20. Galahad
Galahad
“She never said a word,” Grace said, pivoting at the dresser and heading back toward the window.
“Not to my dad, not to my mom, not to me. I told her everything—every crush, every bad grade, every stupid mistake I ever made. And she—” She gestured sharply.
“She kept this whole other person locked away.”
The guest room was small, but a hair larger than our hotel room in Paris. Window, dresser, chair in the corner, bed. Grace had already changed into flannel pajama pants and a worn T-shirt, her face clean, and her hair pulled back.
I checked the window lock. Scanned the tree line beyond the glass. Nothing moved. Jean’s property was quiet. Not the kind of quiet that preceded danger or an attack, but the kind of quiet that normally settled my nerves.
“But also—” She stopped mid-pace, turning to face me.
“If she was Delphine—if she was in Marseille during the war—what was she doing there? The letter said she was brave. Someone gave her a Fabergé egg because she was brave. What does that even mean? Did she lie about being in London? Did she lie about the Blitz? Were any of those stories real? Was she even British to start with?”
She’d had three glasses of wine, but she wasn’t wavering or acting drunk. Her speech wasn’t slurred. She should have been ready for sleep. Instead, she was pacing the length of the room as if she might vibrate out of her skin.
“We’ll know more tomorrow.”
“I know. I know we will. It’s—” She started pacing again. “My whole life, I thought I knew her. And now there’s this whole other story, this whole other person, and she’s gone, and I can’t ask her, and?—”
“Grace.”
She stopped.
“You should try to sleep. Jean’s contact will get back to him, and we’ll have more information tomorrow. We can’t do anything about it tonight.”
She scrubbed her hands over her face and let her shoulders fall. “I know.”
I pulled back the thick duvet on the bed and waved her in. “Get some sleep.”
“What about you?” she asked as she got in, sliding her legs under the covers. “Where are you sleeping? Not on the couch again?”
“Yes, on the couch in the main room.”
“You’ve barely slept in days, Garrett.” She settled her hands in her lap. “Why don’t you stay in here?”
“I don’t sleep well in chairs.”
“The bed’s big enough for two people.” It was a standard double, maybe. Enough room for two people who didn’t mind being close. “I trust you.”
“I’ll sleep well enough on the couch.” More likely, I’d spend another night dozing in fifteen- to thirty-minute intervals, then check the locks, look out the windows, and open my laptop. I was on a job, not touring Europe for fun.
“You’re too tall for that couch, too.” Goddamn, the innocence in her face. The flush on her cheeks.
I wanted to cave in to everything she offered, but if I lay down next to her, she’d feel how my body wanted something other than sleep. And you can’t do that, Garrett. Be Galahad, for once. “I’ve slept in worse places, Grace. I’ll be fine.”
For a moment, I thought she’d argue or push back the way she so often did.
But she let her shoulders soften again. Had it been an invitation for more?
No. She was sweet and kind. She was thoughtful and positive.
She offered her heart and soul to the people around her, and that’s all this was.
She wanted me to sleep and would sacrifice her own to ensure it happened.
I moved toward the door. “Good night.”
“Garrett?”
I stopped.
“Can you just... stay? Until I fall asleep?” She pulled the duvet up to her waist, still sitting. “I don’t want to be alone with my head right now.”
I should have said no. Should have walked out, put a door between us, and found the couch. But I crossed to the lamp on the nightstand and switched it off. Moonlight spilled through the window, turning everything to silver and shadow. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
We sat in silence for a while, the patterns on the bed shifting as clouds covered the moon.
What was I doing? I was letting her in, which was dangerous.
But she’d discovered so much tonight; her world had been completely shaken.
She was safe here, which meant I could offer her the comfort she needed.
“Lie down,” I whispered. “You can’t sleep sitting up.”
She slid her legs further down the bed and put her head on the pillow. Like the last two nights, she curled up on her right side, facing me. Her voice was soft in the darkness. “You never talk about your family. Do you have any?”
“Nothing to talk about. Parents are gone. No siblings.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged, though she probably couldn’t see it. “It was a long time ago.”
“Were you close with them?”
“My mother.”
“What was she like?”
The question landed hard inside my chest. I should have left. Should have sat on the other side of the bed at least, so she wasn’t looking at me, even though my face was in shadow.
“I bet she was beautiful.”
“She was.” Memories of better times floated through my mind.
Little moments like back-to-school shopping, hikes in the woods, or pancakes on Saturday mornings.
Birthday parties, her smile, and the time we got stuck in the rain walking home after I crashed my bike. “She was also kind. Maybe too kind.”
“What do you mean, too kind?”
The memories twisted. Her long brown hair caked with blood. I tried to hang onto the older ones, before he’d started drinking. “She stayed in situations she shouldn’t have. Kept believing things would get better.”
Grace’s hand found mine in the darkness. Her fingers slid between mine, offering me the same anchor I’d given her on the plane. “And they didn’t?”
“No.” Why was I talking to her about this? Because she needed to hear it, so she’d grasp her carefree way was a path to pain? Or because she reminded me so much of the better times that I wanted to hang onto them? “She was wrong. She was so fucking wrong.”
Her thumb traced across my knuckles, slow and gentle. “Is that why you’re so protective?”
Overprotective, Carissa had said. Of course she had, because she’d had a good childhood, full of rainbows and fucking unicorns, and she didn’t understand the shit world we lived in. What was wrong with trying to watch out for the woman I loved? Even if she hadn’t loved me enough to stay faithful?
“Garrett?”
I turned my head.
She’d pushed herself up on one elbow, facing me. My eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light, so I could just see her silhouette. She rose further, until she was sitting beside me.
Letting go of my hand, she wrapped her arms around me.
Hugged me. The same way I’d thought about hugging her every time she’d blinked away tears, while her world slowly unraveled.
She was my job, my protectee, but for some unknown reason, my hand finally did what it had been itching to do for days, and it wrapped around her.
Who was comforting whom now?
My mother had kissed my bruised knee, told me we’d get an ice cream, and we’d walked home in the rain. I’d loved her so much, my heart ached, but I’d forgotten that memory. Too many of the bad ones had been crowding it out for years. Grace Laurent apparently had some sort of magic inside of her.
She loosened her grip on me, but as she backed out of the hug, she pressed her lips to my cheek. It was brief. Nothing more than her mouth against my skin for a moment before she pulled away.
Her smile was in my head. Those bright green eyes I could imagine glinting in the moonlight. She was so close. Close enough I could smell her toothpaste and the lavender from Jean’s soap she’d used. Close enough I could see the way her lips parted slightly as she looked at me.
Don’t, Garrett.
My arm was still around her.
Let go. Stand up and walk out and?—
She leaned closer and kissed me. Her mouth on mine, soft at first. Questioning. Asking me with her body if I wanted her and giving me every opportunity to say no.
Say no, Garrett.
I parted my lips, and let my tongue taste hers.
My free hand came up to cup her jaw, and I let my fingers slide into her hair. She made a quiet sound against my mouth that went straight through me. Under the toothpaste, she still tasted like wine and the chocolate mousse Jean had prepared for us. And when she leaned into me, I pulled her closer.
I’d been trying not to want her. I’d been fighting the attraction since the moment Tristan mentioned that she was single. The way she fit against me as though she belonged there. The way every ounce of her was warm, like she was fucking sunshine trying to defrost every icy wall I’d ever built.
I deepened the kiss, and she matched me, heating my blood. Her fingers curled around my shoulder, and I wanted to lie her back on this bed and learn every fucking part of her. Then her fingers were in my beard, raking her short nails along my jaw, and I could have exploded right then and there.
Stop.
No. I kept kissing her. Her mouth, the corner of her lips, back to her mouth again.
Stop!
I broke the kiss. Pulled away. My hand was still in her hair, and I forced it to let go. Made myself stand.
“Garrett—”
“I should check the doors.” You don’t deserve her, Garrett.
“Wait—”
“Get some sleep, Grace.” I walked out of the room before she could say anything else. Before I could look at her face and see whatever was there and lose my resolve entirely.
The hallway was dark. I stood outside the closed door and tried to slow my breathing.
It didn’t slow, but I made myself move. Down the hall to the main room, where the fire I’d built after we’d opened the egg had burned down to embers.
I checked the front door—locked. Checked the windows—secure.
Added a log to the fire and watched the flames catch.
Checked the back door. Returned to the front window and stared into the darkness.
I could still taste her. Could still feel my fingers in her hair. Could still hear the sound she’d made when I’d kissed her.
Fuck.