Page 66 of Thrones We Steal

“Celia,” he says, and his voice sounds like it’s been dragged over a cheese grater. He clears his throat and the distance between us in three long strides. “When I saw that you were going to be at the hospital this morning, I was hoping you could find a way to slip away.”

I don’t know what to say. What is the protocol for seeing your ex-fiancé again? Our last conversation held so much anger and disappointment and hurt, and I am not the same person I was two months ago.

“How have you been?” he says.

“I’m okay.” I’m surprised to find it’s actually true. My new life isn’t easy by a long stretch, but every day I’m settling into my role more.

“I miss you,” he says and tugs his sleeves down. “I was a fool. A damn fool.”

The blame for this mess falls squarely on my side of the line, but there’s a part of me that still smarts from his rejection. “It’s all in the past.”

“I’ve had time to think,” he says. “And I want you back.”

I blink at him. Is he serious? Of course he is. Beck doesn’t joke around, and never about something like this. “It’s a little late for that,” I whisper.

“I never should have asked you to choose between me or Wesbourne.”

This is the speech I wanted two months ago, not now that so much has changed. “What’s done is done. It never would have worked anyway.” I envision the headline broadcasting Princess Jacqueline’s affair.

“You said yourself that these things aren’t uncommon.”

“I was grasping at straws.”

He frowns and props his hands on his hips. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

“Beck, I’m married now.”

A murmur of voices signals the arrival of a group of walkers. I turn my face from the path until they disappear around the cluster of trees.

“Are you sleeping with him? Is that why you won’t consider it?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a simple question, Celia. Are you, or are you not, having sex with Henry?”

“Why in the bloody hell would you ask me that?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Of course not!”

He deflates slowly at this admission, and I think of the balloon in the hospital. For the first time, I see how fatigued he looks, older. “Please tell me you’ll at least give it some thought,” he says.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words won’t come. My skin prickles with the memory of Henry’s hands on me, his shoulder under my cheek. It feels like a betrayal, thinking of it now, when I should be rejoicing that Beck still has feelings for me.

“I’ll think about it,” I squeak out.

He moves then, and I don’t have a chance to comprehend what he’s doing before his mouth is pressing against mine. His hands cradle my waist, and he explores my mouth like a man returning home after a long trip.

That annoying sound some phone cameras make ricochets through my subconscious. With it comes the realization that not only are Beck and I in a compromising situation, but we are no longer alone.

I break off the kiss as the horror sets in. There’s a flash of someone darting around the curve in the path, but they’re past the trees before I catch more than a glimpse.

“Bloody hell. They’ll burn us alive,” I say and press against my temples.

“Should I run after him?” he asks.

“No need.” A very angry Henry rounds the bend, the shirt of a young man clasped in his fist. “Give it to me.” He holds out his free hand, palm up. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

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