Page 92 of The Stolen Queen

“That’s all right. Lori can stay there.”

Mark shook his head. “No, you’ve put up with enough.”

“What I mean is, I’m going away, and I may not be back for a while.”

“I thoughtwewere going away. Didn’t I just say that?” he asked testily.

She’d mulled over this conversation during the plane ride home, when she’d realized she wasn’t looking forward to returning to the apartment. It wasn’t her home, never had been. In fact, as she looked around the room, she didn’t recognize anything as hers, not the books in the bookshelf, nor the armchair by the fireplace, nor the silk curtains on the windows. Her imprint was difficult to find because the apartment had first belonged to Mark’s mother, followed by his wife. For whatever reason—Charlotte was always too busy with work; interior decorating didn’t appeal—she’d never claimed any spot other than her office as her own. It was as if she’d known deep down she wasn’t going to be here forever. “I don’t want you to come with me,” she said finally. “I need to take some time. Alone.”

“For how long, exactly?”

“I don’t know.”

He sat back on the couch and placed his hands on his legs. “Huh. What about your job? King Tut opens in two weeks.”

“Please don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

He took a breath. “You’re right, I’m sorry. What is it you’re trying to say?”

“I’m sorry, but I’m leaving for good, Mark. I love what we had, but it’s time for me to move on. This isn’t working, and I feel like I’m in the way.” She shook her head. “No, that’s not it, or at least not all of it. We want different things for our lives. You want a wife, and I need to be free.”

To her surprise, he didn’t seem hurt or shocked. Maybe he was thinking of Lori and how, without Charlotte present, they would be able to reconnect in a way that was impossible right now. Or maybe he was putting up a brave front to save face.

“I’m sorry to hear it, Charlotte,” he said. “To be honest, I’ve been thinking about our relationship ever since our discussion on the stepsof the Met. The fact that you only recently told me about a momentous event in your life indicates that yes, maybe you’re looking for something different. That I’m not the right man for you.”

But I’m not looking for a man, Charlotte thought. The narrow way he framed the issue only served to confirm that she was making the right decision, as difficult as it was. “You deserve someone who is as committed as you are, and I can never be.” She paused. “I’m sorry if I misled you.”

He laughed softly. “You never misled me. I just refused to see it, until now. I guess I hoped eventually you’d be all mine.”

An impossible ask.

Because only Layla could claim that mantle.

The next available flight to Switzerland didn’t leave for two days, so Charlotte enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with Mark and Lori the next morning before heading to work. Mark had told Charlotte the prior evening to take all the time she needed, that there was no need for her to rush to pack her things or find a new place to live, and now that the air between them was finally cleared, she was able to see him in a new light. The gentle kindness with which he treated his daughter, and way the two teased each other and laughed, brought tears to Charlotte’s eyes. She was lucky to know them both, and hoped she could remain in their lives in some way.

At the Met, Frederick sidled over to Charlotte as soon as she sat down at her desk.

“Welcome back, conquering hero,” he said, giving a slight shake of his head. “How was Egypt, then?”

“It was beautiful,” answered Charlotte.

“Quite the detective you were, tracking down the CeruleanQueen. Of course, now we have to give the broad collar back to the Egyptian authorities, which is a shame as our one-year loan only lasted two weeks, but so be it.”

Of course he focused on the negative. “It had been stolen, of course it has to go back.”

“We don’t even have our Queen, or at least, not for a while. The Egyptian Museum has asked for some sort of time-sharing arrangement: They get it for a year, then we do. The director is actually considering it.”

“As long as they keep it safe and sound, I don’t see why not. It was theirs to begin with.”

He pulled his chin into his neck like a chicken whose egg had just been stolen. “That’s not the Charlotte Cross I know. What happened to you over there?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Anyway, I’ve been giving interviews to newspapers nonstop. I’m exhausted, but thanks to you we have a happy ending.”

“You’re welcome.”

He lowered his voice. “What about your other project?”

“Hathorkare?”

“Yes. Anything?”

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