24. “Thinking of You” - Katy Perry
“Thinking of You” - Katy Perry
It’s time to face the mess that is my life head-on, like an adult. If I can just pretend it’s a haphazardly cluttered filing cabinet, I’ll be able to get it sorted in no time.
The first order of business is finally giving Beck an answer.
It’s been weeks since that day in the park, and I promised him I’d call.
I had every intention of doing so, but the coronation is less than two months away, which is code for I’ve been so busy I’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone contemplate my love life—or lack thereof.
I thought the wedding was bad, but preparing for a coronation makes it seem like a backyard barbecue. Fortunately, my mother has to keep her fingers out of this event. My presence and opinion are required for nearly everything, though, from the crowns to the chairs to the carriages.
I briefly contemplate taking the coward’s way out and telling Beck I’ve been too busy to give his proposition serious thought.
But I’m desperate to get out of here and away from the gold filigree on everything in sight.
So I ask him to meet me an hour outside the city, in a large forest where, this time, we can be sure no cameras are lurking.
Worthington Park is a small estate belonging to my mother’s family, now occupied by her oldest brother. Bea and I spent part of every summer holiday there when we were kids, back when my grandfather was still alive. We stopped going after my father died, and I haven’t been back since.
Maisie found me a discreet driver and told him that I need a long, refreshing hike on my own. I text the directions to Beck, hoping my memory serves me well and doesn’t get him lost in the woods. He agrees to come. The obstacles have all been slain, except for one.
I don’t have a clue what I’m going to tell him.
There is a turnoff before the main drive to the manor house, and my chauffeur drops me off there, the small trail visible through the underbrush. “I don’t know about leaving you here on your own, Your Royal Highness,” he says. I’ve assured him I have a ride back to the city.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve hiked this trail so many times I know it like the back of my hand.” It’s the truth, if you end the sentence at trail. I have hiked this trail, yes. Back when I was thirteen.
I fill my lungs with the spirituous scent of damp earth and rotting wood.
There is nothing like the forest to remind you there’s a world outside your own.
I give one last reassuring wave to the driver, who still looks like he’s afraid he’ll lose his job over this, and set off on the path leading deeper into the wood, my wellies crunching on dead leaves and pine needles.
I walk for a bit before circling back to wait for Beck in the thick covering of the forest. His car pulls into the gravel driveway just a few minutes after my driver has left. I step out to greet him, my heart hammering in my chest.
I offer a tentative smile. “Thank you for coming.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?” He pulls me into his warm embrace and presses a kiss to the top of my head. The gesture is so familiar it makes me ache.
I lead the way to the trail and stuff my hands into the pockets of my canvas jacket.
The temperature in the woods is at least ten degrees cooler than in the sunshine.
The air in my lungs feels strangely void of oxygen, and I’m transported back in time to a similar feeling I had as I sat in his apartment and ripped both of our lives to shreds.
“You never called.” His voice sounds loud in the hush of the forest.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.” I seem to have a propensity for half-truths today.
“I meant what I said that day in the park. I want you in my life, Celia, any way I can get you.”
I gnaw on my bottom lip, wishing there was a way to make everyone happy. Whenever I turn around, I disappoint people. It’s exhausting. Finally, here’s a chance to please one person. And so help me god, I’m taking it. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
Beck stops walking, and I look over to find him studying me, an expression of mild disbelief on his face. “You’re serious? You want to start an affair?”
“Sure, why not?”
His frown deepens. “Okay,” he says, stepping closer.
He places his hands on my waist and tugs until our bodies are touching.
Then he dips his head and kisses me. His mouth is cool and tastes like the cinnamon Altoids he pops every hour.
My lips follow his lead, performing a dance they’ve done many times before.
As the seconds tick by, the ache in my heart grows stronger and stronger, until I’m sure it will burst.
He pulls away. The frown is back on his face, and his eyes search mine for an explanation. Words have become foreign to my tongue, and I dream of the ground opening and swallowing me up.
“What’s wrong?” There’s a plea hidden in his words.
I shake my head. “Nothing. What do you mean?” It’s the wrong thing to say. Because I don’t want him to explain, to vocalize what we both already know. “Come on,” I add before he can answer. “Let’s keep going. There’s a small waterfall about a mile down the trail.”
Beck follows me, but so does the chilly tension between us. The only sound is the crunching of our feet on the path and the forest teeming with life. The waterfall is beautiful, but it does nothing to ease the crackling strain in the air.
I move to continue walking, but Beck pulls me onto a large rock beside him. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t actually want to do this?”
I scratch at a speck of mud on my trousers. “I do want to. I’m just afraid of rumors getting out.”
“And you’re sure that’s all that’s bothering you?”
“I’m sure. You can’t imagine the pressure I’ve been under.”
“It’s not too late to walk away,” he tells me.
“You know I could never do that.”
He doesn’t say anything, just looks out at the trees surrounding us. After several minutes, he offers his hand and pulls me to my feet. “And you’re not afraid of going to hell for our debauchery?”
If I get sent to hell, it will not be for anything pertaining to Beck. Our love is too sweet, too pure for that. I rise on tiptoes and press my lips against his before any memories can quell the urge. “What debauchery?”
The light has waned, the tree cover bringing evening on much faster. Birds call to their mates to let them know dinner is served. We’ve been wandering for nearly two hours when Beck glances around and says, “You do know where we are, right?”
“Of course,” I reply automatically. The gravel car park should be coming into view any second now, and . . .
I turn around. The trees we just passed look familiar, I think. Didn’t we walk this way earlier?
The more I study the forest, the less convinced I become. Everything looks the same, and in the quickly diminishing light, it’s becoming harder to discern differences.
I meet Beck’s gaze. “I lied. I don’t have a clue where we are.”
He takes a seat on a fallen log and pulls his phone out of his pocket. After a moment, he says, “There’s no service out here. I can’t get the GPS to connect.”
“Let me try mine.” I pull up my map app, but he’s right. We are isolated in a forest with no signal. “I am so sorry,” I say, and sit down beside him. “I will fix this, don’t worry.”
I don’t have enough service to make a phone call, but maybe I can get a text through. After typing out the gist of our situation, I climb as high as I can on the log and hold my phone up, praying the message will send.
It eventually does, and I rejoin Beck. “I texted Maisie. She’ll find someone to get us out of here.” Although the more I think about it, the more unsure I am that anyone will be able to find us.
“Do you think we can retrace our steps?” I ask, looking back the way we came.
Beck seems doubtful but agrees to try. I never should have suggested we venture this far. “I’m sorry,” I say again.
“For what?”
“For getting us lost. For dragging you out here. For everything.”
He helps me across a large mud puddle in the middle of the trail, then takes my face in his hands. Warmth and security pool in my belly. “You don’t need to apologize for anything,” he tells me, lowering his lips to mine once more.
I despise the numbness that steals over me, and I decide then and there to kiss him with everything I have. I weave my fingers through his silky hair and draw him closer—not an easy feat, since he’s a good twelve inches taller than me.
Ever the gentleman, Beck’s hands never stray from my face and hips.
He kisses me gently, like I’m a delicate china teacup that will break if he does more than brush my skin.
Has it always been like this? This June-and-Ward-Cleaver act, with their twin beds and “Hello dear, how was your day?” Is this what I’ve always wanted?
I try encouraging him to ramp up the enthusiasm, but he must misread my signals, because he releases me with a sheepish chuckle.
“We should keep going.”
“Or we could spend the night on the forest floor,” I say, giving him my best attempt at a flirty look. I need this to work. If it unravels, there will be nothing left to hold me together.
He grabs my hand and tugs me along the path. “As tempting as that sounds, I’d better not risk the fallout of keeping the queen-in-waiting out overnight. And in the woods, no less.”
We walk for thirty minutes before finally admitting that we’re likely no closer to his car than when we started. The forest is inky and mysterious—a completely different creature after sunset. The chill, which felt so good against my skin earlier, has morphed into a cold that has numbed my toes.
Beck suggests trying to find a road instead. “Roads mean people, and people mean phones.”
“Yes, but people also mean cameras and bad press,” I remind him.
“I’ll take a nasty tabloid article over being stuck out here until morning. Come on,” he says. “I think I hear traffic.”
He leads the way toward the sound, and before long we can see the flash of headlights through a break in the trees. I have to admit, news story or not, I’m elated at the prospect of escaping the forest.
“You stay here,” he instructs. “I’ll flag down a car. I won’t be recognized. They might be willing to drive us, or at the very least tell us where we are.” He scrambles through the underbrush and is gone.
I can’t see my clothing in the dark, but I’m pretty sure I’m not recognizable in this state either.
Waiting on Beck proves arduous, and I’m just about to walk out myself, bad press be damned, when he reappears in the shadows.
“I thought you said you texted your secretary,” he mutters.
“I did.”
Without another word of explanation, he helps me shimmy through the scratchy overgrowth. I stumble out onto the grassy strip beside the country road. Our rescuer is still in the car, their headlights blinding me.
It isn’t until I’m climbing into the back seat that I realize exactly who has come to our aid.
And with that realization come equal amounts of anger, relief, and an electric buzz that makes me a little nervous to touch metal.