Page 16 of The Wanted Prince

I scanned the road for headlights, saw none, and pulled a U-turn. I could see the sign now, or the crossbar it’d hung on. The sign itself had swung off its hooks. I steered around it and up the driveway, and nosed the hatchback under the awning.

“I’ll sign us in,” Laura said. “You stay out here. Then I’ll ask for towels or something so you can slip in.”

“Do you have money?”

She frowned. “What?”

“Money!”

She held up her phone, and I guessed that meant yes. Then she jumped out and sprinted through the storm. First the rain swallowed her, then seemed to erase her, making her edges all blurry and gray. She tried the door, found it locked. Slapped the bell. Sheet lightning flashed, then the door opened. Laura vanished inside, and I sat and waited. Sat and fretted, more like: she was in it deep now. She’d grown up mostly in Santaviedo, but she’d been gone for years now, ever since college. I wasn’t sure she quite got what my life was, the level of scrutiny. The scourge of the press. Did she know what would happen if the clerk saw me? Worse, if we ended up tagged on PrinceTracker?

Laura came darting up and knocked on my window. I rolled it down.

“Problem?”

“No, hurry up.” She yanked my door open. “I forgot to get your number. I was going to text.”

We ran back up the drive through the needle-sharp rain. Two steps from the carport, I was soaked to the skin. Laura darted ahead of me and peered in the door, then beckoned me onward.

“She’s making us coffee. Come on, we’re upstairs.”

I tugged my cap forward as we raced past the desk, but no one was manning it. The foyer lay quiet. We hurried up two flights of dark, narrow stairs, into an attic suite with a low, slanted roof. The rain drummed on a skylight over our heads.

“You’re dripping,” I said.

Laura laughed. “So are you.”

“You should get in the shower.”

“No, you go first. If I go, she’ll see you when she brings up our coffee.” Laura was shivering, and I rubbed her arms.

“You need to dry off, at least.”

“She’s bringing us robes.”

Just then, the stairs creaked, and I backed into the bathroom. I heard the proprietress bustling around, serving coffee to Laura. Offering cake. She was speaking to Laura slowly in English, which I took for a sign she saw us as tourists.

Some time during my shower, Laura must’ve snuck in, because I stepped out to discover a fluffy robe waiting. I slid into it gratefully and went to the door, and then I just stood there gripping the handle. I cleared my throat.

“Laura?”

“Huh? You all right?”

“Thought I’d best check, is it safe to come out?”

“Yeah. I’m alone.”

I emerged to find Laura draped in her robe, her damp hair cascading about her face. She’d turned up the heater and now she was flushed, pink roses blooming high on her cheeks. My gaze drifted to her shoulders, her neck. Her full lips. Her eyes, ocean-blue and clear as still water. A shiver ran through me, then a surge of heat, and I turned away from her. Now wasn’t the time.

“Come sit,” she said, and patted the mattress beside her. I sat across from her instead, in a tall, stiff-backed chair. If I sat next to her, I’d be tempted to touch, and maybe to kiss her. To slide a palm up her thigh. Pull the cord of her robe till the loose bow unfurled, and the fabric fell away from her, revealing?—

I cleared my throat. “I was thinking, uh…”

“Yes?”

Was it my imagination, or did she sound breathless? Two steps, and I could stretch her out on the bed and make her pant for me. Make her moan my name. I pulled my own belt tighter, a flimsy defense.

“Your enemies,” said Laura. “We should make a list.”

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