Chapter Four
Did he like it?
You scared my prized blue blood away.
You were done with him anyway. Did he cry?
Dylan said he was stoic.
Pity. I would’ve liked the footage.
You’ll have to find something else to wank to.
I have a few ideas.
—Text message exchange between two prepaid mobile numbers, 1:12 a.m., 1 February 2024
It’s well past two in the morning when, after a long debriefing with Singh, Kit finally unlocks the door to our flat and slips inside.
“There you are,” he says tiredly, and I fly to my feet and fling my arms around him, hugging him as tightly as I dare. Like he’s been injured, and I’m not sure where the open wounds are. Which isn’t far from the truth, metaphorically.
“Are you okay?” I say. He nods against my hair, pulling me to him until my body molds perfectly to his.
“They didn’t touch a hair on my head,” he promises, and while he’s trying to hide it, I can hear the weariness in his voice.
It’s not just exhaustion. It’s something else, too—that same something that sparked into existence when Dylan gave him that gift.
“Singh isn’t thrilled about the lack of intel, but it’s better than nothing. ”
I murmur my agreement into the soft shoulder of his undershirt, which smells faintly like his cologne. The button-down with the camera is gone. “Singh said something about Guy testing the waters. Waiting to see if Dylan was arrested before coming out of hiding.”
“The whole party was a test, I think. A test for me.” Kit sighs and rests his forehead against mine. “Singh also mentioned you watched the feeds with him.”
The worry in his voice is obvious, as if I’m the one who risked my life tonight. “I’ve had better evenings,” I admit, brushing my lips against his chapped ones. “Especially when Dylan showed up with that gun.”
Kit tenses. I’ve hit a nerve. “MI5 took it as soon as I got in the car. I doubt it was loaded—Dylan isn’t that stupid.”
“And it’s old, right? An antique?” I say, hoping this isn’t too much to scare him off the topic. “It can’t be all that deadly.”
Something flickers in Kit’s eyes—that same something as before. “Old, but likely still functioning,” he admits. “My father used to own an identical model. It doesn’t aim particularly well, but it’ll get the job done at close range.”
Close enough for Dylan to have been able to threaten Kit in that parlor. Close enough for Kit to have done the same. My realization must show on my face, because he tilts my chin upward, his deep brown eyes seeming to drink me in under the warm lamplight.
“Thank you for not coming tonight,” he says. “For not forcing the issue. I’m sure it was incredibly difficult being left behind, but if you’d been there…”
“I want to help next time,” I say, lacing our fingers together. “I want to be useful.”
“I know. I’m sorry. For making you feel useless, I mean. But I’m not sorry you weren’t there tonight, and I suppose I’m sorry for that—”
“Stop.” I manage a wry smile. “We’re a team, and I want to be part of that team with you. Not sidelined. That’s all.”
“Okay.” He kisses me again. “I’m sor—”
“Stop!” I protest, laughing now. I can feel his grin against my mouth, and as I turn away in a mock huff, he drapes himself over me from behind.
“Remind me again why we agreed to this,” he says, sounding more like himself than he has all evening.
“Because it would’ve taken MI5 months, maybe even years, to infiltrate Fox Rex,” I say as we walk as one ambling creature toward the bedroom. “And by then, half the family would probably be dead.”
“Right.” He buries his nose in my hair, letting me lead him. “I suppose they’re very, very lucky we love them.”
“Very lucky,” I agree, even though no one in the royal family knows we’re here, or that we’re doing this. And while it’s impossible to keep them in the dark forever, I’m dreading the day we have to come clean.
Once we reach our room, Kit sinks onto the bed and peers up at me, the hollows beneath his eyes so purple that it looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. “You still have your makeup on,” he murmurs, and I scowl.
“I probably look like a raccoon by now,” I say, rubbing my eye, but Kit brushes my hand away.
“Let me.”
He reaches toward my nightstand, where I keep a bottle of makeup remover and some cotton pads for the nights I’m too tired to wash my face. And while he’s preparing, I climb into his lap, one leg on either side of him.
“It was a rented party house, right?” I say. “There has to be some kind of paper trail with the owners, or a money trail Singh can follow—”
“I mentioned that to him already,” says Kit, soaking a cotton pad with some micellar water and gently wiping it across my cheek. “He’s checking it out, but he isn’t optimistic. It’s unlikely Guy Fawkes would slip on something so easily traceable.”
My shoulders slump as he dabs at my mascara. “They have to be based somewhere, right? Is it worth checking property records or…I don’t know. Pinging phones—”
“Fox Rex was banned by Oxford ages ago,” says Kit. “They haven’t got an official location, and it’s all cloak and dagger and word of mouth. No one knows who really runs it, and you can’t simply ask to join. You have to be invited. They take their privacy very seriously.”
“So you’re saying they probably wouldn’t have let me in even if I’d gone with you in disguise?” I say, deflating a little.
“I was questioned extensively, and my name was on the guest list. I doubt they would’ve taken kindly to anyone off the street trying to crash the party.”
“Give me a little credit,” I say, tucking a lock of his wavy hair behind his ear.
“I wouldn’t have been some random passerby—we would’ve met in a pub somewhere, or maybe in one of your classes, and I would’ve dazzled you with all of my witty banter and pointed political insights.
And now that you’re fresh off your breakup with that spoiled American brat, you’d be desperate to impress me so I’d offer you a distraction—”
“Oh?” says Kit, running the cotton pad over my jaw. “What sort of distraction?”
I lean forward until there’s only an inch or two between our lips. “A really, really good one.”
With one last gentle swipe down my neck, he sets the cotton pad aside, then brushes his lips against mine. “I’m afraid it doesn’t matter how witty or insightful this supposed new girl is,” he murmurs. “The only person capable of distracting me is you.”
A wave of warmth runs through me, and I melt into him, capturing his mouth in a burning kiss. He meets me with every bit of intensity, as if he’s been waiting for exactly the right moment to unleash a torrent of unspoken tension and relief, and I revel in every second.
When we finally part, we’re both breathing heavily, and his fingers are tangled in my hair while mine are latched onto the front of his shirt. We stare at each other, both seemingly bewildered, before he inhales deeply, as if trying to lasso his own libido.
“I—” he begins, in what sounds an awful lot like the start of an apology, but I’m already speaking, too, and I refuse to let him take this moment from both of us.
“I want to,” I say, and he blinks.
“Ev…” He swallows, as if it’s taking every ounce of self-control he possesses to keep talking. “You’ve been through a lot lately. We’ve both been through a lot, and everything that happened last year—”
“If you’re talking about Jasper,” I say, and he visibly winces, “then stop. Please. He’s done taking things from me—from us.
Right now, tonight—this is just you and me, okay?
No one else. And I want to. I’ve wanted to for a while.
I love you,” I say as he opens his mouth again.
“And even if it’s…weird or awkward or uncomfortable…
I still want to try, okay? With you. And I want to keep trying until it’s wonderful, because I know it will be.
Because it’s you, and even the weird and awkward and uncomfortable in my life is a damn good time when you’re there with me. ”
Kit’s Adam’s apple bobs, and his thumb strokes my jaw as his gaze searches mine. “I want it to be perfect for you,” he says softly. “Not some…adrenaline-induced whim after a rotten night.”
“The only way it wouldn’t be perfect,” I say, in what might actually be the cheesiest true sentence to ever leave my lips, “is if you aren’t there.”
Kit swallows once more, but this time he rests his forehead against mine. “You’re sure? You can’t take it back.”
“I won’t want to,” I promise. “Even if it’s the worst thing about tonight—which it won’t be—I just want to be with you.”
Silence settles between us, heavy and heady, but at last Kit’s hand slowly slides down to my shoulder, where my bra strap is peeking through the collar of my shirt. “All right,” he says. “We can try. But if you have any…moments or flashbacks or…”
“I’ll tell you,” I promise, even though I meant what I said. I refuse to let Jasper Cunningham take this from us, too. “I think Tibby packed an entire pharmacy’s supply of condoms in my duffel bag.”
Kit clears his throat. “I have my own, if that’s…?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say quickly. “Better to keep Tibby guessing anyway.” The last thing I need is the third degree from her after she inevitably inspects the contents of my luggage. “You’ve, um…you’ve done this before, right?”
I expect him to squirm, or maybe dodge the question and go get his supply, wherever he’s stashed it. But instead he stares directly into my eyes, no hint of embarrassment or uncertainty on his face.
“Yes,” he says, his fingertips stilling against my skin. “Does that bother you?”
I think about it—about our conversation earlier that day, when I was looking through the gallery on the Regal Record of Kit and his old girlfriends, or one-night stands, or situationships I don’t want to acknowledge.
But he’s with me now. And somewhere deep inside, I know he always will be, even if the part of me that’s been disappointed and abandoned and heartbroken again and again can’t admit it to myself yet.
People may not be permanent, but Kit is.