Chapter 6

C HAPTER 6

A man shouts. Arms push us back. I stumble, but Theo keeps me on my feet. I hear another shout, followed by a series of clicks. I glance up and am blinded by a camera flash. Theo swears and covers my face with his hands, tucking me behind him to shield me from the cameras as bodyguards try to pull us apart.

"Who's the bird?" a voice yells. I look up and squint against the flash.

"Ignore them," Theo says, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.

What happens next is a whirlwind. Winston ushers us quickly away as another guard appears out of nowhere and blocks the cameraman from getting closer. Theo grips my hand as we sprint down empty paths through the park, the sound of heavy footsteps trailing after us. When we finally get to an exit, a crowd is waiting on the sidewalk, screaming Theo's name. Winston opens the door to a black car and forces us inside.

"We're being followed," he tells the driver.

I turn and see two different cameramen on motorbikes right behind our car. One of the bikes speeds up to draw even with the rear window and swerves, nearly hitting us. Our car jerks right to avoid a crash.

"Bloody hell," our driver shouts.

"Get down, now," Winston says. I flatten myself against the floor while Theo lies across the seats. My heart accelerates with the speed of the car as we weave in and out of traffic, Winston and the driver arguing about the best way to lose them.

The car makes a hard left turn and Theo braces his arm against the seat to stop himself from rolling on top of me. I press my hand to my mouth to keep from crying out as my eyes fill with tears.

"Slow down," he orders, his gaze locked on mine.

"We're perfectly safe—"

"You're scaring her," Theo says. " Slow down. "

The car decelerates slightly until Winston says, "Yellow light. Floor it."

"But sir—"

"Now," Winston says, his eyes glued to the back window.

Theo and I lock eyes. I'm sorry, he mouths silently as the car lurches forward. I close my eyes and brace myself for disaster when I feel Theo's hand grip mine. The car swerves sharply and Winston shouts.

I lie perfectly still and count the painful beats of my heart. For all the time I spent in Europe contemplating my death, disaster never felt quite so imminent.

There's nothing romantic about dying on a car floor in Toronto.

The car finally slows, and I pry my eyes open. Anger is radiating off Theo in waves. "Is it over?" I ask.

"We lost them," the driver confirms.

Theo sits up and buckles his seat belt, but I can't bring myself to move. My muscles are frozen, my brain disconnected from any of my limbs. This is where I live now.

Winston cranes his neck to look at me with a frown. "It's safe to get up," the bodyguard says.

"Nothing about that was safe," Theo snaps at Winston before looking back at me. "But please get up and put your seat belt on."

There's a desperate rasp to his voice that I can't ignore. I climb back into the seat next to him, and he grimaces as he watches me fasten my seat belt with trembling hands. "This is all my bloody fault," he says quietly, dragging a hand over his face.

"It's not your fault those people are leeches. I don't blame you."

"You should." His eyes are bleak before they shutter closed. "I'm going to ruin your life," he says, and now that we're inches apart in an enclosed space, I can smell a whiff of alcohol on his breath.

A shiver of fear zips up my spine; I can't help but believe him. Ten minutes in Theo's world, and my life has never felt so far out of my control.

I turn my attention to Winston. "Where's Naomi?"

"Your friend was released from custody on His Majesty's orders quite some time ago. We don't have her."

"I'll ask her, and you can drop me off wherever she is," I say.

Winston plucks my phone out of my hand.

"Hey!"

"We can't let you out of our sight. Not with paparazzi roaming the streets."

"Seriously?" I whirl on Theo, my pulse hammering ten times for every second he blinks at me with those devastating eyes. I press my lips together. "Find Naomi and bring her to the hotel," I tell Winston.

He regards me with mild scorn. "She's not our responsibility."

Theo loosens his tie with a heavy sigh. "She will be if she gets in an accident because she's being chased by paparazzi for her connection with Wren."

I release a shaky breath, unnerved by the idea of it. "Don't lose that ego now, Theo. I'm not the famous one in this car."

"Until those pictures of us get out," he says, just as another cameraman on a motorbike pulls even with the car. Our driver quickly changes lanes and Theo angles his body sideways so he's covering most of the window while I sink lower in my seat. "Listen to her, Winston, and bring Naomi to the hotel."

"And my sister," I quickly add.

Theo gives me a sidelong glance. "Brooke's here too?"

"Brought the whole gang!" I force a smile, worry gnawing a hole in my stomach.

Silence descends over us. Theo and I are side by side but not touching, his bodyguard scanning the road for cameras while fielding dozens of texts on his phone.

"What do we do when we get to the hotel?" I ask finally.

"We wait," Theo says tightly. "We have the entire floor booked, and I'll make sure you, Brooke, and Naomi are provided with a room."

"We won't need to stay the night, will we?" I ask, and I don't love the silence that follows. "Once the cameras are gone, and you've killed the story, we can go back home, right ?"

"Of course," Theo says quickly, exchanging a look with Winston that makes me worry I'm about to be held hostage by the British monarchy.

I groan and drop my head to my knees. "This place better have a swimming pool. A hot tub. And one of those waffle makers for breakfast in the morning."

I'm describing a Holiday Inn, but when the car finally pulls to a stop, I glance out the darkened windows to see a towering luxury hotel. Less "family vacation on a budget" and more "fanciest place I've ever seen in my life."

"I'm guessing that's a no on the waffle maker," I mutter as we enter the lobby and come face-to-face with crystal chandeliers and a massive wood-carved ceiling.

"You can order waffles from the kitchen," Theo says.

"But where's the fun in eating them if I didn't pour the batter from a paper Dixie cup and personally flip the waffle maker over?"

His lip twitches as he fights a smile. "I understand most of those words, but not the sentence."

"Don't worry about it; it's a middle-class thing," I say.

His shoulders slump. When Theo and I were stealing cars and hanging out on grungy bathroom floors, it was easy to pretend that we weren't so different. Now that I've seen the kind of hotel he's accustomed to staying in, it's harder to trick myself into believing we have anything in common.

He clears his throat. "This is the Fairmont Royal York. You're safe from pictures here. The staff aren't even allowed to carry phones. This is where my family stays whenever we tour Canada."

"Like when your grandma opened the maple-leaf park?" I ask.

He looks at me warily. "You know about that?"

"It has its own Wikipedia page, unlike my grandma's favorite pastime: yelling ‘bad answer' at the TV whenever a Family Feud contestant says something stupid."

Winston stifles a laugh as Theo's cheeks redden, and I remember how much he hates talking about his family's legacy. "Where are the others?" he asks his bodyguard.

"Your sister is in a car about ten minutes out," Winston tells him. "I don't know about Wren's people."

"Find them and get her a key to the Gold Suite."

"I would prefer if you were not alone, sir." Winston's voice carries a note of warning.

Theo rolls his eyes. "I'm not alone. Wren is here, and as you might recall, she acted as my bodyguard across five countries."

Winston nods and turns on his heel to leave. Theo leads the way through the lobby to an elevator. "This is a private lift to our floor," he explains as we step inside. "No one else has access."

The doors slide shut behind us, and the energy in the elevator abruptly shifts. Now that the crisis has passed, it's awkward again. He hesitates, looking like he wants to say something, but then leans against the wall and tips his head back.

"So…" I smile, trying to make this less weird. (Impossible.) "The world didn't end."

"Didn't it?" he says, so quietly I might have imagined it.

Something is lodged in my throat. "How have you been?"

"Never better," he deadpans. It's nice to know I'm not the only one freaked out by this situation.

"It's weird for me, too—"

"Obviously." He scrubs both hands through his hair and fixes me with a hard stare. "I've basically just kidnapped you, and you probably hate me for it."

"Oh." I have the sinking realization that we are not having the same conversation. He's talking about what just happened on the street, when I was talking about our reunion. Mortifying.

"The British press is vile, the absolute scum of the earth. If and when those pictures do get released, we need to have our ducks in a row before sending you back to the States. Make sure we have a cover story—"

"Can't we just tell them we met during the apocalypse, and now—"

Theo raises his eyebrows in question. "And now?"

I pull my shoulders back in surprise. I will not be the first one to address whatever is or isn't going on between us. " And now I'm here so you can return my dog!" I say, which doesn't get a response from Theo. That's fine. I'll keep trying. He's going to owe me after all this is over. The elevator doors glide open to reveal a long hallway. "So those guys with the cameras were British press?" I ask, remembering the one who called me "the bird."

"Some of them, yes. Others are local. Bloody wankers are usually better behaved than that on tour." We walk down the hall to a room that Theo swipes open with a key. He holds the door open for me as I walk into an impressive suite adorned with lavish furniture. I drag my foot across the hardwood.

"You probably don't need a black light for this floor," I muse, remembering Theo's horror when I told him about the time the carpet in my family's budget-core hotel room lit up like a neon sign in Vegas.

"No semen-covered duvets either," he says as he releases the door. It swings shut with an ominous click.

My cheeks flush. "A shame," I say dryly. I'm trying to play it cool but I'm emotionally vibrating with an intensity that could shatter glass.

Theo shrugs out of his jacket and rolls up the sleeves on his shirt as he peeks through the hotel curtains and swears under his breath.

"It's chockablock out there," he mutters, which is hilarious. The word, not the situation. He disappears into another room. "Wanna drink?" he calls through the open doorway.

"No, thanks."

He returns to the room with a beer and takes a drink before collapsing onto one of the sofas in front of the empty fireplace. "You may as well take a seat," he says. "There's nothing for us to do but wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Someone to tell us what to do."

"Aren't you the guy in charge here?"

He winces.

I suddenly remember what had to happen to make him the guy in charge, and if possible, I feel even worse. "I'm really sorry about your mom." He drops his head, but I can't stop myself. "I felt horrible when I heard the news. I wish I could have told you that." I stop short of bringing up the number of times I tried to contact him. This isn't about me, and I don't want to make him feel guilty for moving on.

He clears his throat and stands. "Actually, there's something I have to check on. If you'll, um, excuse me, I'll be right back." He dashes from the room like it's on fire and I'm the one holding the match.

I flop dramatically over the edge of the elegant sofa and pull a pillow over my face. I can't believe he said If you'll excuse me. Like I'm his royal grandmother or a teacher he's scared of. UGH. The formality is devastating. I let the pillow drop to the floor, Theo's If you'll excuse me playing on a humiliating loop in my brain.

"If you'll excuse me, I'd like to get the hell out of here," I say in a bad British accent.

"Don't let me stop you," an unfamiliar voice replies out of nowhere, startling me.

I scream, sit up, and nearly choke on my own breath.

Standing in front of me, in basketball shorts and no shirt, is Prince Henry.