Chapter Thirty

Istared at the map on my phone. Unsure, I glanced at the house on my right and back to my phone. That was the exact location Arthur had sent me the day before. I turned off the engine and opened my door.

It was a luxury neighborhood with lush green—not only lawns, but well—everything. Tropical palms and exotic flowers framed the driveways. It looked as though an army of gardeners worked there. Similar white houses stood farther into each plot. Floor-to-ceiling glass showed the opulence inside them.

I vaguely remembered Arthur saying that he had bought his house furnished. I looked at my phone again and turned to his house. It was in the sweet middle size compared to other houses on the street. The immaculate green lawn crushed into white walls, the curtains hid everything inside.

A Bentley stood by the house—a glossy black. I turned to the sound of kids running down the street. A girl was wearing a yellow swimsuit. Of course each house had its own pool.

I turned to the sound of steps and saw Arthur. He was holding a paper bag with an unfamiliar logo, a bag with blankets, and a Monopoly box was pressed to his side under his arm.

I marched to him. "Do you live here?" I asked, my voice loud, with a hint of hysterics.

He wasn't looking at me, he was looking behind me.

"Do you drive that?" Arthur asked, similar notes to mine coloring his voice.

"Are you Elon Musk or something?" I asked.

He huffed. "No. Stop screaming and let's go for a drive," he said, walking to my Mustang and dropping the bags. He gingerly brushed his hand over the curve of the hood. Yes, my car awoke more feelings in men than I did. "But if you want to argue here on the street we can do it, this neighborhood needs a little shake from time to time. It's just too blissful."

I shook my head and opened the trunk for him. Arthur placed the food, blankets, and the boardgame in the space I freed for him.

"This is too organized," he said and pointed into my carefully divided trunk. "It should have oiled clothes here, dirty magazines, and maybe a body."

I shot him a deadly look and shut the trunk, loudly. A flock of birds scattered from a nearby tree. I rolled my eyes and climbed into the car.

When he sat by my side, I mumbled, "Of course you live in a goddamned paradise."

I turned the key in the ignition and slowly drove on a circular road, looking at the fancy homes to my sides.

When we hit the highway, I pressed hard on an accelerator, the speed forcing us deeper into our seats. I frowned, clenching my jaw. Arthur looked at me all that time, a smug amusement on his face. He shifted in his seat and scratched his chin.

"May I know what exactly is bothering you?" he said, hardly containing his laugh.

"You are rich, like very rich. You said that you work as a financial consultant."

"I do."

I just fumed.

"You know, usually when women see where I live they turn into placid dolls, hoping to score a ring on their finger. Not that many women have seen it by the way," Arthur said, and I grunted. "But you look so angry, as if you are ready to kick me out of this car, and you won't even slow down. The Mustang is gorgeous by the way."

"Of course it's gorgeous," I said angrily.

"So, what's the matter?"

"Now I don't know how to be around you. Are you one of these rich jerks who buy girls for cash? Am I some kind of entertainment?"

I felt lied to. Because from the moment I met Arthur it was warm and meaningful, fun and open. After this, it felt as though I found out that he was the prince of the British crown with all its consequences.

He was silent. Something dark clenched in my stomach.

"No, Emily. You are not."

His voice was void of any merriment. He was looking straight ahead.

"It's just money," he said quietly.

"Money is never just money. You were born into the upper class, right?"

When he nodded I continued. "When I was younger, I was so afraid that I wouldn't be able to find a job, to make a living, that I had panic attacks. There was no one to help me, no parents to take care of me, there was no one "til there were two people, and then I was alone again," my voice shook as Arthur watched me. "Money is never just money."

"Do you want to turn around?" he asked.

I was quiet, my heart thumping loudly.

"No."

"Thank God," he said, a smile lighting his features again.

"Just no more surprises, okay? I hate surprises," I said and looked at my smartwatch.

"We have two hours of driving, you can tell me everything. Like, if you have any weird habits or you like eating the fresh livers of elderly people."

He snorted.

I took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry for overreacting. I'm just not ready to lose you."

"You won't."

And I wanted to believe in those words.

The usual comfortable silence covered the space between us, like a blanket.

"You're a good dancer," I said, and his laugh was so warm that I looked away from the road for a moment to glance at his face. A fuzzy feeling started blooming inside me in reply to the pleasant sound.

* * *

I parked the car at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. The sky was still blue, but the sun hid behind the tops of the trees. We grabbed chairs, food, a thermos, blankets, and the Monopoly from the trunk and I led the way to a hidden path. The trail looked abandoned, branches catching our clothes. Arthur was silent as we wormed our way through the forest.

"How the hell do you know this place? Did you hide a body under one of these trees?" he finally asked.

"Just wait for it."

He huffed. In five more minutes, and thank God for our jeans, because the skin on my legs would have been scratched to hell, we reached the spot. I stepped to the side as soon as the trail opened to a wide clearing. It was littered with small purple flowers, and it ended with a steep drop, opening to the view of nearby hills. The hills were lush green from the swaying fir trees. A soft wind lulled the brunches, making a quiet whistling sound.

Arthur looked at me for a second, and back to the view. He dropped our things and went to the edge of clearing. He just looked at the horizon and froze for a second. His gaze roamed the treetops, and he ran a palm over his hair.

"Wow."

I smiled as I watched him, taking in the view. He turned to me and our gazes locked for a moment. I wanted to look away, but suddenly that smile that lit his face appeared, and I just couldn't.

"Right," I said in a few moments, finally catching myself.

I picked up the chairs he dropped and unfolded them a few feet before the edge. I placed the thermos to my left and took the paper bag. A delicious smell wafted from it.

Arthur reached for the bag with blankets and held them up. There were four, different colors and textures.

"There's a tag on one." I pointed.

He looked at it. "Damn, missed that one. I bought them today."

"You could have said that you didn't have blankets, I would have brought mine," I said.

"It was fun," he said. "I don't remember the last time I went to the store."

I shook my head. "And what about food?"

"I have a cook."

I groaned. "Of course you do."

Those tidbits of information about his luxurious lifestyle kept stunning me. Apparently, his parents were old money in Britain. He grew up in a mansion somewhere deep in the countryside. His young years were spent in private boarding schools and riding horses. He told me about all of it as we drove up to our lookout spot. And when he spoke about horses, I coughed, whispering "Prince." He just shook his head.

"Emily," he called, stepping closer to me. "I am still me."

I nodded. "Okay."

"Choose a blanket," he said.

I pointed to a black and white plaid one. He chose a pink one with Winnie the Pooh and sat on my right. I laughed as he wiggled on his chair, getting comfortable.

"Oh, that's good," he said.

The sun was setting slowly, coloring the light clouds into beautiful pinks and purples. I gazed at the changing colors, mesmerized.

"Tell me about your parents," I said.

"There is nothing to tell, really. They are posh, cold, British aristocrats. I spent all my childhood jumping from one nanny to another. I think I can count on one hand how many times my mom held me before I was sent to boarding school. And there I met lots of boys who were the same as me. Who were born just to continue the family name, not out of love. Can you believe that this kind of stuff is still happening in old families? Like two hundred years ago. There was no love in our families. And thank God I have an older brother, who is a mad fan of all these rules. His existence allowed me to run away to America."

"This is surreal, Arthur."

"Yeah. I know," he paused. "What about your parents?"

I told him about my dad.

"You are lucky," he said.

"What? Where do you see luck in my story?"

"Your father loved you, and that is much more than I had. I'm sorry he's not here anymore," he said.

I looked out at the last sliver of sun touching the treetops.

"I miss him every day. If he'd met you, he would never have stopped mocking your ancestry."

Arthur laughed.

"Humans are so influenced by our childhoods, at least based on yours you should believe in love," he said.

I shook my head. "I don't do love."

"As far as I know it doesn't work like that," he said.

I stayed silent, watching the sun hide, leaving vividly colored clouds.

"It's time to hear your secrets, Emily. People don't do love," he said and put last words in air quotes, "only after it's burned them before."

"There is nothing to talk about."

"I don't believe it."

I didn't say anything.

"I'm trading secret for a secret," Arthur said. "You asked me about my secrets when you were drunk."

I groaned. "And you said that you wanted me to remember them."

"I do, so do we have a deal?"

"Okay."

It was difficult to tell the story of Jake and Alice, my voice trailed off a couple of times, leaving silence. And it wasn't the same warm comfortable silence we usually had between us. He watched me, listening intently and waiting through every pause for me to continue. I hadn't told anyone about what had happened. No one needed to know how I had broken down years ago. In the final chapter of the story, my voice cracked.

"Shit," Arthur said when I finished.

I laughed darkly. "Yeah."

"That was messed up, to begin with," he said slowly. "But she broke your heart."

"For some time I told myself that she really loved me, but was so hurt after Jake died—they were really close—that she couldn't face me. But in the end, I didn't get any answers. She just left me. Alone. And that's the truth of it."

Arthur stood up and went over to the edge, looked around, and turned back to me.

"Damn … That's really not what I expected your secret to be. I'm so sorry that that happened to you," he said.

"Thank you," I said and walked up to him. "Your turn."

"Right."

The clouds still burned with the fire of the sun which was not there anymore. They burned in oranges and reds, deep purple backing them. Arthur looked up and exhaled. His fingers flexed on the sleeve of his shirt, he slowly folded it up and then did the same with the other one. He turned his wrists to me. Long scars ran along his wrists, following the line of his veins. The skin was smooth, but the scars were still visible—silvery gray.

My hands flew to his, but I stopped inches before I touched him.

"May I?"

He nodded. I ran my fingertips over the scars, slowly tracing the lines. The skin was warm, velvety, his pulse beating against my skin.

"Why?" I whispered.

"It was a stupid medical mistake, ignoring side effects. It was right before Yale, I was still at boarding school. When I came home for the holidays my loving parents took me to a doctor, regarding my knees. They made me a weak team player, they said. So, the doctor prescribed me pills, and for a short time, it eased the pain in my knees. But nobody read the long list of side effects that went with the drugs and our doctor didn't bother to enlighten us. I was slowly falling into depression. Only my mates who shared a room with me noticed the change, as I gradually fell into the darkness, taking the damn pills three times a day."

I entwined my fingers with his, and he looked at our hands, smiling.

"They saved me, those two, who are deep into fatherhood now. I was lying in my bed, slowly bleeding to death. If they had come in a few minutes later, it would have been too late. I remember Callum's panicked face when he tied his belt around my arm to slow the gushing blood, as he screamed at me to stay conscious, while he gripped my other hand. Jack ran for help. Callum said that I still had so many beautiful things to see in life. He screamed to me that I had to live. And then I blacked out."

"God," I said quietly.

"Later, the doctors worked it out. It was not me, but the pills. The drugs influenced my nervous system—neurotransmitters and all that—leading to a deep depression."

"Callum was right, you know. You still have to see so many beautiful things," I said and pointed to the now purple sky.

Arthur looked at it, but then back at my face. "Yes, very beautiful things."

"I'm glad you're here," I said.

"Me too."

I cleared my throat, releasing his hand.

"Let's drink tea," I said and returned to the chair, draping the blanket around my shoulders. After the sun finally disappeared below the horizon, it gradually became colder.

"So, now you know I'm damaged goods," Arthur said, taking the steaming cup I poured from my thermos.

"Both of us are. I was abandoned, and you wanted to abandon life," I said.

"What a shiny pair we are," he said.

I laughed.

"I don't have any more secrets to trade," I started. "But, have you ever loved?"

"Oh, it's not a secret. I'm not sure, you know? I had a strong infatuation with a girl at Yale, but she just played with me for a couple of months and dumped me for another guy. So I would not say it was love. I wanted to live after my accident, to feel the whole spectrum of feelings. So I guess I chose an unreliable girl in the first place, to feel the sweet pain of being dumped. It was not like it was for you. I recovered fast and decided that feelings were all good and well, but I was a student—it was time to have fun."

"What kind of fun?"

"A hot body to warm my lonely nights, often a new one every other night."

"Prick," I said, masking it with a cough.

"Well, I didn't ask them to fall in love with me," Arthur said.

"Smug prick," I said.

He grinned and stood up. He placed a cup down on the blanket and took out a cigarette box.

"May I?"

I waved a hand.

He lit a cigarette and picked up the cup. "And I was hungry, don't forget that I spent all my life up to that point in schools for boys. Sweat, blood, and fights are all good, but a body wrapped around my torso was much better. Also, I spun tales about my posh upbringing, which only heated the interest."

"It was a distraction," I said.

He lifted his brow, taking a long drag.

"I know because I did the same. Later, when I was out of university. I wanted to forget the pain, and someone's arms around me did the job."

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, which hid his face for a moment.

"As I said before, you are good at it," he said.

"As I said before, we're similar."

Arthur was silent.

"Who the hell smokes and drinks tea at the same time?" I asked. "People do it with coffee, but not tea."

"It adds a nice ashy taste."

But, as awful as that habit of smoking was, I could not deny that it fit him.

"Prince," I mumbled.

He laughed.

So we waited for the stars, and we talked and talked, the Monopoly laying forgotten in the grass. He told me about how he missed the British countryside and I told him about my job: how it was becoming remote and that I was glad that it finally was. He told me about Callum and Jack, and how it was difficult to stay in touch when he traveled so much. I told him about Miranda and Brian, and how they stayed in my life. Hours ticked by, and the sky, which was burning just hours ago, turned into a dark void shimmering with a scatter of diamonds.

I sat bundled in two blankets, as Arthur stood a few feet away. Only the burning point of his cigarette floated in the dark. He didn't move, his head up.

"I haven't seen the sky like this in years," he said. "I'm a bad sleeper, and I woke up a lot when I was a kid. Sitting in my dark room was boring, so I'd go outside to watch the stars. They were the same, silent, beautiful, staring back."

"They always make me feel small and insignificant. The whole of humanity is like an ant with so many worlds out there."

He turned back and sat by my side, the paper bag crunching under his feet. The sandwiches we ate an hour before were good. Arthur said that he stopped by a food truck before his flights because the food at airports was awful. The lady who made the sandwiches knew his preferences, and always added extra cheddar.

The sky was shimmering above us as we sat silently, looking up.