3. James

James

I can't focus on the lecture I'm giving to a room full of doe-eyed first-years. The only reason any of them care about this class is because of the popular television show based on a Regency romance book series.

After these past few weeks, perhaps I should suffer through a book or two for Anna.

I honestly can't believe she agreed to tonight, almost as much as I can't believe I ran into her today. However, something that's been nagging at me is the woman I met on the train mentioned a book had changed, confirmed by Anna shortly after. The logical explanation is pure coincidence, and while the book may be, my perfect, feisty Anna isn't.

Coasting over the remaining talking points of King George's mental decline, I keep my eyes fixated on the clock at the back of the room. Only seven more minutes until I'm free. Having her at my flat tonight is both brilliant and incredibly stupid—she may be expecting a serious discussion, and I'll be wondering if her lips taste as sweet as I conjured up.

The moment the class files out, I sprint to my office to retrieve my laptop and a hard copy of a dissertation draft I'm supposed to read by the end of the week; I'm actually interested to see their research on the impact of French fashion in Regency England. Once both are in hand, I stuff them in my bag, and finally on my way home, I'm able to check my texts.

My Anna

My apologies for any disappointment, Prince James, but I will be fully clothed tonight. What shall I bring with me?

I assure you, the disappointment is purely one sided.

A copy of the book? If you have it on hand. I didn't have a chance to buy one.

I have both editions downloaded on my ereader. Anything else?

Your beautiful self is enough.

Bubbles start and stop for a minute or two, and my stomach twists. I may have misread the flirtation earlier, or perhaps she's changed her mind entirely. I don't like either possibility that she could be hesitating. I opt for an easy reaction to secure our meeting.

I'll be home shortly. See you soon.

Great. See you.

Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, my stomach remains in knots for the duration of my commute. When I arrive home, I order a takeaway and take a quick shower. Like every other time since I first dreamed of Anna, my hand finds my cock. Except this time, I'm not picturing her with a gown pooled around her waist; she's naked and tied to my bed.

Fuck, what's wrong with me?

Ten minutes after fucking my hand, I step out of the shower, and the intercom buzzes. My heart leaps out of my chest—it's too early for the takeaway; it must be her. Rushing to the front entry, I click the small button. "Hello?"

"Is this Prince James' flat?" The teasing in her tone is undeniable, and a smile I could never mask splits my face. My name is illegible on the directory, despite me requesting it be fixed by the building manager. Still, she found me.

"Is this Miss Anna?" I flirt back, unable to contain my excitement. Without another word, I buzz her up, and a few minutes later, there's a knock at my door. I check my attire, smoothing my shirt as I open it to find my Anna on the other side. She's breathtaking, impossibly more beautiful than I recall from this morning.

"James? Are you quite all right?"

I blink away my fascination and clear my throat. "Yes, sorry. Please come in."

As I open the door wider, she steps inside, and it requires every ounce of self-control to not take her in my arms. It feels natural to want to touch her; resisting it feels wrong.

Clicking the door shut, I ask, "May I get you anything to drink? Water, tea, glass of wine?"

"Wine would make all of this easier, wouldn't it?" she laughs, but as her giggles subside, she answers honestly, "Tea would be lovely, thank you."

Anna takes a seat at the kitchen island, making herself at home while I put a kettle on. She watches me intently as I peruse the collection of teas in my cupboard. I settle on a herbal for myself, and before I can ask which she'd prefer, she sheepishly requests a glass of wine instead.

I turn off the stove and pour two glasses of Merlot, sliding one over to her. She gulps it faster than water on a warm day, and I can't help but laugh. "I am just going to come out and say it," she starts, "we need to fix the book."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Everything!" She flies her arms wide, nearly knocking over her glass. She catches her almost-mess and adds, "Something happened while we were in a dream. James is supposed to be with Eliza. We have to put the story back the way it was."

"And how do you propose we do that?" I ask into my glass, sipping the wine.

"I don't know, but it's all our fault," Anna all but harrumphs. I adore her feistiness, but she has to understand the absurdity—we aren't authors. "I thought it was strange that a new edition came out the day after I had the dream. It included a new character and ending, but… James is supposed to be with Eliza."

And here I thought the real-life Anna would be reasonable.

"In the dream, you said that… often. If James marries Eliza, what happens to Anna? Do they get a happily ever after?" Her cheeks flush a pretty coral, and I quickly correct, "In the book, I mean. But if there's some way to fix this, could there perhaps be a James and Anna here? In the present and very real world we're living in?"

"Oh, um?—"

"Are you married? A boyfriend?" I speak over her.

"No. You?"

I bite my lip to hide my smile as hope blossoms in my chest. "No, not married, no girlfriend, just —" I stop short of saying ‘you.' "Let's fix your book, and when it's all over, I fully intend to take you on a proper date."

"A date? You want to date… me?"

I want what James in the dream had—I'm going to marry you one day, Anna. And we're buying a piano.

"I know it's forward of me, but what are the odds that the most incredible woman I dreamt up is real and sitting right in front of me?" I refill her glass, but I intend to cut her off after this one; I want her to make any and all decisions with a clear head.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Prince James, " she jests, and small crinkles form around her eyes as she smiles. It's truly the most adorable thing I've ever seen.

I need to find a way to keep her…

"Okay, I have an idea. What if we go to sleep and try to get back into the dream and fix everything? Though, I quite like the new ending. Are you sure you want to change it?"

"Yes," she quickly insists, taking small sips and nodding. "You— or Prince James, rather —need to marry Eliza. So, I'll go home, and in the morning, we'll see if it's fixed."

"You could stay here?" I offer.

Anna's eyes narrow. "Terrible idea."

"Are you quite sure?" I counter. "This way, you can wake me when the story is fixed. I won't know what's right and wrong with the original storyline. Once everything is as it was, you can wake me here in the present?" Rationality has been thrown out the fucking window. Sleep won't fix a published story—or mine with her—and it's only a matter of time before she sees through my lies.

But I want her here, even if this is pointless.

"And if it's not fixed?"

I smother my smirk with the wine glass, taking a slow drink. "Then, we try again tomorrow… and the next."

" One night," she laughs. "And I'm staying on the sofa."

"One night. In my bed. But I'll behave myself," I promise.

"Fine." She raises her indignant chin. "Clothes on. Don't get any ideas, Your Majesty. And if this doesn't work, we'll part ways. We'll chalk it up to a strange and unexpected turn of events."

As much as I hate to agree to her terms, I can't risk not saying ‘yes' and having her walk out of here forever. "Okay, Miss Anna, you win. We'll begin right after dinner."

"Shall we shake on it?"

She reaches across the counter, and instead of shaking her hand, I bring her knuckles to my lips. Our eyes lock, and I couldn't tear mine away if I tried. I refuse to believe she's here by accident. Fate brought her to me, and I sure as hell am not going to let her go—book be damned.

"On second thoughts, why don't we start right now? I've ordered Italian takeaway, but they'll leave it at the door."

"Italian?" she asks curiously, stifling a laugh.

"Yes. Would you prefer something else?"

Anna draws her lips into her mouth to smother a smile, but her eyes betray her. "No, that's perfect."

"We can set an alarm and?—"

She marches down the small hallway to my bedroom, and all I can do is follow. Stopping suddenly at the entry, I almost run into her. Anna's gaze fixates on my bookshelf that spans the entire wall, floor to ceiling. "You said you don't read."

"I never said that; I don't read fiction ."

She quickly turns, and with her this close, all it would take is leaning in a few inches to capture her lips with mine. My cock twitches at the thought. "Then why do you have so many books? Don't tell me they are self-help…"

"No," I huff with a laugh. "Though there may be a few that I've been gifted over the years. I don't read for pleasure; the majority of those are textbooks I've collected or used in previous courses I've taught."

"You're a teacher?"

"Professor," I correct.

Her brows pinch, eyeing me curiously. "What subject?"

"History. My doctoral work was primarily Regency England, so most of the textbooks are?—"

"Regency?" Anna turns and rushes to the bookcase, her fingers caressing the spines as she searches the titles. "Do you have anything on marrying between classes?"

Coming up behind her, I ask, "What do you mean?"

"James is a prince; Eliza is now a chambermaid or something. Could they ever get married?"

I shrug. "Not likely. Though, your story is fiction. Anyone could marry whoever they like, I suppose."

"That should be the first step; readers will suspect something if he asks a maid to be his wife. We need to somehow make Eliza come from a prominent family, and maybe everything else will resolve itself."

"I want you, not Eliza." The words slip out in a low growl. "In the dream. I meant, I don't want Eliza in the dream."

"Only because we messed up the story. In the book, you fall madly in love with Eliza once she agrees to help you become King. It's the perfect marriage of convenience trope."

"What's ‘convenient' about any of that? An arranged, loveless marriage?" I shudder. "Sounds horrid. Sure, it was common for royalty and prestigious families in the Regency era, but I wouldn't wish it on anyone."

"It's quite popular in romance books, actually. So, we need to ensure Eliza comes from some sort of noble birth, and then… you woo her." Anna pushes past me and sits on the bed, patting the mattress. "Let's get this over with, shall we? Set the alarm for one hour? Or should we do ninety minutes to be safe?"

As she lays down on top of the duvet, I cautiously do the same next to her. Turning to face one another, I ask, "If this works, what should I do once I'm in the dream?"

"Just follow my lead, and I'll handle the rest," she replies with a beaming smile. I can't help myself, taking her hand in mine and interlacing our fingers. Though she doesn't pull away, she whispers, "What are you doing?"

"For someone who reads romance, I'm surprised you don't recognize when someone is flirting with you."

"Goodnight, James. Don't forget to set an alarm," she chuckles, and I do before both of us shut our eyes. I'm willing the dream to come, as I do every night, but her soft voice pulls me from it. " My James."