and I don’t feel like sitting in a waiting room for hours just to have some doctor tell me he thinks I’m okay.”

His jaw swings open. “You seem to be gravely underestimating the seriousness of this. You had no idea who I was.” His voice is strung tight—concern or hurt feelings, I can’t tell. “I already called your office and told them you won’t be in.”

I lean my head back against the seat and allow my eyes to shut for a moment. “A few hours of sleep would do me more good than any doctor right now.”

His door opens. “You didn’t even recognize your own mother. We’re getting it checked out.”