by Ella James
He shakes his head once. Reaches for a turn-switch on a row of light switches. Music fills the room: the Rolling Stones. I hurry down a level, feeling strangely raw as I head to my room.
Twenty-One
Lucy
I stay up on the roof for almost two more hours after my bathroom break, waiting for Liam to show up and tell me what we’re doing next and when. When he doesn’t come, I gather my things and walk slowly down the narrow, glossy wooden stairs.
I find the workout room empty.
A quick peek around the second story reveals Liam’s bedroom door is shut. I can’t hear anything inside his rooms, and rather than look around for him, I spend some time with Grey, then take a steaming shower, washing sunscreen off myself and lathering my body with bath scrub.
I’m sitting at the counter vanity, rubbing lotion on my cheeks, when my phone buzzes.
‘Want to leave in about half an hour?’
I text back, ‘Sure.’
‘I’ll hang a backpack on your door handle. Pack warm for tonight. Let me know if you need clothes and I’ll get some.’
I send him a cheesy smilie. ‘Prince Charming.’
A few minutes later, dressed in my favorite pair of worn designer jeans, a thin, indigo blue sweater, and brown boots, I open my door and grab a giant, suede-ish hiking pack that’s slung around the door handle. It’s heavy with the weight of…something. I stick my face into the top of the bag. Liam’s clothes.
God, they smell so freaking good. Kind of crisp like after-shave and…woodsy.
I can’t seem to stop myself from fishing around inside. My fingers touch soft cotton, and I pull out what turns out to be a white, V-neck undershirt. There are two tiny holes near the shoulder, which I find interesting. Liam could definitely afford a new undershirt, but I guess he’s like me: he likes his old, familiar things.
After one final sniff, I stuff the shirt back inside and pack my own clothes on top.
I refill Grey’s automatic-dispensing food and water container, then spend a few minutes with him on the foot of the bed, scratching him under his chin and rubbing the top of his head the way he likes. I turn on the TV hidden in an armoire, navigate to a channel that doesn’t seem to be nature-oriented—National Geographic scares the shit out of him—and tell him I’ll be back tomorrow.
My cell phone shows I have five minutes before it’s time to meet Liam in the hall, so I wander back into the bathroom, pulling a small vial of perfume out of my bag and dabbing a little behind my ears. I know it’s wrong to tempt him, but it’s kind of fun. Is it so terrible to have a little fun?
I feel a little wave of nausea as I step back into the bedroom.
Duh. I have to pack some crackers. I down three ginger snaps plus a swallow of water, then put the box of ginger snaps at the top of the bag. I’ll have to create some bullshit story about how I love ginger things. It’s not completely untrue. I really do have a massive thing for gingerbread.
I find Liam leaning against the hallway wall, wearing a long-sleeved maroon hoodie, black-ish jeans, and black boots. He looks incredible. He’s got his hair pulled back.
“Hi,” he says when I step out. His full lips tip up at the corners in a tiny smile.
“Hey, you.”
He takes the pack from me and slings it over his shoulder, then, with a quick look at my face, he starts walking toward the stairs. I fall in step with him. I realize I haven’t seen him since before I listened to his phone call. I kind of forgot about the phone call, but now I’m curious. What was that?
He wouldn’t put a dog through what bullshit. And then he said he didn’t want to put himself through it. What did that mean? Was he talking to a woman? I felt like he was. I forgot the name he called the other person, but it sounded like a woman’s name.
I steal a glance at him. I can’t help noting that all the earlier flirtation he was throwing my way has gone dormant. He seems…somber. As we walk down the stairs, he pulls a dark blue cap onto his head. I watch him pull his man-bun down a little so it fits right.
“Sox?”
He turns to me, smiling that small smile again. It fades fast, though, and then he’s looking at his feet.
As we step off the stairs onto the first floor, I bump him with my elbow. His eyebrows raise.
I smile. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
I wrap an arm around his waist and snuggle up against him.
Liam’s arm goes around me, too, squeezing for just a second before he lets me go. I lift my head off his arm and find him giving me a crooked smile. “What was that for?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“You’re a strange one, Lucille Rhodes.”
When we start walking again, he catches my hand. He lifts it up. “I like this.”
“My polish?”
He nods. His fingertip rubs over one of my green nails. “Do you do them yourself?”
“I do lately. It’s really not that hard. Plus, out in Estes, I’ve kind of tried to keep to myself and stuff.”
“Have you?” His fingers close gently around mine as he leads me into what looks like a small library.
“Yeah.”
There’s a door in one corner. Liam keeps my hand as he shoulders through the door, then releases me so he can hold the door for me.
I grin. “Nice manners, Gael boy.”
He smiles back. “I heard that’s what you girls like.”
“Southern girls?”
He nods.
A few feet away, in the grass, I see a black Range Rover. Liam opens my door, tosses the pack in the back, and drives off down a road I’ve never noticed before.
“So how far away is this place?”
He gives me a smirk. “Afraid to be alone with me?”
“Pshhh. Not even a little bit.”
He shakes his head. “Not even a little. I’m losing my game.”
“You didn’t have it. Not with me.”
I watch with delight as his jaw drops slowly open, then his face splits into a grin. “I didn’t, did I?” he asks as he turns onto a little, cobblestone road.
“Nope,” I tell him proudly.
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re a ho.”
“A ho!”
“A big ole ho.”
“What proof do you have of this, Miss Rhodes?”
“Um, all your social media accounts? Page Six and every other tabloid?”
“Tabloids. We don’t believe what tabloids say.”
I shrug. “If the shoe fits…”
“Buy it. See?” He wiggles his brows, smirking. “I didn’t say steal it or get its milk for free.”
I laugh. “I think you’d get one of every pair.”
“That’s not true. Just the right pair.” He gives me an sly smile.
“And if you haven’t found the right pair? Just keep trying on?”
Liam shrugs. “I’m wearing a pair now.”
“What kind? Glass slippers?”
“Slippers that feel good.”
My heart rolls over. For a long second, it’s a struggle to draw breath. Finally I manage, “Well I hope they work out for you.”
“So do I.” The words are soft. His eyes are on me briefly—just enough to make my body buzz—then back on the road.
The car is filled with strange tension. I look down at my hands in my lap and try to think of something to cut through it.
“So tell me more about yourself, shoe hoarder.”
He chuckles. “Hoarder. Lucy, Lucy…”
“I call it like I see it,” I tease.
He shrugs as he turns onto another small, tree-choked road. “What do you want to know?”
“Hmm. So what do you do around here when you’re not traveling?”
Another shrug. “Not much. I’m not here that much. When I am… I hunt. Sail some. Ride.”
“Watch TV?”
“Some.”
“Do you like reading?”
I watch as his face slack
ens…then hardens. “It’s not my favorite thing.”
“Not as exciting as The Rhodes of Concord?”
“No.”
“So are you taking a break from school?”
“I left.”
“Do you think you’ll ever go back?”
“I don’t know.” He sounds annoyed. “I doubt it.”
“Not a fan?”
His lips flatten. All around us, foothills rise up. I realize we’re driving away from the ocean, back toward the mountain range.
“I’m not a school person.”
“What do you mean?”
He gives me a strange, sober look. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you, Lucy?”
“I guess so.” When he doesn’t say anything more, I ask, “Were you at Oxford?”
“I was.”
“And you went to high school with Declan?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry if my questions bothered you.” My heart pounds hard.
“I’m dyslexic, Lucy.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Is he saying he can’t read? Thank God I don’t blurt out that question. “What…does that mean for you?” I honestly don’t know that much about it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Liam take a deep, slow breath. “It means that I can’t read consistently. Or write, at times. The letters in the words…they don’t move around, but that’s the best way I can explain it without showing you.”
“How’d you text me?”
“Voice to text.” His eyes look guilty. “No one knows.”
Wow. I take a moment with my shock, then try to go on, acting casual. “Just not something that you talk about?”
“It’s a state secret.” He sounds bitter.
“You mean you went to some trouble to hide it.”
“Yes.”
“How come?”
He snorts. “Why do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“A king has to read.”
“Surely there are apps and things…like, ways around that.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is?” I ask.
He stares at the road as he drives, between two big lakes, his shoulders tight, his mouth tighter.
“It’s an embarrassment. To the family.”
“Did someone tell you that?”
“No one had to. It was hidden from the time I entered school. Dec was one of the only people who knew. They’d pull us both out for these private tutoring sessions, and everyone thought it was because of who we were. Our last names.”
“God. That must have been stressful.”
His mouth tightens.
“Do the other subjects…come easier?”
“Math and science. Sure. I can memorize just about anything I hear. So that’s good I guess.”
“Is that why you left Oxford, though? Because it was too much, with the dyslexia?”
He nods. “I don’t need a marketable skill. You know how it is.”
“Yeah, but it’s boring to just sit around and live off family money.”
“That it is.”
“Someone told me once—Maggie, I think—that you run a charity.”
His mouth turns down. “Not exactly.”
“What do you do?”
“I make apps.”
“Huh?”
“I make and distribute apps, or rather I make them and others distribute them for me. Most of the money goes to charity.”
He pulls up at a huge, blue lake and cuts the car’s ignition.
“Apps? Really? Can I see?”
He gives me a strange look. Then he holds out his phone. I recognize the orange and black logo on sight—and my jaw drops.
“You make Fireside?” It’s a British dating app. One of the biggest ones. “Don’t the same people make Fairgrub and Autopawn, too?”
He arches one brow, and I laugh. “Holy hell.”
Liam
I didn’t plan on telling her. Have only told two people in the world who don’t work for me, lips zipped by my NDA. The company is called S.G. Enterprises—for my mother, Sarah Gael.
When I started it, I was a senior at Lawrenceville and barely passing my lit class. The professor, a short, intense man named Dr. Faar, was insisting I stay after classes twice a week with him to practice writing. He’d signed the NDA like all my other professors, and so of course, he knew the details of my disability.
Unlike most of the others, he thought it was something I could overcome with the right kind of help. I could have gone to the dean in protest, but…I didn’t. I don’t quite know why. I remember I would spend those four hours per week with sweat dripping down my back, my fingertips clamped hard around the pencil so he couldn’t see them tremble. It wasn’t that I couldn’t compose a thought, or a sensible essay.
I just couldn’t—can’t—write it in my own hand. I tried so fucking hard those days, and of course, the effort didn’t add up. It never does, and never will. I would leave there having written maybe a paragraph. An imperfect paragraph. A paragraph Dr. Faar would always read aloud.
And first I’d hit the boxing room at the gym. When it wasn’t enough, I’d run for an hour. When that wasn’t enough, and at times when I didn’t have polo or baseball to supplement, I would program. I’d had a class my sophomore year, and I’d been good at it. The difference between code and the English language—how I could do one but not the other—intrigued me. Coding made me feel more capable.
I look at Lucy now and find I want to tell her; I want her to understand. “I had a hard time in high school. I can barely write, but I can program code.” She nods, and I hear myself confess, “It made me feel better…about myself, or something.”
“That’s seriously amazing. I’m honored that you told me.”
“Declan knows, and Heath.”
“That’s all?”
“Who don’t work for or with me.”
“Wow.” Her eyes are wide. “How many people work for you?”
“Twenty-two. Most of them don’t know they work for me,” I tell her. “A guy from my Lawrenceville class named Todd does some of the programming with me, and most of the marketing. He runs the day-to-day stuff. I’m just the man behind the curtain.”
I glance up from my hands, still around the wheel, and find Lucy shaking her head. “That’s really crazy. So you’re like…this businessman and no one even knows.”
I shrug. “No one needs to. I put some money aside, but a lot of it does go to charity. I don’t need it. Everyone on staff is paid well enough, so…that’s that.”
“Your dad has no idea?”
I shake my head.
“You don’t think he would be proud?”
I have to struggle to suppress a snort. “I don’t.”
“Because he wouldn’t want you working?”
“Work isn’t for royals.” That’s what his generation thinks. “But also because me doing this might make him think I don’t want a role in government.”
“Do you?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly.
“But like…don’t you kind of have to?”
“That’s what the precedent is.” The precedent might not apply to me, but Lucy doesn’t need to know all that.
“Damn, Liam. You have a lot of secrets.”
I give her a hollow laugh.
“I think I might owe you a few of mine.”
I crack my door open. “I’d say you definitely do.” I give her a look over my shoulder, then grab our pack and walk around to her side of the car. I was going to get the door for her, but she’s already out, smiling buoyantly at me.
“What’s that look about?”
“Nothing.” Her lips curve up. “I just feel like I know you more now.”
I wiggle my eyebrows, because I can’t exactly tell her that she doesn’t. Then I lead her over to a shed between some rowan trees.
I punch a code in to unlock it, ta
ke out a canoe, and pull out a couple more bags that were dropped off here for us about an hour ago.
I help Lucy into the canoe and watch her as she looks around the glassy lake. There’s fog along the shore, but the water is tranquil and still, so green it looks blue in some light.
“It’s gorgeous here, Liam. With all the mountains…” She waves at the peaks surrounding the lake.
I point to the island out ahead of us. “That’s Pirate Island. It’s a quarter of a mile away. Crown property.”
“So no pirates?” she teases.
“Only us.”
We row in silence for a while. All I can think about, as I look at the island, with its rocky shore and small, twin peaks, is my mum. I can’t believe I’m bringing Lucy here.
We get out on the southern shoreline of the island, small rocks crunching under our feet. The deep blue-green water of the loch is crystal clear up by the shore, lapping at our boots.
As I turn and grab the first of our bags, Lucy reaches toward me, and I realize she’s going to get them from me one at a time, and set them on dry ground.
When I hesitate, she snorts. “I won’t break, Liam.”
So together we unload the boat. Then I pull it up onto the rocky shore and haul it up a small, grassy embankment.
I come back down to the beach and find Lucy hefting two bags. I grab the others and we make our way up into the trees, to an outcropping that hangs over the water. She sits down on the rocky ground. I sit down beside her.
“This is gorgeous.”
I nod.
Wind whips some of my hair into my face, and I think of how I need to cut it. I’m not sure why I’ve left it long like this, or why I’ve left the beard. I guess because it makes me feel like someone else.
I am someone else, I think.
Then I feel Lucy’s hand on my cheek. She pulls my hat off, smiling as she pulls my hair back up into its rubber band, and puts the hat back on. My eyes are closing in the warm, pale sunlight bleeding through the clouds.
“That feels good,” I rumble. Why’s she playing with my hair?
She takes the hat back off, and somehow I end up lying in her lap with my eyes closed, her fingers stroking through my hair.