Chapter 30
CHAPTER
THIRTY
SLOANE
The castle turrets blot out the graying sky.
There is no rain, not yet, but the clouds hold onto it, and the sun is momentarily gone.
It brings the chill back, not quite as cool here as in the mountains, and I turn to look at Storm by my side as cars zip downtown behind us, and my mouth is hanging open at the sight before me.
It reminds me of the streets of Edinburgh I’ve spent countless hours watching on my phone, hoping to go, looking at flights, searching for the perfect hotel, hanging up prints in my bedroom.
When I graduate, it will be real. But for now, this towering gray castle built in a downtown city outside of Raleigh, it will do.
“What’s this?” I ask. We already dropped our things off at our suite in the Ritz-Carlton—the amount of space inside, with a living area, double sinks, the king bed, a floor-to-ceiling window view of a pool down below; it feels like we’ll go back and it’ll be gone—and now we’re here.
I asked Storm how I should dress for our lunch plans, and he’d told me what I had on in the car was fine. Which was fleece sweats and a white T-shirt.
Obviously, I’d never wear that to lunch, and so I’d changed into designer denim, cheetah print heels, and a baby pink top that ties crisscross down my back, but now, as I clutch my leopard print Coach purse—thrift store find—I’m not so sure this is even enough.
Storm is in his Tom Ford bomber, an expensive-looking white T-shirt, and dark denim.
He looks like a fucking model and we look like opposites. Him dark, me light with the pink and blond hair, flowing in waves down my back.
“It’s lunch,” he finally answers me, a dimple flashing in his face.
I take a breath. “Hopefully they’ll let me in,” I mutter to myself before glancing at the heavy red entrance door. I start to walk up the steps, ready to get this assessment over with, when he grabs my wrist and pulls me back close.
He wraps an arm around my back and stares down at me, both of us oblivious to everyone trying to get by us on the sidewalk, even though it’s there, in the back of my mind. That I’m inconveniencing somebody.
Storm doesn’t seem to care.
“Nothing is barred to you,” he says quietly, his fingers entwined with mine, his palm pressed to my spine.
“Nothing, do you understand that?” He speaks so seriously, and my comment was little more than a flash of half-joking insecurity, but I clutch my bag tight in both hands and don’t look away from him.
On the way here, Remi texted me to have a good time, but not too good, and she put a lot of emojis so it felt light, but her follow-up text was more severe.
We need to talk when I’m back.
Understatement of the century.
I push it all back now though, staring up into Storm’s eyes and feeling dizzy.
Like I’m on the edge of a precipice right here on the sidewalk, four hours from home in front of a castle that’s a metaphor for the beginning of the rest of my life.
The gun Storm pulled last night on Dax, the red around his eyes, his sneezing this morning, the bitter taste on his tongue, it’s all here, in my head, and so are his words, and the future, and who knows who he has as his equivalent to Dax, who knows if that’s why he hasn’t been trying to fuck me recently and…
“Answer me, ma princesse.” The French rolls off his tongue like he speaks the language and a little breath of shock leaves me, then a laugh after, my head thrown back, the smile so high it hurts my cheeks.
He leans in close, his lips over my ear. “I love when you laugh. But it doesn’t change what I said. This is yours.” I know he means the castle. Today. Maybe tonight. “But you can have so much more.” His mouth comes to my cheek and lingers, but the laughter dies in my throat.
What did he mean?
I can have so much more?
With or without him?
He takes my hand in his as he straightens, then leads me up the stairs.
The look in his eyes is distant, and I think he means without.
“There’s so much here that reminds me of Edinburgh.” I pick up the black cloth napkin on my lap embroidered with the letter F, for Farewell, the restaurant. It sounds ominous, but the food is divine. I just finished off a roll of the most exquisite sushi I’ve ever had in my life.
I was surprised to find so much of it on the menu, but Storm was watching me carefully, like he was waiting for me to see it.
Our table is situated in one of the dungeons—apparently, there are multiple—and private, too, only stone walls and floors and lit sconces in the wall to keep us company.
Music plays, ambient piano, it’s dark and melodic, and the room is cold in a way I like.
There are no windows, but the flickering black candle on the table between Storm and I is enough, and so are the white glasses of wine the waiter left behind for both of us.
Storm has his glass in hand, tattooed fingers cupping the stem and bowl. He tilts his head, his food gone. He ate the rare steak like he hadn’t eaten in days, and I stole french fries off his plate, and he only grinned at me with his mouth full of food and candlelight dancing in his eyes.
“You’ve been to Scotland?”
I snatch up my wine and take a gulp, averting my eyes. “No,” I admit. “Not yet. But when I graduate—”
“In the spring,” he adds, his brows lifted.
“In the spring, yes.” I can’t stop the smile from returning to my lips.
“I’m going for two weeks. Most of it in Edinburgh, then I’ll take a train to London for the rest.” I take another drink and it isn’t a dainty sip but I don’t care.
Being with Storm like this, no movie to occupy our eyes, no Cortland and Remi to knock down the chemistry or the tension, it makes butterflies bounce around in my belly so hard it’s difficult to think.
He lifts his chin and looks down his nose at me. “I’ve seen the photos in your bedroom.”
Something like pleasure runs down my spine. Growing up with three siblings, it often felt like no one actually saw me.
“Are you going alone?” he presses.
Another gulp of wine. I see my pink lipstick stain along the rim of the glass but quickly return my gaze to Storm’s.
His eyes are ethereal. In a past life, he was probably fae, I’m sure of it.
I almost laugh out loud at the thought, the wine going to my head, and without answering his question, I blurt it out: “I think you might be part fae.” A giggle leaves my lips and I’m slightly horrified but too happy to care.
“Turn your head so I can get a better look at your ears.”
He dips his chin, his gaze locked onto mine. Not a single muscle in his face seems to twitch. No smile, no laugh, nothing.
But then he slowly turns for me, and I trace his ear with my eyes. Gorgeous, and yes, slightly pointed. Fuck, his neck is hot too and…
“Yeah,” I say, my words low. “An elf even.”
He faces me again. “An elf.” He deadpans my words back to me.
I shrug, leaning back in the leather chair. “I said what I said.”
“An elf or a…What was it?”
“Fae.”
He blinks once. “Fae.”
I glance at the light blue hoop in his nose. “The piercing helps too.”
“Does it?” he asks, his head tilted again in that way of his.
“Yeah.” My heart is racing and I’m not quite sure why. “It does.”
His eyes dip to my mouth, then back up. “Come sit with me,” he commands.
I take a shallow breath in and glance at the chair. “What? There’s no room—”
“In my lap,” he interrupts me.
Without thinking, I tip back all of my wine and swallow the sharp-sweet liquid down. I set the glass on the table, full of our empty plates but I don’t want the waiter back anytime soon even though he was kind of hot.
Maybe I should tell Storm that.
It’s right there on the tip of my tongue when he asks, “What are you thinking right now?” in a way that makes me feel like he knows, which is obviously impossible, but the thought is still there.
“The waiter looks Italian.” It comes tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop it. “And he’s hot.”
Storm is silent.
He doesn’t react. Doesn’t blink.
His forearm is on the table, and I glance at his wrist and notice the watch on it. He wasn’t wearing it during the long drive. I would’ve seen it. It’s silver with a black face and it’s a fucking Rolex.
My pulse jumps. What did he do for the money to buy that?
When I look at him again, he’s still staring at me. “What?” he taunts me. “Now you want to take it back?”
He noticed my expression when I saw the Rolex.
I shake my head. “No, I—”
“You can fuck him, if you’d like. But I don’t think he has the kind of money you’re after.”
I narrow my eyes. “I’m not after—”
“Shut up, Sloane. I’ve seen the shit you wear.
The makeup, the skincare, Little Miss Edinburgh and London for Two Weeks.
” He mocks me, no smile on his face, in his eyes.
“Dax maybe could’ve given you that. The waiter?
Not a chance. But they have one thing in common.
” His eyes spark now, light dancing in the blue.
I don’t ask what. I’m not sure I want to know.
“Neither one of them can fuck you with a bullet in their brain.”
In my head, I see the gun. The holster. I don’t know what he did with either this morning before we got in the car, but I glance at his chest, the bomber jacket he hasn’t taken off.
He huffs a laugh. “Are you scared, baby?”
I shoot my eyes to his. “Not at all.” It’s only half a lie.
“Good. Because I won’t hurt you, will I?” The implication in the question is clear.
I shake my head, in agreement.
“Say it.”
“You won’t hurt me.”
“Good girl. Now come sit your fine ass in my lap, so when the hot waiter comes back, he knows he doesn’t stand a fucking chance.”