Page 89 of Crown of the Fae King

"Don't," he said. "Don't imagine what I'm thinking. You already know how I'm feeling. And today, that needs to be enough." He held his right hand against my neck, then bent to kiss my temple. "I need to speak with Wickham for a moment."

I grabbed at him. "Don't--"

He shushed me with a quick shake of his head. I sat down again, and watched, horrified, while Griffon and Wickham stepped outside to discuss me, like some woman who needs to be managed by men who know what’s best for me.

Had anyone else done that, I would have been insulted.

Urban caught my gaze and held it. He swallowed hard, then nodded. He was giving his official opinion of my professor. That was all it took to send me over the edge again. But I bit my lips together and fought the tears stinging the backs of my eyes, then let the pastry counter distract me so I could keep it together.

Griffon came back alone. Wickham waited outside the windows. Urban joined him.

"Time to say goodbye, love."

I got to my feet, and he pretended to be cheerful while holding out my leather jacket. He lifted my hair and the hood over the back and turned me to face him. The fake smile wasn’t working, and he dropped it.

I had to be cheerful for both of us. "So, see you later."

"Yes. You will. I made Wickham promise not to take you away from me."

"And what did he say?"

"He said you'll be staying...for now." He looked into my eyes, then winked. "We'll just have to work on him, that's all."

"I can live with that."

"So can I. For now. I just worry..."

"About?"

"Who's going to eat all those practice pancakes in the meantime?"

“Give them to the woman upstairs. They’ll keep her hands busy.”

36

I Told You That To Tell You This

Griffon left me at the café without a last kiss. I think he did it on purpose, so I’d be more eager for the next time.

Because of the news crews, we hadn’t bothered with a car and used Lover’s Lane Alley instead. We went back there to pop home again, and if anyone followed us, I didn’t really care.

Just after noon, Wickham ordered everyone to remain on the estate while he and I were gone, for his own peace of mind. “The crime at the Bod hasn’t been solved and might never be if we’re right about O’Ryan taking it all. I would move us all back to Edinburgh, but I don’t want to lose any time, and I don’t want some among us to become fugitives, if the police expect you to remain in Oxford for a while.”

I followed him to the living room where he handed me an umbrella and told me to open it.

“I thought Scots were superstitious,” I said, but opened it anyway.

He grinned with only one side of his mouth. “Iam what superstitions are about, love.”

We popped out of the bright living room into a gloomy alley in the middle of a rainstorm. It smelled perfectly divine.

“Welcome to Inverness,” he said, then stepped close. Together we hurried to the end of the lane and up the street to a storage facility. He produced a key that unlocked a large unit and lifted the door. Inside, there was a beat up old pickup truck with blue paint.

For a man to whom money had no meaning, I would have expected something…newer.

Once we were inside, he turned the engine over and patted the dashboard. “Like coming home.”

The only part of Scotland I’d seen thus far had been the city of Edinburgh. Now, out in the country, I started to understand what all the fuss was about. Everywhere I looked was covered with greenery. Everything lush and healthy and alive—and dripping. Yellow daffodils swayed together in clusters along the road. Fields full of sheep and lambs, busy living their lives, ignored us as we passed.

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