Chapter 10

C HAPTER 10

Theo leans toward me, his hands on either side of the door frame, his body filling the open space. He looks at me almost in disbelief, like he's not sure if I'm real. He swallows, forcing the next words out on a rasp. "Do you want to come to my room?"

I'm struck by a swell of memories: images of Theo braced over me, his hands fisted in the sheets. His lips on my neck, my hands in his hair, his weight pressing me down. My breath hitches as my eyes fall to his mouth. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

"I didn't mean it like that," he says quickly.

It's the most humbling moment of my life. "Good night, Theo."

He sticks his foot out to stop me from shutting the door in his face. "Please." His voice scrapes my spine like gravel. "We need to talk. There are some things I should have said the moment I saw you in the park."

"Say them here."

He's silent for several seconds before taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry for leaving you in Greece."

The sincere ache in his tone chips away at my defenses, but I'm not ready to let them go. "Is that all?"

A door opens and Henry appears in the hall. "Don't mind me, just going to check on Victoria." He ducks his head and knocks on another door, disappearing the instant it cracks open.

"C'mon. We're not doing this out here," Theo insists. He ushers me down the hall, where he opens the door to his dimly lit suite, and we step inside. He sits on the sofa in front of the fireplace, which is now alight with a crackling fire. I sit on the other side of the sofa, realizing too late how small it is; even sitting on the opposite end puts me almost directly next to him.

He picks up the open beer from the end table, then sits forward with his elbows on his knees. "I'll never forgive myself for leaving you, and I wouldn't blame you if you don't forgive me either, but I need to apologize anyway." Light from the fire flickers on his face, casting half of him in shadows.

I clear the swelling emotion from my throat. "The pilot implied that you asked her to fly me home. Is that true?"

He blinks at me in surprise. "Of course it is. Did you really think—" He shakes his head. "You thought I left you there to die alone?"

I tuck my legs under me because I need the illusion of distance between us. My shoddy defenses are crumbling. "It happened so fast, and you were furious…"

He tilts his head to the side and studies me sadly. "I thought you knew me better than that."

"And I thought you'd never forgive me for turning you in."

He runs a hand over his face. "I was being a stubborn and shortsighted git. I fooled myself into believing we had a chance outside the bunker because I wanted it to be true so badly, but you were the only one thinking clearly. Listen to me, Wheeler." He leans in, shrinking the distance between us. "There's nothing to forgive."

And just like that, my defenses have collapsed, taking three months of pent-up guilt with them. "It was an impossible situation; there weren't any good choices."

"I should have done more. I should have demanded that you be let in the bunker." He scrubs a hand through his hair. "I'm gutted every time I think of your face as the car drove away."

It's strangely comforting to know that I'm not the only one who spent the summer lost in a supercut of memories. "You did the best you could with the circumstances we had."

"I wish we had different circumstances," he says quietly.

My heart is in my throat. "We do now, don't we?" It somehow feels like the bravest thing I've ever said.

He smiles wryly and tips his head back against the sofa. "Look at what they're saying about us online and tell me it doesn't feel like the end of the world."

"I think your press team would rather deal with a second comet than with me."

He rolls his head to the side to look at me. "You're not wrong, Wheeler. At least the comet was predictable." He sighs. "I'll ask again about the security detail. I know you don't want to come to London." He picks up the beer bottle.

"How can you be so sure?"

He pauses, the bottle halfway to his mouth, and swallows, his throat bobbing. He gently sets the bottle down and turns fully toward me. His face is open with want, and for the first time all day, I'm pretty sure I know what he's thinking. Warmth from the fire feels like it might devour the room whole. My fingers stray to the chain around my neck, his ring still hidden from view. I wonder how he'd feel if he knew I was wearing it.

I wonder how I'd feel if he asked for it back.

"Come here?" he asks.

My heart thumps painfully in response.

A knock pounds on the door.

"You in there?" a voice yells from the other side.

When Theo opens the door, I catch a glimpse of Henry. "Can this wait?" Theo asks in a low voice.

Henry cranes his neck to see over Theo's shoulder and waves to me. "Victoria sent me to get the dog."

"My dog?" I ask incredulously.

Theo looks over his shoulder at me. "Wait here?" he asks. "I'll be back soon." The door to his room swings shut, leaving Henry and me inside.

"Why does she think she can take my dog?"

"She's used to getting what she wants," Henry says.

"She's not getting Comet."

He shrugs on his way to the refrigerator. "I bagsied the fried rice, but there's some egg rolls in the fridge if you want." He grabs a carton of leftover Chinese food and sits next to me.

"Why aren't you ever wearing a shirt?" I ask.

He laughs. (Dimple confirmed.) "Are you excited to come to London?"

"Should I be?"

"I bet Theo has told you all about how horrible our lives are, but it's not so bad. I can show you around if he's too busy brooding to do it." He takes a giant bite of fried rice and pushes a mess of dark curls out of his eyes. "Sorry I was standoffish earlier, by the way, it's just that I thought you might be a nutter."

"You never know. I still could be," I say, which makes him laugh again. It's easy to see now what Naomi was talking about. He seems completely unselfconscious, and I can see why people are drawn to him. What I don't get is why he would be excluded from an outing specifically designed for the public if everyone loves him. "So why were you uninvited from the park this morning?"

He takes another large bite and chews for a long time. "I'm sure you've figured out pretty quickly that the tabloids are ninety-five percent rubbish?"

"Yeah," I say, thinking about how half the internet has already diagnosed me with clinical narcissism based on absolutely nothing.

He tosses the empty carton into the fire. "That means five percent of it is true."

I lean forward. "Like what?"

"Google is free," he says with a smirk. The firelight glints off his eyes, and I realize they're not as dark as I thought; his irises are bronze with a ring of green around the pupils.

I glance at the door. "Will Theo be gone awhile?"

"Depends on how persuasive my sister is."

"She's not getting my dog."

Henry chuckles. "So I've heard."

"I guess that means I have time to do some reading," I say. He salutes me cheekily on my way out the door. As I'm leaving, I see Theo and one of the men from the meeting—his communications secretary, Graves—arguing in the hall, their backs to me.

I'm about to slip past them when I hear Theo say, "It's not fair to ask her to do this." I assume they're talking about me (maybe the internet was right to call me a narcissist), and I pull the door almost shut while straining to hear what they're saying over the machine-gun barrage of my own heart.

"We didn't ask, you did," Graves replies.

"And now I'm asking the Firm to loan her a security detail so that she doesn't have to disrupt her life."

(I knew it was about me.)

"For how long?" Graves asks in a steely voice.

"Just until this mayhem dies down. You can feed the press a more interesting story. Mum used to do that all the time."

"If we provide this random American with her own personal security, it implies that she's important to you and to the monarchy. It will only increase public curiosity. They'll expect her to stick around. Is she sticking around, sir?"

I stopped breathing several sentences ago.

"No," Theo says. "She's going back to Chicago."

"Is she important to us?"

Theo's spine straightens, and he looks at Graves dismissively. "Don't be daft. She's just a girl I spent a few days with."

My throat burns with the pain of holding back tears.

"Then don't throw a spanner in the works, let us do our jobs, and she'll be gone in a week," Graves says, before turning on his heel and marching down the hall.