20. “Wildest Dreams” - Taylor Swift #2
My palms suddenly sweaty, I tuck my device away again and wipe them on my dress. My heart is now jackhammering in my chest. “Do you mind if I walk alone?” I ask without looking at Henry. My lying skills aren’t exactly first-rate. “I just need to . . . Thinking about my dad—”
He hesitates, scans the area around us. It’s deserted. “Don’t go far. You never know who might spot you.” He gives my seafoam dress a pointed glance. “You don’t exactly blend in with the trees.”
At least I didn’t wear the yellow.
Moving down the path as quickly as I dare without seeming like I’m hurrying off, I find my way to the edge of the park.
I don’t encounter a single person. When I reach the bluff, Beck is standing there with his back turned to me, and I take a minute to study him.
He looks taller than I remember, but has that same lean build.
His hands are in his pockets as he looks out over the rocky ledge, causing his elbows to jut out at sharp angles.
“Beck.” It’s tentative, almost a whisper, but he hears it.
He turns to face me but doesn’t move any closer, so I stay where I am, arms dangling awkwardly at my sides. He must have come directly from the office. He’s wearing his usual uniform of navy suit, white shirt, and gray tie.
“Celia.” His voice sounds like it’s been dragged over a cheese grater. He clears his throat and covers the distance between us in three long strides. “When I saw that you were going to be at the hospital this morning, I was hoping you’d be able to slip away.”
I don’t know what to say. What is the protocol for seeing your ex-fiancé? Our last conversation held so much anger and disappointment and hurt, and I am not the same person I was two months ago.
“How have you been?” he asks.
“I’m okay.” I’m surprised to find it’s actually true. My new life isn’t easy, not by a long shot, but every day I’m settling into my role more.
“I miss you.” He tugs his sleeves down. “I was a fool. A damn fool.”
The blame for this mess falls squarely on my shoulders, but there’s a part of me that’s still smarting from his rejection. “It’s all in the past.”
“I’ve had time to think,” he says. “And I want you back.”
I blink at him. Is he serious? Of course he is. Beck would never joke about something like this.
“It’s a little late for that,” I whisper.
“I never should have asked you to choose between me and Wesbourne.”
This is the speech I wanted from him two months ago, not now that so much has changed. “What’s done is done. It never would have worked anyway.” I envision the headlines broadcasting Princess Jacqueline’s affair.
“You said yourself that these things aren’t uncommon.”
“I was grasping at straws.”
He frowns and props his hands on his hips. “I’m not ready to let you go.”
“Beck, I’m married now.”
A murmur of voices signals the arrival of a group of walkers. I turn to face away from the path until they disappear around a cluster of trees.
“Are you sleeping with him? Is that why you won’t consider it?”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s a simple question, Celia. Are you or are you not having sex with Henry?”
“Why in the bloody hell would you ask me that?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Of course not!”
Beck deflates slowly, and I think of the balloon in the hospital again. For the first time, I see how fatigued he looks. Older. “Please tell me you’ll at least give it some thought,” he says.
I open my mouth to respond, but the words won’t come. My skin prickles with the memory of Henry’s hands on me, my head on his shoulder. It feels like a betrayal, thinking of it now, when I should be rejoicing that Beck still has feelings for me.
“I’ll think about it,” I squeak out.
He moves then, and before I can tell what he’s about to do, his lips are pressing against mine. His hands cradle my waist, and he explores my mouth like a man returning home after a long trip.
That annoying sound some phone cameras make ricochets through my subconscious. With it comes the realization that not only are Beck and I in a compromising situation, but we are no longer alone.
I break off the kiss as the horror sets in. There’s a flash as someone darts around the curve in the path, but they’re past the trees before I catch more than a glimpse.
“Bloody hell. They’ll burn us alive,” I say, and press my fingers to my temples.
“Should I run after him?” Beck asks.
“No need.” A very angry Henry rounds the bend, the shirt of a young man clasped in his fist. “Give it to me.” He holds out his free hand, palm up. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The kid grimaces and pulls his phone out. After placing it in Henry’s hand, he says, “I didn’t mean any harm, Your Royal Highness.” It’s surprising the guy hasn’t toppled over from the weight of Henry’s glare.
Henry shoves the phone into his jacket pocket. “Don’t you ever,” he says, his teeth clenched tightly, “take another photo of her, or I’ll see to it you lose both thumbs.” He shoves at the same time as he releases his hold, and the kid goes stumbling back the way he came.
Tension is rolling off Beck in waves. This is his worst nightmare. He won’t even ask for an adjustment of his receipt at the grocery store if they charge him for two gallons of milk instead of one.
“Henry, don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” I say. “You didn’t have to threaten him.”
“You’d prefer I left him to sell the photos to the highest bidder?” He levels his gaze on Beck. “It’s time for you to leave.”
Beck leans toward me. “Do you want me to stay?”