17. “loml” - Taylor Swift
“loml” - Taylor Swift
I’m on my third video tutorial on how to use the bloody steam wand on Henry’s espresso machine when he walks into the kitchen. Yawning, he leans against the counter to watch me, arms crossed. I surreptitiously avert my eyes from the way his flannel pajama bottoms dangle from his hips.
“Feeling better?” he asks, reaching for the questionable cookies Bea baked yesterday.
“I’m fine, but I wouldn’t eat those if I were you.” I bob the pitcher of milk up and down as demonstrated in the video but obviously don’t do it right, because milk splatters all over the front of my dressing gown. “Bloody hell.” I toss the pitcher into the sink.
“Easy,” Henry chides. He tosses the remainder of the cookie in the bin, then spits out the piece in his mouth. “God, what did she put in those things?”
I bite my cheek to hide my smile. Serves the bastard right. “I warned you. Now be a gentleman and show me how to use the steamer.”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“It’s your machine!”
“I just use it for espresso.”
I groan and use a dishcloth to dab at the stains on my gown.
“Doesn’t Maisie usually bring you a latte?”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Okay, we’ll just order something. There’s a coffee shop on one of the lower levels. One of the guys outside can grab it.”
“That will take too long. I need caffeine now.” I’ll also need a morphine drip if I am to endure Henry.
“Then we’ll just have to figure out the steamer.”
He fiddles with the machine, refills the pitcher with milk, and two minutes later presents me with a beautiful vanilla latte.
“How did you do that?” I ask.
He shrugs and pulls a double shot of espresso for himself. “I was highly motivated by the look of pure rage in your eyes.”
I take a small sip, but my caution is unnecessary, because it tastes better than the ones Maisie’s been bringing me. “This is actually really good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Henry says. “I am a man of many talents.”
“I’m well aware.” It comes out before I can stop myself. I slap my hand over my mouth.
He has the courtesy not to meet my eyes, but a small smile tugs at his lips.
I clear my throat. “Thank you for the coffee. I should get ready.” I dash out of the room before I forget exactly how much I despise him.
It takes a person three days without fresh air to start to go insane. Apparently, it’s the same for dogs. I glance up from my laptop as Tundra starts mounting the suede ottoman.
“Tundra!”
He glances back at me, and I swear he’s grinning from ear to ear.
“Tundra, stop it!” I set my laptop on the sofa next to me and move to pull him off. He dismounts and tries to mount my leg instead. “Good god, you’re restless.”
One of the PPOs has been taking him to the rooftop dog park, but clearly it isn’t doing the trick.
Besides, if I have to breathe this recycled air much longer, I’m going to turn into a corpse.
However, we’re currently eighty-seven floors above ground with James Bond and his team right outside.
Leaving won’t be as simple as walking out the door.
“Come on, boy,” I say. “Let’s sneak out.”
Whether he understands my words or not, his entire demeanor changes, and he follows me to the bedroom.
I decide to leave on my leggings and oversized sweatshirt (stolen from Henry’s still-half-full side of the closet, because his are way comfier than mine and not because I like to randomly sniff the cuffs).
I pull on a pair of trainers and rifle through Henry’s things to find a ball cap that fits.
A look in the mirror confirms that I look nothing like the queen. The sun has already set, and there’s no way I’ll be recognizable in the dark.
Tundra barks when I pull out his leash. My own tongue nearly starts lolling at the thought of fresh air. I haven’t left this flat since Henry took me up in the chopper. I still don’t know how I’m going to slip past the army stationed outside, but I plan on crossing that bridge when I get to it.
Unfortunately, it blows up before I even reach it. Just as I’m leaving the master bedroom, Henry walks down the hallway from the guest bedrooms.
“Going somewhere?” he asks.
“Tundra and I are just going to ride the lift up and down.”
“Nice try.”
“Come on. No one will recognize me like this, nor expect me to be out walking my dog.”
He gives my derrière an exaggerated stare. “Definitely recognizable.” He continues his perusal, then frowns. “Is that my sweatshirt?”
“See? People will think I’m you.”
“Funny. You’re not going out.” Walking to the kitchen, he pulls a bottle of water from the fridge.
I stalk over to him, Tundra right beside me, and yank it from his hands. “I’m going to explode if I have to stay inside another minute. And Tundra needs a walk.”
Henry considers us both for a minute, then sighs. “Fine. Let’s go.”
I hold up my hand, not intending to touch him, but he takes a step forward and collides with it all the same. That warm, broad chest under my fingers is tantalizing. I drop my hand. “You’re not invited.”
“All the same, I’m coming.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then inform Tundra that he will need to take his walk inside this flat, because you are not going out alone.”
“No one will even know it’s me,” I snap.
“That’s not something I’m willing to take a chance on,” Henry growls, bringing his face close to mine. “It’s either me or the entire security team. Your choice.”
There’s no way in hell I’m walking down a city street flanked on all sides by PPOs, and he knows it. But I don’t want his company tonight either. Still, if it’s the only way to get outside, it’s the lesser of two evils.
“Fine. But you’re picking up after Tundra.” I hand Henry the poop bag dispenser and rejoice when tiny frown lines appear on his face.
The ride down to the lobby is as awkward as one might expect when riding with your ex-husband-turned-prison-warden. By the time we’re about halfway down, Tundra assumes we are stuck in here for life and jumps up on me, giving me a good whiff of his lack of hygiene.
“Down, boy. God, your breath stinks.” I push him back down. I think we’re all a little relieved when the chime that announces our arrival in the Atlantis’s lobby sounds.
The crisp evening air is so welcome that I gulp in several lungfuls.
We could be in the middle of a blizzard and I’d still rejoice at being outside, but fortunately, the temperatures are hovering in the midfifties.
Tundra strains at his leash, eager to get moving, while Henry sticks to the street side of the pavement, keeping a close eye on our surroundings.
I have to admit, I feel safer with him next to me.
“Are you ever going to relax?” I ask him as Tundra heads for a patch of grass to relieve himself.
“Not until this guy is caught.”
“Where did you learn all of your”—I motion to his torso—“spy moves?”
His brows quirks upward. “Impressive vocabulary.”
“You know what I mean. Protection and everything.” We continue our walk down the street.
“Military, remember? Not that I need to be taught how to protect you.”
“Just that good, are you?”
“I have good instincts,” he says, scanning the area. “And nothing to lose.”
“Except your life.”
“Like I said, nothing to lose.”
Tundra chooses that moment to dart after something in a bush and yanks the leash from my hand. Proving his point, Henry’s reflexes are much faster than my own, and he recovers the dog within two seconds.
“That was slightly impressive.” As I take back the leash, his fingers brush against mine, and I feel like I’m in secondary school with the way my heart races at the touch.
My mind flashes back to that one blissful day walking the streets of London, my hand tucked in his, and the way I didn’t think I could possibly be any happier than I was at that moment.
Turns out, the higher the mountaintop, the harder you fall.
“Any updates on the palace renovations?” I ask as we turn a corner.
“Just that it’s taking twice as long as it should. The security is horribly outdated.”
“It’s done a fine job all these years, hasn’t it?”
Henry cuts me a sharp glance. “There hasn’t been an attempted assassination before.”
“I’m not sure whether I should be offended or flattered that I’m the first monarch deemed worth killing.”
“Don’t be glib, C. We’re talking about your life.”
Tundra squats in the grass next to the pavement, and I grin at Henry. “Looks like you’re up.”
He scowls but dutifully cleans up after the dog. I have to admit I feel an extraordinary amount of satisfaction watching him.
While he’s tying a knot in the bag, I glance around.
We’re a few blocks east of the Atlantis, in a strip known as Restaurant City because of its five blocks of nothing but tiny eateries, with cuisines ranging from Malaysian to Ecuadorian.
Strings of white lights illuminate the street, creating an otherworldly effect.
There are red bows tied to all the lamp posts.
A woman with long black hair is standing across the street playing a sad song on her violin.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Henry says. As we’re watching her, he slips his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. I startle and instinctively pull back.
“Shit. I’m sorry, C,” he says. “I wasn’t thinking.”
I frown and rub my upper arms. “It’s fine. We should keep walking before Tundra destroys those flowers.”
He nods and calls the dog away from the potted poinsettia he’s investigating. I walk beside them numbly, not even cognizant of where we’re going. What the hell was that? He wasn’t thinking? In what universe would holding my hand be natural for him?
I’m lost in my deadly spiral of thoughts and almost don’t see the couple until it’s too late.
They’re just walking out of a cute little Italian place I’ve been to hundreds of times.
The owners are old friends of Beck’s family, and we visited at least once a week when we were still together.
I know what every item on the menu tastes like.
I know the kitchen smells, like garlic and tomato and a secret ingredient the family will never reveal.
I know how rickety the tables and chairs are.
I’ve walked out that door with my hand wrapped around Beck’s arm exactly the way—
“Celia?”
I finally look away from Beck long enough to take in the blonde woman at his side. Her hair is long and flows down her back. She’s wrapped in a black peacoat with a red scarf around her neck. She looks so familiar.
Tundra agrees, because he bounds up to her and starts humping her leg. She laughs and pushes him down, and then it clicks.
It’s Maisie.
On a date.
With my ex-fiancé.
It’s stupid, I know. I should have recognized her immediately, but I’ve never seen her without her hair up, glasses on, and wrapped in a cardigan like the ones my grandma used to wear.
And also, forgive me for it never crossing my mind that my assistant might date my ex-fiancé.
To say things are awkward would be like saying the sun is bright—true, but a gross understatement.
Beck coughs. “What a surprise.”
“Surprise. Yeah,” I say in a monotone. Kill me now.
“Actually, can I talk to you for a minute?” It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.
“Um . . .” I glance at Henry. His opinion is evident on his face, but before he can object, I quickly add, “I’ll be right back.” I hand him the leash and custody of Tundra, who is still trying to mount Maisie’s leg, and follow Beck down the pavement.
He stops a few yards away. “I am so sorry you had to find out like this,” he says.
“When you said you’d moved on, I never expected . . .”
“I know. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you the other day, but I lost my nerve.”
I tuck my hands into the sleeves of my sweatshirt and bring one up to rest against my chin. Henry’s scent fills my senses, and I inhale deeply, allowing it to give me strength. “So, what? You two are seeing each other? Is it serious?”
Beck looks like he’d rather bungee jump off the Eiffel Tower than have this conversation. I share the sentiment. “It’s new, but yes, I care about her.”
Something in my chest tears, as if someone is ripping my heart apart with their bare hands the way TV chefs shred barbecue. “Well, I’m happy for you both,” I manage to get out.
“Thank you,” he says. “If you really mean that.”
A smile is all I can give him in return. “We should get back.”
Henry and Maisie look even more uncomfortable than Beck and me, if that’s possible. There is a painful exchange of goodbyes and the usual strained politeness as we try to navigate around each other without actually touching or making eye contact.
“What just happened?” I ask Henry once we’re out of earshot.
“One of the most awkward moments of my existence.”
“You were awkward? How do you think I felt?”
We continue our walk through the shadows, Tundra leading the way to sniff out rabbits, squirrels, and leftover burger wrappers.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Henry asks after a few minutes.
“Not really,” I mutter. But five seconds later, I add, “I just don’t get it. What does he see in her? We are nothing alike.”
“I thought she was your friend.”
“She is.” One of my closest friends, actually. “Which makes this a double betrayal, right?”
“In what way?”
“You don’t date your friends’ exes! And you don’t date your ex’s friends!”
He offers me a sad half smile. “Maybe they didn’t read the rule book?”
I punch his arm. “It’s not funny.”
“I know,” he says, and pulls me against his side. His scent wraps around me like a hug. “It’s okay to feel upset.”
“Is it, though? After all, I’m the one who left him.”
“Do you have regrets?”
Regret giving my heart to Henry? Yes. Regret breaking up with Beck for the good of my country? “No. I just didn’t expect it to hurt like this.” Beck gets to move on, while I’ll forever be stuck on the wheel of pain, circling the same heartache over and over.
“You wouldn’t take him back if given the chance?” Henry asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t want him back, but I guess I hoped he would pine over me a little longer. Does that make me a horrible person?”
“Of course not. It makes you human. For the record, how anyone could choose her over you is beyond me.”
“You’re forgetting I dumped him.”
“Technicalities.”
“Then maybe you also forgot that you had the option to be with me and passed? More than once.”
He turns and looks at me, the streetlamps reflected in his dark eyes. “As if I could forget something like that.”