Chapter 36 #3
We’re a hundred meters out when I hear the first shout from shore. In the mirror, I see the boat owner sprinting down the dock, his wife still by the trailer. But we’re already picking up speed, the shore falling away as Nicholas opens the throttle.
The wind whips his chemically abused hair into even more chaos.
“You realize we’ve now stolen four vehicles in twenty-four hours. That might be some sort of royal Commonwealth record.”
“Not the record you were probably hoping to achieve,” I reply, checking behind us for pursuit.
“I guess, though technically, it’s only theft if we get caught. Otherwise, it’s just aggressive borrowing with a delayed return policy.”
I’m fairly sure there is only one man on the planet who can make me laugh in this situation, and it’s him.
The sound of my laughter makes Nicholas duck his head, but not before I catch the way his whole body seems to soften.
Out here on the water, with the sun glinting off the lake’s surface and the mountains rising in the distance, we could almost be just two men on an adventure together.
These glimpses of what life could be like for us are making me almost ache. Because I want that so much. I want to experience everything in life with this man by my side.
Once we’re solidly in the center of the lake, Nicholas pulls out the burner phone.
“You’ll have to take over,” he says, already sliding sideways. “I need to call Callum and Oliver.”
We switch positions in an awkward dance of elbows and knees.
Nicholas shields the phone from spray as he dials, and I ease back on the throttle, letting us drift while he makes the call.
“Callum?” His voice has a clipped quality. “Yes, we’re—no, we’re fine. Had a bit of excitement with the local constabulary, but—”
He listens, his expression shifting through several complicated emotions.
“How soon?” A pause. “And Grandmother agreed? Bloody hell. I mean, wonderful—”
He meets my eyes, his expression triumphant.
“Yes, yes, we understand the timing. Just make sure the announcement hits every major outlet simultaneously.” He pauses, listening for a bit. “That sounds fabulous. And, Callum? Thank you. Tell Oliver his negotiating skills are about to make history. Literally.”
Another pause.
“Of course I’m being careful. I have a very competent Irishman ensuring my safety. Love to you both.”
Nicholas ends the call and turns to me. His face is flushed with a kind of wild adrenaline.
“Two hours. They’re just putting everything together now, but they should be announcing the establishment of the Royal Foundation for Colonial Reparations in roughly two hours.
Initial funding of seven billion pounds from the Crown Estate, with commitments from seven other aristocratic families, including Harry Matheson’s family, to total twelve billion. ”
Christ. My brain struggles to wrap itself around that many zeros. Twelve billion. It’s not enough, could never be enough, to balance centuries of resource extraction and exploitation. But it’s a start. It’s an acknowledgment.
“The Preston-Alexanders?” I ask.
His smile turns sharp. “Mother’s family has committed to providing eight hundred million so far.
Apparently, they were given the choice between making a voluntary contribution or having their colonial profit history published in excruciating detail.
” His voice carries dark satisfaction. “Oliver can be remarkably persuasive when he chooses.”
“That’s amazing.”
“I know. I can’t believe we did it.”
“You did it. It was your idea, your plan.”
“We did it.” He meets my gaze. “We did it together.”
The hope inside me is almost painful now.
I have to turn away, fixing my gaze on where the lake meets the land, the water so still it creates a perfect mirror of the volcanoes lurking behind. It’s like nature’s own magic trick.
Two hours. We just need to stay free for two more hours, and then maybe, just maybe, Pierce and his people will accept that they’ve achieved their goal without actually having to kidnap Nicholas.
And then maybe we can stop running long enough to sort everything out between us.
But just as that thought goes through my head, movement in my peripheral vision makes my spine go rigid.
“Nicholas,” I say, but he’s already turning, following my gaze.
Three boats are approaching us from different directions, moving with too much purpose to be recreational. They’re still distant, but closing in a pattern that speaks of coordination.
Of hunting.
“Well,” Nicholas says with his aristocratic drawl, “I suppose it was too much to hope they’d wait for the official announcement.”
My blood turns to ice.
Fear claws up my throat, raw and choking.
Not for me.
For him.
Three boats mean at least six men, probably more. They’ll be armed and professional.
And they want Nicholas.
But the math is simple. They’ll have to go through me first.
I push the throttle of our boat, causing it to leap ahead as I angle us toward the deepest part of the lake.
Behind us, our pursuers match our speed, and I know with cold certainty that their boats are faster, their engines more powerful.
We’re going to run out of water. Out of time. Out of options.