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“ and I don ’ t intend to start now. You ’ re not the only one with a reputation to protect. Or sully, as the case may be.” He lay down on his side, propping his head up on his palm. “ Y o u ’ re a very complicated woman, Eloise.”
    I put a glare in my voice. “ Don ’ t call me that.”
    “ Right,” he said. “ Bad form. I apologize. Would you set the alarm for six? I write in the mornings.”
    I gave a frustrated sigh, then reached for the alarm clock and set it for six. I could feel him settle on his side, his back to me. I huffed, pulling myself up out of bed and over to the dresser.
    “ Can you keep your eyes closed for a minute, please?” I asked.
    “ My back is to you,” he said.
    “ I know,” I said. “ Humor me.”
    He chuckled. “ Consider yourself humored.”
    I stepped out of the sundress and into a T-shirt — Huey Lewis, Sports Tour, 1983 — and a pair of sweats cut into shorts. I sneaked into bed next to him, flat on my back, arms tight at my sides over the covers.
    “ Can I open my eyes now?” he asked.
    “ Yes.”
    He rolled over until he was facing me, his head perched up on his hand. There was just enough light coming in through the window for me to see he was smiling.
    “ You are a highly unusual woman,” he said in a rough whisper. I l ocked my eyes on the ceiling. “ Can I ask you a question?”
    “ Absolutely.”
    I swallowed and forced myself to look into his eyes. “ This is going to sound suggestive, but the offer to Fly for real is still officially off the table. Understood?”
    He smiled and nod ded. “ Understood.”
    I closed my eyes, letting the room spin around me. “ Do I...repulse you?”
    He drew back, as though he ’ d just touched something sharp. “ What?”
    Am I the kind of woman who will drive every man away screaming? I thought . Am I made of Penis Teflon?
    “ Let me put it another way,” I said out loud, my voice stretching tight and thin. “ Do you think I ’ m...attractive? You know, as a woman?”
    I felt him plop back down on his pillow. “ Bollocks.”
    I opened my eyes and looked at him. “ What ’ s that supposed to mean?”
    “ It means that out of a barmy lot, you ’ re the barmiest.”
    “ You keep saying that word. Barmy. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
    He rolled back to face me, leveraging one elbow under him to elevate his upper body. “ It means you ’ re all crazy.”
    “ We ’ ve already covered that,” I said. “ Now answer the question.”
    “ You know damn well I can ’ t answer that question.”
    “ Why not?”
    “ If I answer yes, you ’ ll think I ’ m lying. If I answer no, the whole barmy lot of you will beat me sen seless.” He fell back on his pillow. “ Either way, I lose.”
    I could hear the subdued sounds of partygoers saying their good-byes outside. We were both still and silent for a minute, staring at the ceiling, until I spoke again.
    “ It ’ s okay,” I said. “ It ’ s oka y if you lie to me. I just...I need to hear the words.”
    A heavy sigh escaped, whistling through his lips. “ If you don ’ t know you ’ re beautiful, then there ’ s nothing I can say to convince you.”
    The tears started on “ beautiful.” I kept them a secret for a min ute, but one quiet sob caught in my throat, and I felt Ian ’ s head turn toward me. A moment later, the back of a rough finger brushed against my wet cheek. I tightened my eyes shut and swabbed at my face, rolling onto my side with my back to him, too morti f ied to chance seeing his expression. Worse than the Crazy Cat Lady, worse than the Girly Giggler, I had now sunk to being a Bed Weeper.
    I don ’ t know how long we stayed like that, me on my side, him on his back, but it was long enough that I was almost asle ep when I felt him spoon himself behind me, one hand resting lightly on my hip.
    “ Whoever neglected to tell you you ’ re beautiful is a complete sod,” he whispered in my ear. “ And if you see him