The handwriting inside belongs to the man I’ve missed—my only friend who reads as voraciously as I do—and his latest words are staring at me in smooth, black ink.

I haven’t heard from you in months… Is your father punishing you again? I finished the second part of this story and hated it, so find me in Macbeth.

—Your only friend

I drop it and pick up Macbeth.

The queen in this one is truly evil. I think I might like this more than any of the other books we’ve read together…Find me on page 83.

—Your only friend

I oblige and read his next one.

This is why we should finally exchange names. I have no idea who you are or how to find you, and I swear, if I find out that it’s because you ran off with that prince who came here, I’ll be highly disappointed.

That doesn’t seem like the type of woman you are at all…

—Your only friend

Four months without a response?

Now, granted, I am the most brilliant man in this town and by far the best, but I must admit I’m getting rather lonely not writing with you, the second best.

Where have you gone?

—Your only friend

I follow his notes and comments, stopping when I reach his last one.

Well, I’m guessing your silence means you did marry that prince after all. Or perhaps you’ve married someone else, and your husband isn’t allowing you to come and select your own books. You could’ve at least told me goodbye or given me a reason. Maybe even finally let me see you so we could properly bid farewell.

Alas, I’ll check A Midsummer’s Night Dream for another fortnight, and then I won’t check for you anymore.

—Your only friend, or so I thought…

“Belle?” Mr. Lorimer calls. “Belle, do you think your sister will want one or two romances this time?”

“Two!” I find A Midsummer’s Night Dream and pull a quill from my satchel.

I’m so sorry for my delay.

I was being punished by my father again because I turned down that awful prince, but I’m still here.

You won’t like this one, and I’m not surprised you enjoyed Macbeth.

That’s why we can’t meet, though.

You clearly like macabre things, and that’s never a good sign in a friend.

—Your only friend, too

I smile and shut the book.

I’ve been writing to him for over two years now, and I’ve somehow convinced myself that I mean as much to him as he means to me. Although I desire to see him face to face—to finally get a glimpse of someone who understands me all too well—I know it’s best if we keep each other at a distance.

From the way he writes, he’s clearly educated, and he’s mentioned owning large swaths of land, which means he’ll want to marry a woman of status or beauty.

Someone like Izzie.

“Come grab the books, Belle!”

I return the book to the shelf and walk to the counter, but Mr. Lorimer is nowhere to be found. Instead, it’s his shared maid, Cinderella.