by Amelia Wilde
“Don’t be coy with me, Jess,” he jokes, taking another sip of champagne. “Is this about that Alex guy?”
“Alec,” I correct automatically, then blush. “And what makes you say that?”
“Because,” he says, drawing the word out, “you love those spontaneous life moves, but it seems awfully suspicious that you jet off for some secret, unplanned vacation with the guy, then come back and immediately decide that you’d rather live all the way across the country.”
“I’ve got friends in Seattle,” I say defensively. “It’s not a random choice.”
“The timing isn’t random.”
“No.” There’s nothing I can say to prove him wrong. The timing isn’t random.
“What happened with you guys? Last I heard, you were across the Atlantic with the guy and nobody knew if you’d even come back. Then you’re here, but moving. Did you discover he’s an asshole?”
“Not exactly,” I sigh, although he did behave like one on more than one occasion. While the rest of the table discusses the latest book climbing the bestseller charts—some vampire novel with a twist—I give Christian an abbreviated rundown of what happened in Saintland.
He listens until I’m done speaking. “And what is it exactly that makes you want to move?”
“I miss him,” I say, the ache welling up in my heart. “Every day that I’m here, I keep looking for him on the street, like he’ll show up one day and…”
“Take you back?”
I shake my head. “I don’t even know if I’d want him to do that.” This is only a half-truth. With every day that passes, I’m more sure than ever that I do want to be with Alec. It’s Alec who doesn’t want to be with me. I’m not going to be one of those needy, clingy women.
“Why aren’t you flying to Saintland instead of Seattle? At least in Saintland, you’d be able to figure it out for sure.”
“I’m not going to be one of those people who can’t let it go, Chris. I don’t have it in me to fly to Europe only to be rejected again. He’s moved on.”
“You know that for sure?”
I don’t know it for sure, but I’m not willing to risk it. “I’m done with those big, risky moves, okay? It always backfires.”
“Changing colleges didn’t backfire.”
“Changing colleges led me right to Michael. I’m not sure you can call that a wild success.”
Christian shrugs. “You’re here now, though. That doesn’t seem like a failure to me. You could have ended up back in the middle-of-nowhere Midwest.”
“I guess.”
The next dinner course is about to arrive. I don’t know where else this conversation can go. I’m not going to get on a plane to Saintland. I’m going to enjoy the party, and then I’m going to get on with my life in a new city that doesn’t remind me of Alec everywhere I look.
“Look, I’m not even going to think about telling you what to do,” Christian says, holding up his free hand. “All I’m saying is, are you going to run away from this forever?”
I cast him a sidelong glance. “That’s rich, coming from New York City’s most notorious playboy.”
“This is about you, not me,” he teases, but then his face turns serious again. “Besides, I’d give all that up if I felt that way about someone.”
“Felt what way?”
“We all saw the way you looked at him the night he came to the Swan. The moment a woman makes me feel that way, my trolling days are over.”
“I don’t believe that,” I say with a laugh. “You always said you’d never get married. What was it—even if Britney Spears begged you to give her a ring?”
A strange look flashes through his eyes, reminding me for an instant of his brother Elijah, but his expression doesn’t falter. “Hey, it might never come—” Christian says with that thousand-watt smile of his, “—but if it does, I won’t be able to ignore it. I don’t think you can, either.”
46
Alec
It takes most of the night and at least a hundred messages to get my plans in order. The first message I send is to Nate, telling him to get some sleep— if everything comes together the way I expect, he needs to be back early tomorrow morning.
The other messages go to the one person who can help me in New York City.
When I knock on the door to my father’s rooms at five in the morning, having slept only a few fitful hours, he’s already awake. That doesn’t come as much of a surprise. He’s always been an early riser, and since Marcus died, his nights have been even shorter. When he can’t sleep, he spends his time in the royal gym. No amount of exercise has been enough to keep Marcus—and Jessica—off my mind. I wonder if it’s working for him.
“Alexander,” he says, his hair still damp from the shower. He’s not dressed for the day yet, wearing a pair of loose linen pants and a polo shirt. “You’re up early.”
“I’ve been making plans,” I say, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me. My father moves back across the living area and sits down at the small, round breakfast table. His breakfast must have just been delivered.
“I see. Are you hungry?”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, I realize that I am, in fact, ravenous. The dinner with Mariana seems like it was years ago. “Very.”
“I’ll have some food sent up.” He reaches across to a panel set back into the wall. My father still prefers to use the palace intercom whenever possible instead of the phone. The kitchen staff answers right away, and he tells the attendant to send up a second breakfast tray, then settles back into his seat. “What have you been planning? I take it your evening with Mariana was successful?” My father has a wary look in his eyes.
“It was all right. She’s an interesting woman.”
“From what I’ve heard about her, she’s very accomplished.”
“No doubt about that.”
“But this doesn’t have to do with her.”
“No.”
He gestures with his hands for me to continue.
“On the way back from dinner last night, Nate said some things that made me realize that I’ve gone about things the wrong way with Jessica.”
My father nods, folding his hands on his lap.
“What happened between us—I can’t leave it like that.”
There’s a knock at the door, and I stand up to answer it. The kitchen staff didn’t waste any time, although I’m also sure they don’t have many breakfast orders at this hour. I give the server—a wiry man with dark curls peeking out from under his uniform, a smile and stand back to let him in. “Good morning, your highness,” he says with a confident smile, not appearing the least bit tired, the least bit shaken by our presence. That’s a guy who’s going to go far, I think to myself as he moves across the room to the table, sets down the tray, and greets my father, who acknowledges him by name. That confirms it—the man has been up much too early for far too long. The royal family doesn’t generally tip—we leave that to our assistants—but my father presses a note into his hand, and he slips back out the door.
My father uncovers his tray and I uncover mine, and we’re both silent for a few minutes. The food is, as always, exquisite.
Patting the corners of his mouth with his cloth napkin, my father clears his throat. Napkin back in his lap, he reaches for the steaming mug of coffee sitting on the edge of the tray.
“It was Marcus’s heart, you know. I found out this morning.”
My gut goes cold.
“A defect,” my father says, and sips his coffee, the corner of his mouth turned down. He looks tired. “Maybe if he’d had more of a chance to use it.”
“That’s—” I choke on the words. “That’s very subtle, Dad.” I wish Marcus was here to tease me about this whole thing.
“What have you been planning, then?” he says casually, as if there had been no interruption.
“I have to go to New York to get her. At least to talk to her one last time.”
Now that breakfast i
s half-eaten, I’m gripped with a new urgency.
“The plane is yours if you need it.”
I’m a little taken aback that my father isn’t going to try to talk me out of this, isn’t going to try to convince me otherwise.
“I need it.” My voice is tight as I speak.
Without another word, my father reaches for the phone in his pocket, swipes the screen once, and dials. It’s not thirty seconds before he has the travel team getting the plane to the runway at Sainthall’s airport.
I stand up, putting my napkin down on my tray. My father sips his coffee again, then looks up into my eyes. I see in his face nothing but pride.
“Go,” he says, a smile spreading across his face. “Be safe.”
I move around the table and lean down, giving my father a kiss on the cheek for the first time in years. “I’ll be back soon.”
We were in the air inside of two hours, Nate sitting across from me on the royal jet. The flight is long enough that we’re both partaking in mimosas brought out by a trim flight attendant who might have kept my attention at another time in my life. Nate raises his glass to me across the aisle.
“What are we celebrating?” I say, my nerves already taut, on edge.
“Doing the right thing, old friend,” he says, and I can’t argue with that.
Everything proceeds smoothly for most of the flight. I can’t sleep—my heart races and my mind wanders when I close my eyes—but the royal jet is equipped with enough entertainment options to keep us occupied for at least a week. I flip through the movie selections without seeing them.
I need to get to Jessica in time, and I have a deadline. There’s no time to spare.
Christian is my contact on the ground in New York, and he answered enthusiastically when I messaged him last night. He’s throwing a going-away party for Jessica tonight at the Purple Swan, and that’s where I want to reach her. Because tomorrow she’s leaving the city, and she hasn’t given anyone her new address—a new start, I suppose. I’ll go to Seattle. If I have end up following her across the country, I’ll look like a deranged stalker.
It’s not ideal when the pilot calls back to tell me there’s a massive thunderstorm delaying our descent into New York.
My heart in my throat, I pull out my phone and connect to the in-flight Wi-Fi.
Everything good?
She’s leaving soon.
I check the local time. It’s nearly 10:30.
Stall her!
I’ll try…
47
Jessica
The old version of myself might have wanted to stay at the Swan until close, but New and Improved Jessica is tired. I’ve spent the last however many days working on the move to Seattle like it’s my magnum opus. I haven’t left any detail unplanned.
This is not a spontaneous flight from the city. Not by any means.
My friends are still having a lovely time, although many of them have had a little too much to drink.
“Don’t go,” Christian says for the tenth time when I make a move to stand up. “It’s your going-away party! When will you have another one of these?”
I roll my eyes at him and give him a teasing push on the shoulder. “None of you are going to leave the city any time soon. I’ll only be a flight away.”
Fifteen minutes later, after picking at another round of small plates passed around by the wait staff, I can’t ignore the fatigue settling behind my eyes. If I have anything else to drink, I’m going to be miserable in, what, six hours? That’s when I need to be up to catch my flight to Seattle. Once I land, I’m going to be going to Jamie’s place to stay for a few days while the movers bring my things across the country, and I’m going to look like an asshole if I show up exhausted and hungover.
“Dessert!” Christian appeals to me as I stand up, pointing across the room to the waiters carrying more gleaming silver trays.
I shake my head. “I don’t need any more dessert, Chris. I’ve got to get going.”
“But it’s so early! You can’t leave yet!”
“My flight leaves at 8:00.” I lean down and kiss him on the cheek. Why is he being so insistent that I stay?
“Fifteen minutes, Jess,” he says, vaguely indicating the rest of the table. Carolyn is in deep conversation with her date, John, who she’s seen a few times and seems to like quite a bit, so I know she won’t be leaving soon, and everyone else is invested in a conversation about whether it’s better to visit Italy in the summer or the South of France.
Yes, the timing is perfect.
“Thank you so much for the party,” I say, smiling, and then make my way around the table, collecting hugs and good lucks as I go.
When I get back around to my seat to pick up my purse, Christian looks up at me, something strange in his eyes. “You sure you won’t stay another few minutes?” His phone, face down on the linen tablecloth, buzzes and he snatches it up, glances at the screen, and looks back at me again.
“I can’t,” I say, an ache beginning to form behind my eyes. Purse in hand, I make my way away from the table, stopping once to wave at all my friends. My throat tightens—I’m going to miss them—but I smile as brightly as I can before I turn around. I wouldn’t want them to think I was second-guessing myself.
I’m not second-guessing myself. I’m feeling nostalgic for the way things were before Alec came into my life and turned it all upside down.
I laugh a little to myself as I head toward the coat check. Things weren’t simple then. Not any simpler than they are now, except for the added heartbreak. Part of me wanted to skip town, or skip jobs, do something differently.
The girl in front of the coat closet takes my slip and comes back with a lightweight rain jacket that I brought in case the storm hit when I was making my way out. Lucky for me, the boom of the thunder—I can hear it clearly now, away from the music in the Swan’s main room—is right on top of us.
Outside, the rain is coming down in sheets, but I’ve walked home in worse. I’m not going to walk all the way back to the apartment—it’s at least fifteen blocks from the Swan—but there’s a long line for the taxis and only two or three waiting. I could be standing here another hour.
The dress I’m wearing isn’t one of Carolyn’s, it’s mine, so if it gets wet I won’t feel bad about it. There’s a subway entrance a block and a half from here. I’m going for it. Pulling the hood of my raincoat up over my hair, I step out from under the Swan’s awning and into the deluge.
Despite the raincoat, I’m immediately soaked. It’s a warm rain—today was ungodly hot, the kind of sticky New York summer day that makes you desperate for a storm—and the cold front that brought the thunder and lightning doesn’t seem to have chilled the droplets at all. It wakes me up a little. I pick up the pace.
I haven’t gone thirty steps when there’s a shout behind me. It’s hard to tell, but it sounds like my name. Did I leave something at the table? Did Chris realize how hard it’s raining and chase me out here to give me a ride? That guy is too much sometimes.
I turn, a half smile on my face, ready to tell him that it’s too late, I’m already wet—he should go back inside and have another drink. Maybe two, considering he probably didn’t bother to put on a raincoat. It’ll be something we can laugh about later, when I call him from Seattle to tell him about my new place, about my new life.
But Christian isn’t the one running toward me in the rain, soaked from head to toe, green eyes alive and fiery even in the dim light of the streetlights.
It’s Alec.
My heart literally skips a beat, then crashes against my ribs as my brain registers his face, his wet clothes, his hard muscled body, coming toward me as fast as his legs will carry him.
“Jessica!” he calls again.
He’s here.
Alec came for me.
48
Alec
I run after Jessica in the pouring rain, not caring that I’m soaked to the skin in three seconds flat, not caring at all that I’ve left
Nate to deal with a disgruntled crowd in front of the Swan. When we pulled up and I got out of the car, some of the people waiting in line for taxis began moving toward the town car, probably hoping to hire it out if he was dropping off. Behind me, I hear him calling out the window at them, his words lost in the downpour.
Lightning arcs down from the sky, hitting one of the lightning rods on a nearby high rise. The storm is circling right over us—it’s a miracle I got the pilot to land the plane in New Jersey, south of the storm’s eye, and it’s an even bigger miracle that Nate got us here in time.
Jessica hurries down the sidewalk. I’d know that walk anywhere, know that shape, that swing to the hips.
“Jessica!” I call out, already running. She’s halfway down the block and I can’t wait another second to see her. I can’t take it. My heart might burst out of my chest.
As she turns, I see the little smile on her face dissolve into confusion, and then her mouth forms a round O in shock.
“Jessica!” I call again, even though she’s clearly recognized me, because I am nearly out of my mind with the travel, the longing, the love running wild in my veins.
Then I’m there, in front of her, my breaths coming fast and water streaming down my hair, my face, into my eyes. I wipe at it with the back of my hand and then give a little laugh because it’s pointless. There’s so much coming down it’s like the first day of Noah’s flood.
“What are you doing here?” Jessica says to me, bewildered.
The grand speech I planned on the plane has been wiped from my mind by the sight of her beautiful face, the curves of her cheekbones, the way the water droplets play over her flawless skin, the tendrils of wet auburn hair flattened against her forehead. “I came to see you,” I say finally.
“For what?” she says, and a gust of wind threatens to knock her hood right off her head. She reaches up and holds it in place.