2. Anna

Anna

H ow is this happening? It was this morning a dream…

Sitting at my desk, staring blankly at the computer monitor, I'm still in disbelief. It was strange enough waking up to find out that my favourite book changed a few weeks ago, but for James to be real? That's beyond unexpected—it's impossible.

I pull up the internet browser and begin typing in James, but as I type in his last name, it only shows the results for Undeclared Heir . Checking my phone, he must've been too busy flirting to bother including it in my contacts. Worse, he put ‘Prince James.' I have no idea what he does for a living, but Prince James won't be yielding any correct search results.

Tossing my phone onto my desk in defeat, Jen knocks on my office door. "What has your knickers in a twist?"

"Remember how I told you about my weird dream about the book?" I sigh, and she nods, closing the door to give us privacy. "Well, he's real."

"What do you mean ‘he's real?'" she laughs and takes a seat across from me, sitting back and crossing one leg over the other.

"I was at Piccadilly Circus, about to hop onto the District Line, when I turned the corner too fast and bumped into a man who looked exactly like the one from my dream. But then…" Jen leans in, so I pause for dramatic effect. "He said my name."

"No. Fucking. Way. You're full of shit."

"I can't believe it myself! And he had the same dream I did. Look, he put his name in my phone; said he wants to meet me tonight."

As I'm scrolling to pull up his contact as proof, there's an incoming text.

Prince James

My dearest Anna, you are cordially invited to attend a dinner hosted by Prince James of Finsbury Park.

"Fuck me." I show her the text, stifling a laugh. "What should I say?"

She shrugs with a small chuckle. "Just say that: ‘Fuck me.'"

"Jen!" I squeak.

Rolling her eyes, she sighs, "I suppose you could be boring and tell him you'll see him later. But it'd be far more interesting if you told him you'd rather have a quick shag on a piano."

"I regret telling you about all of this," I groan. With my thumbs poised over the phone to reply to the message, I whisper, mostly to myself, "It was just a dream."

"Dream or not," her voice pulls my attention from the phone, "he's real and wants to see you. What's the worst that could happen? He murders you? You could always go to his place and send me the location. If I don't hear from you in a few hours, I'll send the police. If he comes by your place, you don't have an exit. He may eat your face off if he's a cannibal."

It's not the worst idea going to him. "At least I wouldn't have to clean my flat."

"Attagirl! There's the spirit!"

Chewing my lip, I consider it for a moment. I've spent the past two weeks using that dream as inspiration for my self-care time. Maybe he's done the same? He was most definitely flirting with me at the station, and I suppose there are stranger ways to meet someone—I'll take this over internet dating any day of the week.

Finally taking the leap, I reply back.

I gladly accept your invitation, Prince James of Finsbury Park. How shall I dress for such an occasion?

Bubbles dance on the screen, and I glance up at Jen. "He's replying."

"What did you ask?"

"I asked what I should wear. Do you think he wants to take me to dinner? Or just to pop by? Is this a date? What if he's asked me on a date? No, this isn't a date. He's just being?—"

"Will. You. Stop? Your favourite book changed. I still stand by the book being a coincidence, but James? You said yourself that James is real. Maybe you've seen him on your commute and your cunt manifested him in your dream?"

"You've been reading too many astrology charts," I laugh.

"Was he as gorgeous as you described? I bet he's even more handsome. So, you are going to dinner with him, even if it's at his flat and not a restaurant? I'm sure he's hungry for more than Italian, anyway."

"That was only in my dream," I scoff, but I suck in a breath when my phone vibrates in my hands. "Shit, he's replied."

I may or may not have an unsavoury response to that.

Is that so?

Yes, but perhaps dinner first, before I share? Please dress however you feel most comfortable.

Where would you like me to meet you?

"What's he saying?" Jen whisper-shouts.

"Oh, um, he—" She snatches the phone from my hands. "Jen!"

"I knew it! He wants you naked and spread wide so he can practise tracing the alphabet with his tongue on your clit."

"Fucking hell, that's not what he said!" I grumble, but I'm not entirely convinced she's wrong.

"He replied. Allow me…" She types for a moment, keeping the phone out of my grasp while I reach for it. When I finally get it back, there's another message.

You could come here? Should we get takeaway?

Is this all an elaborate ruse to get me naked?

"Jen!"

As I attempt to remove the text, she laughs, "I believe this is the most anyone's called out my name in a month. At least buy me dinner first? If you're set on not meeting up with him, can I? I could use someone calling me a ‘good fucking girl.' Did you call him ‘Daddy' in your dream? Do you think he'd be into it?"

"Shh, I'm trying to figure out how to delete your message. And I thought you were swearing off men and opting for a ‘pussy partner,' as you put it?" Before I can remove it, there's another from James.

If that's how you're most comfortable, I see no issue discussing whatever is happening with these dreams while you're naked. However, keeping my hands to myself is another problem entirely.

There's no use in telling him it was Jen messaging him; it isn't as if he'd believe me. I can't help but wonder how much this ‘James' is like the one from my dream or the one in the book. Based on our brief meeting and this exchange, I have a feeling fiction and reality aren't too far apart from one another. As I'm typing back a flirtatious response, another message comes in.

Dinner at mine. 6:30.

Naked or not, I'm looking forward to it.

None of it is a question…

"Anna, you're going to meet him tonight, even if it's ridiculous and impulsive. You need to figure out what this shared dream is about. And if it leads to mind-blowing sex? Even fucking better."

I take a deep breath and nod. "Okay, I can do this."

"Just be sure to send me your location. I want to be famous for finding your dead body if it comes to that, maybe even do a seance before the authorities arrive."