Chapter 5
Chapter Five
ANDI
I watch Reece walk down the street, but he doesn’t turn to look back or wave. He crosses the road diagonally before he reaches the corner, as if he can’t wait to get away from me, then disappears beyond the houses.
With a deep sigh, I step carefully over the high threshold and hurry back down the steps. Running my hand around the massive column with the street number painted on it, I pivot to the right and stride along the sidewalk to a little gate in the iron fence. It opens onto a tiny platform at the top of metal steps. Casting one last look at the street to make sure Reece is gone, I clatter down to the door at the bottom.
Light glows from the large bay windows on my left. It’s so close, if I reached out, I could tap on the glass. On the right is our tiny window, half obscured by the stairs. At the bottom of the steps, I use my phone to unlock the door under the stone porch and step into the long, narrow hall. To my left, it widens a bit once it’s inside the building proper, leading to the lower-level apartment with the bay window and staircase up to the rest of the building. The coin-operated laundry is tucked into a tiny room a bit farther on, and another apartment takes up the back part of the narrow house. I could have come down the steps from the entry, but this way is closer.
Our apartment is under the street. Or at least under the sidewalk. To my right, there’s a single, low door. So low that Celeste has to duck to get through, although the top of my head barely clears the lintel. I roll in the combination on the little lockbox mounted beside the door and pull our key from inside. I have to fight with this door each time I try to open it. There’s no knob—just two independent locks, one at chin level and one near my hips, and a weird little metal tab below the top lock. I can never seem to turn the right key the right way, so I have to try all four combinations before I can get the door open.
Before I get it unlocked, loud footfalls pound down the stairs behind me. Spinning, I cringe away from a glaring Celeste thundering through the narrow hallway, like a bull coming down the chute at a rodeo. She gives me a long, hard look, then pushes past to wrestle open the door to our miniscule place.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t plan to run away—” I move inside, almost chest-to-back with her to give the door space to swing shut. On the far wall—far being a direction, not a distance—a bunk bed fills most of the space with a foot-wide folding table and two flimsy chairs tucked into the tiny corner at the end. Beneath the little window to my right and across from the table, our kitchenette includes a small sink, a fridge beneath the counter, and a coffee machine. A single cabinet beyond the window houses a pair of mugs, bowls, plates, and wine glasses. To my left is a door with a step up into a bathroom so small it makes train toilets look spacious.
Once the door is closed, Celeste drops onto the bottom bunk, giving me space to move. I slip off my shoes and tuck them beneath the tiny wardrobe at the end of the bunk. Sliding the stacked chairs as far into the corner as they’ll go, I fold down the table so I can open the cupboard, then peer around the door. “I am sorry, Celeste.”
My security agent grunts in answer—sounding remarkably like Reece. Then she bends over to untie her shoes.
In silence, we change into our pajamas, brush our teeth, and get ready for bed. When I’m safely ensconced in the upper bunk, Celeste turns out the light, leaving only the dim reading lamps above our headboards. I yawn and flip mine off. Celeste does the same, and darkness falls until our eyes adjust to the surprisingly bright glow from our little window. I double-check that the shade is drawn, then roll onto my back. “Are you going to ignore me all night?”
Silence.
I guess she is.
I’m sorry I upset her, but even with the incident on the bridge, I don’t regret my illicit night of freedom. Not that we did anything remotely special. A tiny part of me pines for a true Roman Holiday style adventure, but I’m not Audrey Hepburn. For one thing, much as I dislike always having Celeste in tow, I have way more freedom than Audrey’s character did.
“I’m going home,” Celeste mutters.
I need a second to process that. “Home? I’m not ready to go back.”
Celeste’s voice is so low, I have to lift my head away from the pillow to hear her. “You aren’t going with me. In the morning, I’m requesting a replacement.”
I sit up and bash my skull against the ceiling. Biting back a whimper of pain, I fall to my back again. “I said I’m sorry, Celeste. I don’t want a replacement. You’re my favorite.”
“Believe it or not, Princess, this isn’t about you. Or, it is, but—” She sighs. “I have a job to do, and you’re making that job almost impossible. Worse, I’ve allowed my frustration to interfere with my ability to do that job. If I’d been doing it properly, I wouldn’t have let myself be distracted by that annoying woman. I nearly missed you sneaking out the back exit.”
“That’s not your fault! Who expects a second door in the ladies’ room?” I roll to my side and prop myself up on an elbow. “Wait, you saw me?”
“Of course I saw you. My job is to anticipate surprises—and I’ve worked with you a long time. I knew you were getting restless and have been expecting you to bolt for days.”
I drop to my stomach and lean over the edge of the bunk to peer down at her. Despite the glow from the window, the shadows are too deep for my gaze to penetrate. “You expected me to run?”
“Yes. But I let you have a head start when I shouldn’t have. And then that woman—did you tell her to physically stop me?”
I gulp. “I didn’t actually tell her to do anything. She thought she was saving me from an abusive relationship. Did she attack you?”
She huffs out a cold laugh. “Attack is a strong word. She…impeded me by latching on like a koala on eucalyptus. I probably have bruises.”
An image of the woman with her tight skirt hiked up, arms and legs wrapped around Celeste’s body, makes me giggle, but I cover it with a cough. “I’m so, so sorry! I tried to talk her out of it.”
“It was nothing. The real problem is I empathize with your need for independence. I’ve clearly allowed my emotions to interfere with my decision-making, and that means you aren’t protected. And if you aren’t protected, you’re a potential threat to the sovereignty of the country. You could be kidnapped and exploited. Besides?—”
She shifts, shaking the bed frame. “I like my job. No, I love my job. My inability to squash your behavior makes that job almost impossible which puts your life—not to mention my employment—in jeopardy. Would you hire a bodyguard who can’t keep tabs on their principle? I need to go back to Freiberg where the royals know how to follow the rules.”
I don’t want Celeste to leave. The other protection specialists are so much more strict. And besides, I genuinely like her as a person. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”
“I know.” Her voice softens. “You’re impulsive, and you’ve had a lot of freedom in both Freiberg and Rotheberg. But the world is a dangerous place. You need protection out here. And I’m not doing the job.”
I roll away from the edge and flop onto my back. “No one can do this job. I say I’ll be good, but we both know that won’t last. I thought giving up my title would let me be ‘normal,’ but it won’t, will it? I’ll always have to be careful. And I’m rubbish at that.”
“You can change if you want to, Princess. But if you do, will you still be you?”