Let Your Hair Down (Almost Royal Book 3)

by Rachel Lacey

  She walked to the window and looked out, hugging herself against the chill in the air. Below, people strolled by on the street, so leisurely compared to the way Americans walked. No one rushed. Couples walked arm-in-arm, talking and gazing at each other affectionately. An elderly woman paused to wave to someone across the street before crossing to talk to them.

  Please let me feel better tomorrow so I can go out and experience the rest of Paris.

  The tour bus this afternoon had been a poor substitute for exploring the city on her own, but she’d needed to rest if she hoped to kick this thing before it kicked her, so she’d opted to sit idly in climate-controlled comfort while the bus took her around the city. She’d even worn a mask to protect herself from germs.

  Tomorrow will be better.

  She washed up for the night and climbed into bed, taking that sentiment with her as she drifted into a deep, drugged sleep.

  Flynn spent a quiet day at his laptop, working on the blueprints for Aidan’s house. He sat at the desk in his hotel room, breaking only briefly for food and to stretch his legs. By dinnertime, the design was nearly complete. The house was sleek and modern, yet rustic enough to fit seamlessly into its surroundings. It had all come together nicely, and truth be told, he was feeling pretty damn good about what he’d created.

  He ordered himself a sandwich from the restaurant downstairs and turned to his phone. After avoiding it for most of the day, he finally gave in to his curiosity. He wanted to see what Ruby was up to in Paris today, even if it hurt to know he wasn’t there with her. When he typed in her hashtag, though, nothing new popped up since her photos from the bus tour yesterday. That was unusual. She’d been photo-documenting every moment of her trip up until now. Why hadn’t she posted pictures of her adventures today?

  He frowned, as the feeling that had been nagging at the back of his subconscious since their phone call last night finally broke through. She hadn’t sounded like herself. Something had felt…off. Combined with her lack of photos today, he couldn’t help the frisson of worry that snaked its way through him.

  They’d said goodbye last night. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t contact her again. And he was going to honor that promise, just as soon as he made sure she was okay.

  Missed seeing your photos today. Hope all’s well! He typed the message and sent it before he could change his mind. He expected Ruby shoot back a coy response about how she’d spent the day in bed reading or at the rooftop pool, maybe that she’d decided to take a break from social media.

  Instead, he was met with silence.

  That didn’t necessarily mean anything. At this time of night, she might be out to dinner with her phone at the bottom of her purse. Maybe she’d lost her phone. That wasn’t a comforting thought, but it wasn’t especially horrible, either. Ruby was a resourceful woman. She’d get herself set up with a new one in no time.

  He ate his supper, took a shower, and stretched out in bed to watch some television. Still no response from Ruby. There were a million reasons for her not to reply, the most innocent of which being that she might just not want to talk to him. But he had a hard time believing she’d ignore him entirely. Surely, she’d politely tell him to piss off if that were the case.

  His chest tightened uncomfortably. She was all alone in a foreign country, a country where she didn’t even speak the language, and as far as he knew, no one had seen or heard from her now in almost twenty-four hours. What if something had happened?

  He wished he knew how to contact one of her friends. Surely, they’d also noticed her lack of social media content today. Probably—hopefully—they even knew the reason why. After he’d tried in vain to concentrate on the comedy on his TV screen for about fifteen minutes, he finally gave in and picked up his phone. Best to call now before it got too late.

  It rang three times, long enough that he felt the knot in his chest tighten into real fear, before he heard a click and Ruby’s voice.

  “I was just about to text you back, you know.” She sounded different, like she was congested. He’d never even considered the possibility that she might be sick.

  “Is that so?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light so she wouldn’t hear how worried he’d been.

  “Yes. I was taking a bath, and I was in there longer than I realized. I just saw your message.” There was a muffled sound, like she was trying to stifle a cough.

  “Are you sick?” he asked.

  “Just a cough. I’m okay.”

  He remembered the night they met when they sat together in the gardens of the Langdon estate, she’d told him about a condition that affected her immune system and how she’d been too sick to attend school as a child. He was under the impression she was much better now, but he also remembered her saying that she still had to be careful about her health. “Is it just a cough?” he asked carefully.

  She sighed, as if she’d already been over this a million times, and she probably had, because if he’d been worried, no doubt her friends and family were too. “No, but I went back to the clinic this morning and got chest X-rays and antibiotics. Believe me, I take my health very seriously. When you have a compromised immune system, you don’t get to screw around, even with a simple cough. But I’ve got it all under control.”

  “Chest X-rays?” That sounded a lot more serious than a simple cough.

  “I’m very prone to pneumonia,” she told him in a resigned tone. “But we caught it really early. The antibiotics should knock it right out.”

  “Pneumonia,” he repeated. “Ruby…”

  “It’s really not as bad as it sounds.” Behind the hoarseness, her voice was coated in steel. “I’ve dealt with this so many times, I know the drill by heart.”

  “Are you flying home early?” he asked.

  Another sigh, this time ending in a deep, wracking cough. “I’m actually not allowed to fly right now. Apparently, changes in air pressure in the cabin could be bad for my lungs.”

  “Is anyone with you?”

  “No. I told them the same thing I’m about to tell you. I’m really and truly capable of taking care of myself. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

  “Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” he said gently. “And I’m a lot closer than any of your other friends and family. I also have access to a private jet.”

  Muffled laughter carried over the line. “Of course, you do.”

  “So?”

  “Thank you, but no.”

  “Would you let me fly one of your friends over to stay with you? Or your mom?”

  “You would do that?”

  “Of course, I would. I can’t stand the thought of you being all alone and sick in Paris. Honestly, I can’t believe someone didn’t insist on coming over to stay with you.”

  There was dead silence over the line.

  “Ruby, you did tell them you’re sick, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” she confirmed.

  “Then what?”

  “I might have lied and said you were going to check in on me.”

  “That settles it,” he said. “You’ve already virtually promised me to look after you. If anything were to happen, your family’s going to hold me accountable, right? So, I’d better be there to make good on that promise.”

  “That’s ridiculous, you know,” she said, but her tone had softened.

  “Not at all. I won’t get in your way, I promise. I’ll even book my own room. But you’ll have someone to bring you soup and ride with you if you have to go back to the clinic.”

  She coughed, and when she spoke again, her voice was raspier than ever. “I’m not at the hotel anymore.”

  “Where are you?” He sat upright, envisioning her in the hospital, an oxygen tube in her nose and an IV pinned to her hand.

  “I booked an Airbnb since I’m going to be stuck here for another two weeks or so,” she said quietly. “Now, I have a kitchen and laundry and stuff.”

  “Would you like me to get a hotel room nearby?” he asked carefu
lly, not wanting to overstep any bounds, since he was already sort of forcing this visit on her.

  “No,” she whispered. “It’s okay. You can stay here with me.”

  “All right, then. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  10

  Ruby was awakened by the doorbell, confused as she squinted at her phone, because Flynn wasn’t supposed to be here for another two hours. But when she shuffled downstairs to the door, a deliveryman stood there with a large paper sack, which he handed to her, speaking rapidly in French. She didn’t catch a single word, but the package was warm beneath her fingers, like it contained food.

  “Pardon,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t order anything. I think you’re at the wrong door.”

  He pointed at the receipt stapled to the bag, which had her name on it, before walking to a blue sedan parked at the curb. Ruby stood there for another moment in confusion before she closed the door and made her way slowly back upstairs to the little one bedroom flat she’d rented here in Paris until she could fly home.

  She paused at the top of the stairs, coughing and wheezing while she caught her breath, one hand pressed against her chest. Those stairs were killing her, but unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to find a ground floor rental on such short notice.

  Once she’d recovered, she bolted the door behind her and carried the package into the kitchen. What was it, and where had it come from? Inside, she found a large plastic container of soup and a loaf of French bread. Her stomach gurgled at the sight. Damn, that looked good. Her first thought was that Flynn had done this, but it could have easily come from her parents, her sister, or even Megan. Ruby knew they were all worrying about her.

  And while she was really and truly capable of handling this on her own, she also couldn’t deny that it would be nice to have someone else around, someone to hang out with while she was confined to her rented flat, someone to run down to the market and grab food or medicine so she didn’t have to go out herself. Plus, it would be good just to see him. She’d missed him…a lot.

  If only she was seeing him again for happier reasons. It definitely wasn’t ideal to let a man she’d recently slept with for the first time and liked more than anyone she’d dated in recent years to come take care of her when she looked and felt like shit. Her vanity cried at the injustice.

  But still, she couldn’t wait to see him.

  She pulled out a bowl from one of the cabinets and a ladle from the drawer next to the oven and scooped out a bowl of soup. She stirred, inhaling the scent of chicken and herbs. It seemed to be a French approximation of chicken noodle, and it smelled delicious. She pulled up a barstool to the counter and sat, ridiculously glad for a hot meal she hadn’t had to prepare herself.

  The soup was seasoned in a way she wasn’t used to but really liked, despite her compromised appetite. She’d eaten several spoonfuls when her phone began to ring. Her sister Liza’s name showed on the screen.

  “Hey,” she said as she connected the call.

  “How are you feeling?” Liza asked.

  “Pretty crummy, but nothing unexpected.” Ruby sipped from her soup.

  “Is Flynn there yet?” she asked.

  “No, but he will be soon.”

  “And you’re sure this is what you want? I could fly out. Or Mom. She’s having a fit knowing you’re stranded over there by yourself, you know.”

  “I know.” Ruby smiled into her soup. Her family knew as well as she did that she could handle a bout with pneumonia, but they worried. They’d always worried about her, and they always would. “Flynn’s great, really. I’ll be in good hands.”

  “You like him a lot, huh?” Liza asked.

  “I do.” Ruby stirred her spoon through the soup, watching as various herbs swirled across the surface. “I’m glad I’ll get to see him again before I come home.”

  “Well, be careful, and call me anytime,” Liza said. “And also call me to dish about you and Flynn, once you’re feeling a little better.”

  Ruby laughed, which turned into a fit of coughing. “Will do.”

  She and Liza wrapped up their conversation, and Ruby finished her soup. After she’d eaten, she took her medication and stood in a long, hot shower, letting the steam help break up the mucous in her lungs. Then, she spent the next fifteen minutes hunched over a box of tissues, coughing it all up. She’d just settled on the couch with her e-reader when the doorbell rang again.

  This time, it would be Flynn.

  Heat rolled through her belly, generating sparks that pinged through her whole body, flooding her with so much adrenaline that she was able to walk downstairs almost as quickly as a healthy person. She paused at the door, glancing down at her loose T-shirt and leggings, picturing her shower-damp hair and lack of makeup. Well, it couldn’t be helped.

  She pulled the door open. Flynn stood on her doorstep in jeans and an emerald green polo shirt, looking so ridiculously handsome her knees actually trembled at the sight.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.” He stepped forward, took her hands in his, and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for letting me come.”

  “You didn’t leave me much of a choice, did you?” she teased, but she was so glad to see him, she couldn’t put any heat into the words. She gestured for him to follow her up the stairs to her flat. He carried a black duffel bag and a briefcase, which he set down inside the door, looking around with interest.

  “Nice place.”

  She leaned against the doorway, taking shallow breaths as she recovered from the exertion of the stairs. “It is, especially considering I needed something so last minute.” The flat consisted of an open living space with a couch and a galley kitchen. There was a small row of windows near the ceiling that let in natural light. Two doors on the right-hand side of the room led to the bedroom and bath.

  “You look good, all things considered,” he said, one hand sliding through her hair to cup her cheek as he looked her over.

  “All things considered?” She led the way toward the couch.

  “I mean, you’re a little pale, but I was expecting you to look a lot sicker than you do.” He gave her one of those classic Flynn grins, the kind that had melted her resolve right from the first moment they met.

  “I’m not on my deathbed, I promise.” She curled up on the couch, pulling a throw blanket over herself as she settled against the pillow she’d put there earlier.

  “Shouldn’t you be in bed, though?”

  She shook her head, gesturing for him to sit with her. “I’m more comfortable here. It’s easier to keep my head elevated. If I lay flat, I cough more.” As if she’d jinxed herself with the words, she doubled over in a coughing fit, big, wracking coughs that left her gasping for breath.

  He sat beside her, rubbing her back until the spasms subsided. “Can I do anything? Get anything for you?” His gaze fell on the portable oxygen tank by the wall, and alarm flashed in his eyes.

  “I don’t use it much,” she told him. “It helps keep my oxygen levels up if I need to be on my feet for a while.”

  “Well, you won’t need to be now that I’m here,” he said resolutely, his hand still resting protectively on her back. “What can I do for you?”

  “Water would be nice, actually,” she murmured, clearing her throat as another cough bubbled up from her chest.

  He stood and went into the kitchen, returning a minute later with a glass of water, which she took gratefully.

  “Thank you.” She gulped down about half the glass and set it on the table in front of her. “Did you really fly here on a private jet?”

  He took her feet and laid them over his lap, adjusting the throw blanket to keep her warm. “I took a charter from Wales to London and flew commercial from there.”

  “You’re so fancy,” she whispered with a smile.

  He rubbed her feet absently, giving her a tender look. “How are you, really?”

  “I’m prone to crap like this,” she told him. “As long as I
take care of myself, I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”

  He leaned back, seeming to relax as if he’d finally decided she really was going to be okay. “Anything good on?” he asked, tipping his head toward the TV on the far wall.

  “It’s all in French,” she told him with a smile.

  “I have my ChromeCast in my bag,” he said. “It’s a device that lets you send shows and movies from your phone or laptop to the TV. I always bring it with me when I travel.”

  “I know what a ChromeCast is,” she told him in amusement. “You forget I’m a computer geek in my real life. And that sounds great. I’d love to relax and binge-watch TV, but I couldn’t find anything in English worth watching.”

  Flynn got his ChromeCast and plugged it into the TV, but she insisted that he pick the first movie, because she could already feel herself starting to drift. Sure enough, she barely made it through the opening credits of the historical drama he’d chosen before she fell asleep. When she woke, he made her hot tea and put on one of her favorite romantic comedies.

  “Don’t you need to be working?” she asked sleepily.

  “I worked on the plane, but I’ll set up my laptop tomorrow so I can work while I’m here.”

  “Okay. Don’t let me distract you.” She reached over to squeeze his fingers.

  “I won’t.”

  They spent most of the rest of the day snuggled on the couch together, watching movies as she drifted in and out of sleep. Flynn seemed to spend more time playing on his phone than actually watching the TV, but he never complained. He brought her everything she needed, including all her medication, so she didn’t have to leave the couch except to use the bathroom. And even though she could have managed on her own, it was nice, really nice, having him here.

  “What would you like for dinner?” he asked as she lay against his chest, half-asleep as the credits rolled at the end of Skyscraper.

  “I’m not that hungry. I could probably just eat more of the soup I had for lunch. Did you send that?”