Chapter 17
We alternate between kissing and talking for the rest of the night. At some point, we move down to the living room, where
we argue about which of us is the best fire builder, then move the couch closer to the flames and listen to the storm outside.
We’re snuggled under a warm, woolen tartan blanket, already entangled and yet still finding excuses to touch each other, to
explore. I wriggle my toes underneath him because they’re cold; he tucks my hair behind my shoulder anytime it blocks his
view of my face.
Finn tells me more about his summers here. I listen to stories about Tina’s kindness to him and his siblings and the way Ethel
has looked out for them over the years. When he asks me why I took Rosie out in the first place, I admit to breaking my self-induced
social media hiatus.
“After seeing you and Beatrice roll up, I decided to torture myself a little more and scrolled through Gigi’s and Dean’s posts.”
“Do you miss him?” I can tell he’s trying to sound understanding, but if I answer yes, it might break him.
“I don’t,” I say, and clock the relief in his face. “I do miss Gigi, though. As mad as I am at her. That betrayal feels deeper
than Dean’s.”
“Have you spoken to her?” When I shake my head, he adds, “It’s worth considering. Even if you never forgive her, it might
help you if you get the full picture, hear her side of it.”
“Maybe.” But I know I’m not ready for that. Not yet. The room is quiet, but for the crackling of the fire. “The storm is over,”
I muse.
“Well, that’s a shame. I was ready to stay here forever.”
“Me too,” I admit. He leans over and kisses me again, achingly slow. When we finally pull apart, I note the early-morning
light filtering through the window. “How long can a prince go missing before it’s declared an international incident?”
Finn glances at the window. “ ‘It is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark.’ ”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“It’s what Juliet tells Romeo after their first night together, when she doesn’t want him to leave.”
“And you mocked me for using the word ‘rapscallion’? Hypocrite.”
The fire is dying. I push it around until it’s out while Finn tidies up the room and retrieves my almost-dry clothes. When
I’m dressed, he extends a hand. “Shall we?”
“Nah. I’m still Team Stay Here and Let the World Freak Out.” But I take his hand, and we walk outside.
Despite the fact that I barely slept, I feel fully awake the moment the air hits my skin. I take a deep breath, relishing
the crisp, piney scent. Spicier and more pungent than a Christmas tree, but with hints of the nearby sea. I close my eyes,
inhale again, and say, “If you could bottle this scent and sell it, you’d make a million dollars.”
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time we come up short on the rent.”
“Well, forgive me, Mr. Eleventh-Richest Person in Britain.”
“Surely I’ve dropped to at least eighteenth by now.” He counts off on his fingers. “There’s that chap who founded the AI company,
and that actress with that app. And I think Richard Branson has had quite a good year.”
We fetch the horses from the stable and ride back at a leisurely pace. It’s clear that neither of us is in a rush to return
to real life. Curls of mist cling to the trees, birds chitter in the distance, and the world feels somehow both fresh and
ancient. How many generations of Finn’s ancestors have galloped down this path? How many knights thundered off to battle?
How many princesses rode through these trees to be handed off to their betrothed?
“The castle’s closed to the public today,” he reminds me. “What are your plans?”
I shrug. A bit shyly, I tell him about the book I’m writing. “I’m going to try to get a few chapters down.”
Finn looks thrilled. “That’s wonderful. Can I read it when it’s ready?”
The question presumes not only that I’m going to finish it, but a future between us. My heart flutters in my chest. I nod.
“Sure. What about you? What are your plans?”
“Oh, I’m sure my parents have filled the diary with various activities to keep me out of trouble.” We emerge from the woods
into the meadow and Finn turns Ivanhoe in a circle. It’s clear he’s getting antsy, unaccustomed to staying on a walk for this
long.
“Well, if you have a spare moment,” I say suggestively, “the cozy cottage I’m living in would welcome you.”
“As soon as I can get away, I will.”
The stables are still quiet when we reach them. A young man is unloading bales of hay from a flatbed truck, and a woman is
hosing down the drive. They both nod respectfully at Finn as we approach, then return to their tasks.
We dismount and lead the horses inside to untack them. “Thank you,” I whisper to Rosie as I give her coat a final brush. “You’re
a literal lifesaver.” In response, she nuzzles my shoulder.
I assume Finn will want to play it cool now that there are people around, but as we head toward the stable door, he pulls
me to him and kisses me once, twice, and then lingers on the third.
“Goodbye for now, my American Hannah,” he says, placing one more kiss on my forehead.
My arms are around his waist. I hold him tightly, not wanting to let him go.
Alas, real life calls. I release him and give him time to walk out first. In case any of the groundskeeping staff are around, I wait in the stables for a few minutes before leaving myself.
While I’m stalling, I mentally relive the best night of my life.
I know I’m falling for Finn at lightning speed, and it scares the hell out of me.
But it also thrills me. No one has made me feel like he does on any level—not physically, not emotionally.
After what happened with Dean, I was certain I’d never trust another guy again. Yet Finn makes trusting him easy.
My stomach is growling, demanding breakfast. I figure I’ve given Finn enough of a head start. Gingerly, I step outside. I
look toward the castle to ensure no one’s about and come face-to-face with Tina.
“Hi, good morning,” I say as nonchalantly as I can, trying to recover from the gasp of alarm that came out first.
Instead of returning my greeting, she continues to appraise my disheveled appearance with her steely gray eyes. I am sure
she’s registering the fact that the sun hasn’t even completely risen, I’m far away from the servants’ quarters, and I’m wearing
Finn’s plaid shirt over my own.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with the prince,” she says carefully.
“We’re friends.” In an attempt to distract her or ingratiate myself to her—or both—I add, “He speaks so highly of you.”
Her mouth forms a thin line. Despite what Finn has said, I still find this woman terrifying and I’m anxious to get out of here.
“I just wanted to say hi to Rosie,” I say quickly. “I brought her some carrots.”
The tone of her response stops me cold. “I do hope you two left the hunting lodge in an acceptable manner. I would hate for
it to appear as though something untoward had occurred there.”
“I . . .” I’m trying to come up with a response, with anything, as her stare intensifies. I want to shrivel up and roll down the hill, never to be seen or heard from again. “We . . .”
“In any other circumstance, the dalliances of a young man would be no business of mine. But he isn’t just a young man, Hannah,
as you well know.” She raises her chin. “He’s a leader and a legacy. I recognize that you haven’t been raised in a country
that understands the gravity of this.”
“I understand—” I try to say, but she cuts me off.
“You would do well to be careful. Nothing in his highness’s life is simple or inconsequential. Nothing can be treated as such.”
I won’t break his heart, I want to tell her, but I know that’s the least of Tina’s worries. As much as she cares about him, chances are she’s thinking
about foreign affairs and paparazzi.
“Noted,” I say instead. “I should go.”
“Yes,” she agrees.
When I get back to my cottage, I have something to eat, then crawl into bed and try to sleep, but it’s useless.
I growl and throw my pillow across my bed. I immediately feel guilty, since these aren’t technically my belongings, and I
stand up to retrieve it. To distract myself, I start straightening up my cottage. Since there’s only a kitchen, a living room/bedroom,
and a small bathroom, it doesn’t take nearly long enough. I remind myself of my goals and grab my laptop to work on my book.
After typing out three paragraphs and deleting two, my phone rings. I grab it, hoping it’s Finn.
The caller ID says Gigi. The temptation to send her straight to voicemail is there and it’s potent. I’m frozen, staring at the phone. I remember
what Finn said last night about how talking to her doesn’t mean I have to forgive her, but it might help. I press the green
button and say nothing.
“Hannah?” The voice of my former best friend is as familiar as my own. Tears prickle the corners of my eyes, despite my silent
demands that they stop.
“Yeah,” I finally reply. I hate that she’ll be able to tell that I’m crying. She knows me that well.
“How—how are you?” She sounds incredibly nervous. There’s no way she expected me to answer.
I can’t do this. I can’t handle small talk. If we’re going to do this, fine, but then we’re actually going to talk.
“How did it start?” I don’t have to clarify. She knows what I’m asking.
There’s a pause. “Um, I guess—”
“No,” I cut her off. “Don’t guess. You know how it started, so just tell me.”
I can hear her sniffle. I picture her in her bedroom, decorated with volleyball trophies and art she’s picked out over the
years from random garage sales. We’ve had countless sleepovers in that room. And I’ll never enter it again.
“It was when you weren’t allowed to go to that bush party because your grandparents were in town,” Gigi eventually says. “Dean
gave me a ride to be nice. He and I had never hung out before, just the two of us, without you there, and . . .”
Her voice trails off. I’m picturing everything. Gigi and her impossibly long dark hair, her lashes that are so thick and full
that mascara is made redundant. Gigi’s spontaneous and wild and does things without thinking, which can be frustrating, but
it’s also what makes her fun. For our entire lives, she’s pulled me out of my shell while I’ve grounded her. We’ve balanced
each other.
For one night, though, I wasn’t there to do that, and she let her wild side take control.
“What happened at the party?” I prompt.
“You know me,” she says with an embarrassed laugh. “I got drunk and stupid.”
“And Dean took advantage of that? Of you being drunk and stupid?” Dean may have turned out to be a cheating toolbag, but he’s still a decent human being; the guy knows what consent is. If I was even a little buzzed when I was out with him, he’d give me one chaste kiss and take me home.
“No. Of course he didn’t.” Gigi stops and sniffles some more. “Okay, I wasn’t drunk. I had half a beer. I was just stupid.”
“For god’s sake, G, tell me the truth, or what’s even the point of this fucking phone call?”
Silence.
I consider hanging up. But if I do, then all I’ve accomplished is making us both miserable. I deserve answers, even if I’m
not going to like them.
“It was at the beginning of the night.” This time when Gigi talks, her voice is quiet. Resigned. “Nicki was blabbing about
the time we played some dumb kissing game at her house when we were, like, twelve, and then everyone was joking about playing
a kissing game right then. Dean was worried about getting caught up in it, so he said he was going to walk down to the river,
and I said I’d go with him.”
“Were you planning on kissing him?” I squeeze my eyes shut, imagining it all. Seeing it in my mind, hearing her say it hurts.
It’s like all the scar tissue I’ve worked so hard to develop is being poked and prodded.
“No! God no,” she assures me. “I always thought you guys were cute and wished I had someone like Dean, but I didn’t set out
to, like, seduce him or anything.”
“Does it matter if you had planned it?” I say as much to myself as to Gigi. “You two may not have snuck away to secretly make out, but you both chose to carry on behind my back for the better part of a year. That took planning.”
“But, Hannah, you have to know—”
Suddenly, I don’t want to hear any more. “You can stop. I’ve had enough.”
“But . . .” Gigi hiccups. “You haven’t forgiven me.”
“You haven’t even said that you’re sorry.” Then I hang up.
I sit there, staring at my phone for who knows how long. A heaviness sinks in my chest. In some twisted way, that horrible
phone call unknotted my mind. I don’t feel better—in fact, in some ways, I feel worse. Still, I faced what I’ve been hiding
from for weeks, and that’s worth something.
There’s only one person I want to talk to about this, even though I know texting him right now is risky. I send Finn a message.
I answered a phone call from Gigi. I heard her out and lived to tell the tale. It was terrible and I’m glad I did it. Thank
you for encouraging me to stop hiding from her.
I wait, but no response comes.