To Play or Not To Play

by Emily Bow

  Wythe rubbed his hand over his mouth, still leaning against my shoulder. He had been reading. Now he was…what…comforting me? Sharing space with me? Commiserating? What did his closeness mean?

  Snap out of it. He was European. It meant they stood and sat and talked all while too close. It was what they did. It meant nothing. It was their norm. I was thinking way too much about him. I checked the traffic. Seemed normal for London. Full, and no one driving on the sidewalk to escape the Capital. “It really was just a drill.”

  The guard glanced from Caroline and her squirming Pomeranian to me and a frowning Wythe. “The dog show wasn’t the tamest event to attempt a drill.”

  Drill was good. Drill meant safety. I’d pulled a public fire alarm on a drill. Was that even legal? Was ignorance of the drill an excuse? My stomach sank. That did sound like a transfer-worthy offense.

  ***

  I didn’t get the word until that evening. Peppa opened the door to the Prime Family’s sitting room where I sat with Wythe and Caroline. “The prime secretary is handling the backlash from the incident. You needn’t be transferred if there is an adequate apology from you to the Kennel Club. You will apologize to the Kennel Club. Personally. That would be most appropriate. An in-person apology.”

  Okay. No thanks. I’d write a letter.

  Peppa was eying me down like I was her trash can, and she could dump her garbage on me. Wythe hadn’t bothered looking at Peppa. Caroline was engrossed in petting a sleeping Teacup. Peppa was focused on me. It was just me and Peppa in a stare-off. If she thought she’d put me in a car and drive me back to the dog show, she could think again. Avoidance was key. I’d never be available when the car pulled around. Pressing duties. So sorry. Then the dog show would be over, and I’d be off the hook.

  Peppa opened the door wide.

  She could throw down a red carpet. I wasn’t following her lead.

  Peppa grinned by rolling her lips inward. “Come in.”

  A man in a pressed brown suit holding a gold and white long-haired dog entered. The dog’s bangs were tied up high in a ponytail. I brushed my own hair away from my hot face.

  The round petite woman behind him carried a similar-sized dog that had a scrunched face and golden fur. She wore a dark suit with a red scarf. They all smelled like the fancy strawberry dog shampoo.

  The dogs’ heads swiveled, eying Teacup as if they were expecting a fight but were too well bred to kick up a fuss.

  Teacup, for his part, slept through their entrance. But Caroline kept him close.

  “Welcome to Downing Street,” Peppa said.

  Names were exchanged, along with Kennel Club titles. Drinks were offered and refused. The Kennel Club guy took the lead and started in the second the pleasantries were done, “We hope you understand we hold Downing Street responsible for this unfortunate incident.” His accent sounded posher than any audio I’d heard of the royal family.

  “Very unfortunate,” Peppa said, sounding just like him.

  I barely resisted rounding out my cheeks to round out my words. Barely. But I resisted. If the point system knew how much I restrained myself, I’d be on the top tier. Floating above top tier. Like a superior intern angel. “I’m truly sorry. I was trying to ensure everyone evacuated safely.” I’d been practicing those words since I got Peppa’s text about transferring me.

  “It’s really unforgivable,” Peppa said.

  “Is it, Peppa?” Wythe’s tone was hard.

  Peppa looked away.

  The female handler shifted her scrunch-faced dog and held it away from her body, so we’d get a good look. “They’re ruined!” she said in a French accent. She plopped the dog on the rug, square on a daffodil, and hooked her diamond-encrusted leash over her narrow wrist. Her motions had a snappy quality, in case we weren’t getting her frustration from her words.

  We were getting it.

  The man frowned at her foreign emotionalism, shook his head, and turned back to us. He pursed his lips Britishly. “There were some unfortunate couplings as a result of the cage doors being released.”

  Oh. That was unforgivable. No touching.

  Wythe glanced between the two primped dogs. “Hideous,” he muttered in an aside to me.

  The man stared hard at Wythe. “I assume Downing Street will assume responsibility should there be any unfortunate issue?”

  Wythe nodded in that British man-of-his-word way.

  The man nodded back. The matter settled, the two turned to leave.

  Peppa rushed to get the door.

  The woman spoke in a spattering of French that involved using her hands, which jerked the leash she held, and ended her words in English. “Some breeds should not mix.”

  Wythe stared hard at the two dogs, as if trying to discern a difference. “Aren’t they the same thing?”

  The woman turned at his question and snapped, “This is a Pekingese. That is a Shi Zhu.”

  The male handler looked appalled.

  Wythe moved closer. “God awful.”

  The woman followed the man, muttering about “shedding” and “barking.”

  I couldn’t hear what he said, but his tone sounded defensive. As they left, Caroline returned and Peppa walked the handlers out.

  My gaze remained glued to the departing fluffy dogs. “I want one.”

  “Me, too,” Caroline said, petting her own fluffy white dog with small untiring pats that the dog curved into. “A friend for Teacup.”

  Caroline was sitting on the floor with her back to the desk leg. I sat beside her and petted the puppy, who’d fallen asleep again. He was soft, silky, so sweet. “Was that a good enough apology, or will Peppa still try and get me transferred?”

  “Transfers happen,” Caroline said.

  “Not this time, it won’t,” Wythe said.

  Pleasure at his reassurance flitted through me. We were a good duo. Solid.

  Wythe shrugged one shoulder. “I still need you on my final project.”

  Ah. Literature class. How deflating. Which was ridiculous. I should not feel deflated. He did not have that power over me. The power to wound with an absent word. No.

  Peppa returned.

  “This is my private study, is it not?” Wythe sounded as put out as the dog owners.

  “Sorry, Wythe,” Peppa said. “I thought it would be less traumatic for Miss Caroline if I was the one to return the puppy.”

  What?

  Chapter 11

  Peppa wanted to take Caroline’s puppy. Caroline understood Peppa’s words instantly in the way only a little child could. She screamed and clutched the dog to her chest.

  Teacup yowled.

  Wythe’s face stilled.

  “Your mother thinks it’s best that I return him straightaway.” Peppa took the dog from Caroline and walked out.

  I ran after her, all out, like she had the key to the top of the photo stand and all I had to do was reach her to win it. Get your hands off that dog. “Wait up,” I huffed.

  “The handlers are downstairs. They’ve agreed to return him to his proper owners. Frankly, that will be a relief. Keep our hands out of it. Good for all concerned.”

  “I’ll take him.” I wanted to screech at her, but I stuck my hands out and took him as if she agreed with me. “I want to give that apology another go, like you said, so I can keep my post.” I sounded totally fake to my own ears.

  Peppa seemed to accept the groveling without hesitation. “Of course.” She wiped white fur from her lapel, looking toward Wythe’s study where we could still hear Caroline crying. She went the other way.

  I petted Teacup. “Sorry about that.”

  Teacup licked my hand with a tiny swipe, curled on his side, and kicked his little padded feet against my palm. My heart melted like one of Katniss’s flame dresses. Poof. Teacup liked it here. The only thing preventing him from staying were rules and regulations. Rules and regulations around a puppy. So silly.

  Caroline spun around the corner, screeching. She halted when she saw I h
ad the puppy and stopped right in front of me. She didn’t grab for him though. She hugged me around the waist. I bent and scooped her up. She was heavier than she looked. Caroline hooked one arm around my neck and took the puppy with the other.

  Teacup, for his part, didn’t seem to mind the drama. He just wanted his cuddle.

  “So, I figure, we talk to Nanny.”

  Caroline hiccupped and sniffed. “Yeah. Talk to Nanny.”

  “We tell her how we’ll lay down puppy pads, so Teacup won’t damage the carpets.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And we’ll put kibble in his bowl.”

  “Yeah.” She sniffed again. “Every day. And he can have a water bowl, too. Shaped like a bone.” She lay her head on my shoulder.

  This was the kind of sister I could love. I mean, I loved my sister. But it should’ve been like this. Teaming up together against the outside world. Not making it worse for each other.

  I got to the family hall and hesitated, my arms dragging at the kid’s weight. I had no clue where her nanny disappeared to when she wasn’t around. She was just a dapper middle-aged lady in a gray uniform with a white apron who appeared when Caroline needed to be taken away from adult talk. Maybe there was a speed dial number for her, or an emergency call button on the wall.

  Caroline pointed as if she understood that I didn’t know where to go. I followed her directions. Her play room was similar in size to her brother’s study, but it held enough pastel-colored kids’ stuff that it seemed like hers.

  Nanny wasn’t there. But Georgiana sat on an overstuffed yellow armchair with a teapot in front of her and a tray of small cakes. She was feeding a pastel pink, gold-dusted macaroon to a really hot guy. He bore enough of a resemblance to Wythe that I knew this had to be their older brother, Zane.

  Zane nodded at Georgiana. “Another.”

  Georgiana giggled and shook her head, her cheeks flushed, her attention totally on him.

  My eyebrows arched. Caroline called out, “Zane, Ms. Georgiana, Look what I got. Miss Kira got him for me.”

  Georgiana’s gaze lit on the puppy. “Oh. Cute.”

  I put Caroline down.

  Zane got up and strode toward us. His blue eyes narrowed at me, but he said nothing. He ruffled the puppy’s head, and then Caroline’s. “Good for you, Poppet.” He stared hard at me. “That won’t cause a fight at all.” He had a deep overeducated voice, like Wythe. He strode from the room with Georgiana watching him and Caroline cooing over the puppy.

  I wanted to warn Georgiana. Zane looked like trouble, but I’d seen her expression enough on my friends’ faces over the years that I knew the warning was too late. “I thought you were off Caroline duty.”

  “Mostly I’m wrangling Zane.” Georgiana’s lips quirked up. “But Nanny persists in calling me in. And I’m not great at saying no.”

  I got it. A team probably was best when watching Caroline.

  Caroline went to the striped sofa and curled up. “Yes. Miss Georgiana. His name is Teacup and Kira got him for me.”

  Well. Sort of.

  Georgiana grinned at me. “Well.”

  “Yep,” I said.

  Caroline nodded slowly while petting the white fluff ball. “Oh, yes. We have to hide him from the bad people.”

  I winced.

  Caroline sniffled and held the puppy up to her face. “Take my picture. Like you did with Trapper and send it to me. Please.”

  I hadn’t heard her use that word before. I took her picture as she smiled big. I sat beside her, showing her the photo.

  A tap sounded on the door.

  Wythe stood on the threshold, rapping on the doorframe with the knuckles of one hand and holding the black porcelain Egyptian figurine in the other.

  Caroline’s eyes grew wider.

  “I see you don’t need this,” Wythe said.

  “I do,” Caroline said, her voice hushed and intense.

  Wythe took the figurine over to the mantle and placed it up there. I had the impression that if Caroline weren’t holding a real dog right now, the priceless, fragile artifact would be in her little hands. Wythe joined us, brushed a finger over the puppy, and then tapped the tip of Caroline’s nose, making her giggle.

  They were so cute.

  I leaned in with them and snapped the photo, while hoping the selfie didn’t show how gooey he was making me.

  “You saved the dog, I see,” Wythe said. His tone was somewhat mocking, but his gaze said he appreciated me. In a different way than he’d appreciated me before.

  Heat hit my cheeks, but I felt strongly about this, too. “If they won’t let her have Teacup, I can keep him for her. He’s not big. I’ll hide him in my sock drawer.”

  Caroline giggled. “No. In mine. Ms. Georgiana will hide him, too.”

  “All that hair on my clothes?” Georgiana held up her hands, palms forward. “No thank you. I’ll leave the hiding to you two.”

  Caroline popped up and ran over to her. “But he is so cute.”

  Georgiana pulled her up, and Caroline curled into her side. “He is. I’m sure he won’t be a bother.”

  “Oh, he won’t be,” Caroline said. “Teacup is so good.”

  “I can see that,” Georgiana said.

  Wythe rose, in one of those smooth enviable motions. “I’m going for a run. If there’s any more trouble, call me. Caro’s keeping that dog.” His tone was certain and strong.

  Feeling chemistry with him was one thing. A crush was one thing…but he was more than a crush-worthy good-looking guy. He was sweet, strong, and loyal. My heart stopped and then pounded. I did not want this. Dizziness hit me, and I clasped my arms over my knees.

  He left the room, not knowing what he’d left behind.

  One melting heart.

  Chapter 12

  Felicity buzzed me. I am so close to that top spot. I’ll probably make head intern. How are you doing with all the rain? Been up to Nottingham yet?

  Too busy.

  Ha. As what? Paper Runner? Felicity ended that with a snickering emoji.

  Did she think she was being funny? She was such a…

  A picture of her sitting in the Rose Garden popped up.

  She was so annoying. I could so freaking top a picture of her with a sterling purple rosebush. I shot her the picture of me, Caro, Wythe, and Teacup. #New Puppy.

  Top that, Trapper Keeper. I hit silence on the phone so I wouldn’t be sucked into more back and forth and tapped on the door before going into Wythe’s room.

  Wythe sat in his window seat, typing away at his laptop. He wore pressed navy trousers and a white buttoned-down shirt, though it was Sunday.

  I held onto my resolve. I was not falling for him. I’d dressed extra casually to prove it to myself. I was wearing navy, too. Navy sweats and a white concert t-shirt. “What are you doing?” That was a normal question. I’d ask anyone that. I wasn’t dying for the answer.

  “Participating in social media.” Wythe hit the keyboard with loud taps and read aloud as he typed, “Dining on sticky toffee pudding. Tasty. Cook’s spot on today.”

  I liked how he said the word “tasty.” I checked the empty side tables and the desk. No sign of a plate. “You’re not eating pudding. Or anything, for that matter.”

  “No. But I want sticky toffee pudding. And now everyone will harass Cook for the recipe. I anticipate many desserts coming our way as Cook refines his pudding to share it with the world.”

  “How manipulative. And delicious.” I stepped closer to check his screen. “Really? That’s a lot of followers.”

  “PR set it up. They don’t love it that I use it to my advantage. But really. What did they expect?”

  Forty people followed me. I made a sighing, envious sound, but I didn’t really care. Loads of followers weren’t my goal. I should have a goal. Maybe decide between a job and graduate school. Figure it out so I wouldn’t be stuck at my parents’ house in the fall. For now, I was taking a break from thinking about it. Felicity didn’t have to think a
bout it. She had a plan. She’d majored in business and stayed in America.

  My mood took a dive.

  Wythe glanced up at me and arched one eyebrow.

  He noticed my mood. He cared. My heart panged. No. I was not that into him. I was just homesick, not heartsick. I touched the screen. “Can you type something about your cook going through a TexMex phase?”

  He shuddered.

  I leaned into his shoulder and put my lips to his ear, breathing in his yummy cologne. “Please.”

  He swallowed, and his fingers moved against the keyboard. You didn’t hear it from me, but I heard that Cook is desperately looking for authentic Tex-Mex recipes. Might you send him some?

  That was fun. I kissed his cheek with a grin on my lips, as if my heart weren’t pounding. I was just being playful. “You just gained a new follower.”

  Wythe glanced up with a glint in his eyes.

  It stilled me. It lured me. “Um. I’ve got to go…” I couldn’t think of more of an excuse than that. I needed to leave, but I couldn’t move.

  Wythe put his computer down and rose to his feet.

  Looking at Wythe standing there made my insides tingle. I wanted him here, up against me. How would he feel? How would he touch me? How would he taste? Did he kiss wildly like his eyes or contained like his demeanor?

  As if he heard my thoughts, he moved toward me.

  I backed toward the wall.

  This couldn’t be good. I had to talk myself down. He was way too handsome. That was it. I drew in a breath. Brace. Brace. Spoiled hot guys could rarely kiss. They didn’t know how to put in the effort. They liked to lie back and be adored.

  Wythe’s mouth softened. And he looked straight into my eyes. All focus on me.

  Those eyes. Last winter, I’d stared for hours at the blue chem logs burning in our fireplace. The blue-green flame had fascinated me. Wythe fascinated me the same way. I pushed off the wall and took a step closer to him.

  His hands touched my face—warm, calloused, more in line with his eyes than his manner. He pressed his whole body against me, creating a flow of liquid anticipation.