by Holly Rayner
There’s still time.
I acted impulsively, but it doesn’t have to be the end of the world. I made a mistake. It was wrong to take that money, but I can right my wrong.
To do so, I have to get back to Philly—fast.
Chapter 5
Luca
She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at her phone.
Though I can’t see her angelic features, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. I love the graceful line of her neck, the curve of her bare shoulder. Her wavy brown hair is swept to one side, and I see the lacy straps of the camisole she must have put on at some point in the night.
She certainly wasn’t wearing it for a good portion of the evening.
A sudden memory of the pre-dawn hours jolts through me, and I’m overcome by the urge to move in the bed and wrap my arms around Phoebe’s waist.
All I want to do is hold her.
But her body language tells me that she doesn’t want to be held.
“What’s wrong, baby?” I ask. My morning voice is deep, slightly scratchy. I prop myself up on my elbow and watch Phoebe’s back.
Her demeanor has changed so much in the past few minutes. At first, she was gazing at me with her big doe eyes. I woke to the feel of her soft fingers, caressing my face.
Her full lips were right there for the taking. We kissed, but then she pulled back. What happened?
She reached for her phone. Does this have something to do with the mistake she alluded to last night?
I want to comfort her as I wait for her response. I reach out and let my hand touch her back through the thin material of her camisole. I trace my fingers down her spine, and then rest my hand on her hip.
She shifts her weight and turns toward me. She reaches for my hand, that’s resting on her hip. “I have to go home, Luca,” she says.
“Where is home?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she glances again at her phone. There’s a crease between her brows. Something is bothering her—a lot.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask. “Are you in danger?” As she moved, her top shifted as well. Now my hand rests against her bare skin. I brush my thumb up and down against her abdomen. She weaves her fingers between mine. I can tell that she likes my touch, but she’s resisting it at the same time.
She shakes her head. “No, not exactly.”
Her answer doesn’t entirely make me feel better.
I feel slightly relieved, but still confused. If she’s not in danger, why does she look so distraught?
Why is she pulling away like this?
She stands, leaving me alone in the bed, and I watch as she moves to her suitcase, which is sitting on a small folding chair in the corner of the modest hotel room.
She reaches for a pair of jeans and pulls them on.
I watch her dress, admiring the curves of her body while mulling over her mood at the same time. This gorgeous woman is troubled by something. I wish I could ease her mind. I wish I could help her.
She rummages through her bag and then pulls out a top. With it in her hand, she retreats to the small bathroom.
I hear water running in the bathroom sink, the sound of the toilet flushing.
More water.
I sit up in the bed and look around the room for my clothing. I spot my jeans, lying in a heap on the floor.
I bend down to get them and then stand. I’m buttoning the fly as she steps out of the bathroom.
She’s dressed now and her hair pulled back in a ponytail. The camisole is held in a tight ball in her fist.
As she begins to cross the room, to deposit the camisole into her suitcase, I assume, she catches sight of me.
I finish buttoning my pants as she watches.
“I’m… confused,” I say. “I understand you’re going through something. You don’t have to explain it to me. But Phoebe… I had a really good time with you last night. I feel like… I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words.” I stop short because I’m not sure how to proceed.
She steps closer to me. It’s just one step, but it feels like a victory.
Is there anything I can say to make Phoebe stay in town longer? Is there anything I could do to keep her in my life?
I continue. “There’s something about you,” I admit. “I can’t quite put it into words. I know we just met, but—”
I stop short again, because now she’s crossing the room toward me.
She wraps her arms around my bare waist, and I can’t continue. The feel of her body next to mine is so heavenly. I can’t concentrate on words. Instead, I simply let myself feel her heart beating, next to mine.
“I know,” she says. “You don’t have to try to explain it, Luca. I feel it, too.”
“Don’t go,” I say softly.
What I want, more than anything, is to pull her back onto the bed with me. We could stay in this sun-dappled hotel room for a few hours, and then wander out for coffee and some breakfast at a cafe.
I don’t want my time with Phoebe to end.
“I have to,” she says.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
I feel her nod. Her cheek moves up and down against my bare chest.
“I have to go home. I need to try to fix a mistake I made.” She releases me and steps back a few inches. “I have to…” she says again, softly but firmly. She lifts a hand and pushes it through her tangled hair. “It’s my own fault. I made a mess, and now I have to try to get out of it.”
She looks pained as she says this.
I don’t like to see her in pain.
“Phoebe…” I say softly. “Whatever you’re going through… it might not be as bad as it seems.”
She laughs, but it’s a laugh devoid of amusement. She turns away from me. “I wish that were the case,” she says.
I can tell she’s about to step away from me, perhaps back to her suitcase to continue packing.
I reach out and touch the base of her chin. I turn her head, gently, so that she’s facing me once again. I lock my gaze with hers as I say, “You’re going to get through this… whatever it is, okay? Believe me. I’ve been through a few things myself.”
She shakes her head, looking as though she might cry. “Not like this,” she says. “I’ll bet you’ve never been through something like this.”
I still don’t know what she’s going through, but the more she speaks, the more I know it’s something serious. What has she done? What is troubling her?
I don’t usually talk about my past. Over the last few years, I’ve tried to put a lot of that behind me. I’m a new person.
In this moment, though, all I care about is stopping the tears from spilling over Phoebe’s lids. I want to see that smile, that I was getting to be so fond of yesterday evening.
I let my hand fall from her face.
“Okay,” I say. “I don’t usually talk about this, but I feel like I can tell you…”
She waits, and I see a little glint of curiosity in her eye. She wants to know what I’m about to reveal to her. At least that’s better than the hopelessness I was seeing in her expression, just a few seconds ago.
“Five years ago I was facing jail time,” I say.
I see shock register in her eyes, but she doesn’t verbalize her surprise. She waits for me to say more.
“It was for a crime that I didn’t commit,” I say.
Instantly, my mind goes back to the way it felt to be placed in handcuffs, dragged to the back of a police car. I was twenty-three at the time, and I felt like my world was crashing down around me. In a way, it was.
As the memory fills my mind, I feel some of the familiar emotions flood my body. Fear. Powerlessness. Uncertainty.
I felt, for the first time in my life, that I had no control over my destiny. I was at the mercy of the judicial system.
I shake my head, trying to clear my mind of those old emotions. I’ve worked so hard to move away from that headspace—the attitude that led to my arrest in the fir
st place. And over the last five years, I have moved past it. I’ve become a better person. I’ve become stronger, more confident, and more compassionate for others. Battling with the judicial system helped me understand what troubled teens are going through. I’m actually able to help them, as they go through their own life-altering events.
“You know what?” I say. “Even though all that I went through, five years ago, felt like the end of the world at the time, it was actually good for me. I’m better off now because of that challenge. I know it will be the same for you. I know you’ll emerge from your situation in a better place, just like I did.”
She searches my eyes, and I sense that she’s judging whether I’m being sincere or not. I let her look for hints of falsity. I know she won’t find any. I’m being completely open and honest with her, and I want her to know that.
Chapter 6
Phoebe
I gaze searchingly into Luca’s eyes.
There’s so much compassion there. Did he really face jail time? What for?
I think he’s telling the truth. Maybe the ordeal he went through really did make him into a stronger person in the long run.
His story gives me hope. Maybe my mistake will help me mature, too. Maybe what I’m going through—as uncomfortable as it feels—will be a valuable lesson in the end.
Luca looks back at me, unafraid. He’s the first man I’ve ever met who is so ready and willing to hold eye contact like this. It’s as though he has absolutely nothing to hide. That’s one of the things I like most about him. He is unafraid to be himself.
Sunlight falls on his bedhead, the bridge of his nose, and the top of his chin. He’s standing before me in nothing but a pair of soft, faded jeans that hang low on his hips. His toned abs, strong pecs, and muscular shoulders and arms are edged with light, adding more definition to his already sculpted body.
I stretch up to my tiptoes and place a soft kiss on his lips.
“Thank you,” I say once we part.
“For what?” he whispers.
“For being here with me,” I say. “I’m glad that we met yesterday in that cafe. I’ve had a lot on my mind, and yesterday, all my worries were threatening to pull me under. You were the perfect distraction. You helped to calm me down. I feel much, much clearer this morning.”
“And you’re sure about going home?” he asks.
I nod.
“Let me take you to the airport,” he says.
It’s a nice offer. It would save me some time, energy and cab money. However, I’m not sure that it’s what I want.
I recall briefly what it was like to be in the crowded, bustling airport terminal. This quaint, cozy hotel room is so still and peaceful. It’s just Luca and me here.
I have him all to myself.
“I think I’ll take a cab,” I say.
“You’re sure?”
I nod and swallow. I’ve never been good at voicing my feelings, but knowing that I might never see Luca again gives me the courage to say what’s on my mind.
“I don’t want to remember you like that—in a crowded airport terminal,” I say. “I want my last memory of you to be this one. You, standing here, in this hotel… the rising sun behind you.”
“At least let me give you my number,” he says.
I step away from him and pick my phone up off of the nightstand. I hand it to him, and as he adds his contact information, I place a few last items into my suitcase. Once I zip it up, he hands the phone back to me.
“Now you know how to reach me,” he says. “If you ever want to get in touch—or if you ever need my help—I hope you don’t hesitate to call.”
I slip the phone into my purse and then gather my belongings. With my purse over my shoulder and my rolling bag just behind me, I approach Luca for the last time.
I stand before him, and he leans down to deliver a parting kiss.
It lasts longer than I planned.
His lips feel so wonderful on mine. It’s difficult to pull myself away, but after a moment, I manage.
I turn and walk out of the hotel room without looking back.
It goes against all of my instincts to close the door behind me without drinking in one last look at the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever laid eyes on.
I manage to make my way out of the hotel and onto the sidewalk, where I hail a cab. As the cab whisks me away toward the airport, all of my willpower dissolves. The tears I’ve been just barely holding back all morning spill out onto my cheeks. I don’t bother wiping them away. Instead, I watch the city zip past the window, and everything is blurred by my tears.
It’s okay.
I don’t need to see the scenery. My mind is no longer thrilled by the historic architecture, or the glittering rivers that run alongside the cobblestone streets.
I found the treasure of Westegaard: Luca.
Once at the airport, it takes me the best part of an hour to locate an airline that has a flight that can get me home within the next twelve hours.
Finally, with a ticket booked, I head through security and locate the gate. With an hour to kill before I can board my flight, I pick up a coffee at a little stand just beside the gate. Sipping the steamy dark roast, I take out my phone.
I check my texts, but there’s nothing new. That’s good.
Next, I scroll through my contacts. I tap on Luca’s name, and his number pops up.
Seeing it on my phone makes me feel oddly giddy. I feel like a schoolgirl who has just received a note from her crush.
Luca gave me his number!
Yes, he lives in Europe—a ten-hour flight from the States. Yes, we only spent one night together. Yes, the odds are against us. But—what if?
What if I called him?
What if… sometime down the line, when all of this mess with Derek gets sorted out… what if I saw him again?
Maybe he could come visit me in Philadelphia. Maybe we could meet in Costa Rica. Maybe we could talk on the phone, and I could see his stunning smile again.
Would it be possible to continue to get to know him, long-distance?
My heart beats faster as I consider the possibilities. Despite the dire situation that I’m in, I actually sense a giddy, light feeling stirring in my stomach, and rising up through me.
I begin to feel brighter.
A smile flits across my lips and I look up, away from my phone. I notice people around me for the first time all morning.
I’ve been so consumed by my own worries and my anxiety about getting home quickly that I’ve barely been paying any attention at all to my surroundings.
Now I see that the other seats in the gate’s waiting area are mostly filled. Several families huddle together, and a few middle-aged men and women talk on phones or type on laptops. I see a teenaged boy stretched out on the floor with his head propped on a large hiking backpack.
Maybe I’ll be in this terminal again one day, after visiting Luca. Anything is possible, right?
A television screen above the bench seat right across from me catches my eye. On the screen I see three men standing outside a huge, ornate building. The men—and one in particular—look familiar.
One of the men looks exactly like Luca.
The other two look very much like him.
I lean forward, trying to get a better look at the screen. I also try to tune out some of the noise around me so that I can catch some of the sound that’s emitted from the television. However, it’s a language I don’t understand. The text on the screen is also unintelligible to me. I wish it was in English, but it’s not.
The image on the screen changes. This time, the three men are in a different room. It’s an interior of some kind of formal-looking office space. The camera zooms in to a close-up, and I actually stand up out of my seat and take a few steps closer to the television.
Yes, that’s definitely Luca! I can’t mistake those smoky blue eyes, his playful smile, or his strong, muscular physique. It’s him! What in the world is he doing on television, along with t
hese two other men, who look so much like him that they could be his twins?
I look around at the people in the waiting area. No one is paying much attention to the television, but a few are looking at me. I guess I must have looked a little bit crazy as I jumped out of my seat and ogled the television. I spilled a bit of my coffee with my abrupt motion, so I stuff my phone into my back pocket and transfer my coffee cup to my other hand. I wipe the hand that’s now wet with coffee on the side of my jeans, and hurry to a woman who is looking at me with curiosity.
“Excuse me,” I say, trying my best not to sound crazy. I point to the television screen. “Do you speak English by any chance? Could you tell me what they’re saying?”
She shakes her head. “No English,” she says flatly.
A man sitting to her left looks up from his laptop and eyes me. “I speak English,” he says. “You want to know about the news?”
I nod and sidestep over to him. “Yes, yes,” I say.
I look back at the television. Luca is still there, this time in a suit and tie. He looks like he’s at a formal event of some kind. The other two men, who look so much like him, flank him on either side. They’re also in suits.
“That’s the royal family,” the man says. “You must know about them.”
“The royal what now?” I ask, almost choking on the words.
“The royal family,” the gentleman repeats. “The von Kartmeier triplets. The sons of the late king: Willem, Luca and Gregor.”
The sound of Luca’s name on this man’s lips, in conjunction with the word “royalty” is still making me feel a little bit dizzy.
I’m at a loss for words. Just then the man’s cell phone rings. He excuses himself to take the call, and I weakly thank him before making my way back to my seat. While I settle in next to my purse and luggage, I take a sip of coffee in an attempt to calm my nerves.
I look back to the screen. I see an image of a gray, rocky coast. A newscaster stands on it, pointing out toward a boat that seems to be heading for the shore. Apparently, the news story about the royal triplets has ended.