Page 14 of The Mourning Throne
Jesus. A computer would sound more human than Morgan did at work.
Lex’s eyes glazed over and his brain hit static. He couldn’t keep concentrating on the email if his life depended on it.
A minute later, once they’d lifted into the air and the outside world dropped away, Lex leaned closer.
“Also, I want matching phone backgrounds.”
Morgan blinked. Looked up, the overhead light catching the sharp line of his jaw. Lex watched the gears in his head turn.
Morgan squinted hard enough that his lashes nearly touched his cheeks.
“What?”
“You told me to ask for what I want.” Lex shrugged. “I saw it. I want it.”
Morgan twisted in his seat, staring down at Lex like he couldn’t decide whether this was a joke or a threat. “Of what?”
The tone was killing Lex. He’d never heard Morgan this…confused. It was almost cute. If anything about Morgan could ever be called cute.
“Us.”
“I haven’t taken a photo in over a decade, Lex. You’d be hard-pressed to find a single one on my phone.”
“Then we’ll take some while we’re there,” Lex said, trying not to grin or talk too fast. “We can go to Big Ben. Or on that double-decker bus. Or maybe Tower Bridge. It’ll be a fun detour.”
“You sound like a tourist,” Morgan said flatly, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t look away.
“Never any harm mixing business and pleasure.”
Lex could swear—swear—he saw the corner of Morgan’s mouth twitch. Not a full smile. Just the ghost of one. Gone when he blinked.
And Lex knew, with absolute certainty, that he was going to make Morgan take those pictures. Even if he had to duct-tape the phone to Morgan’s forever cold, manicured hands.
They were going to London.
Together.
Just them.
And it was going to be fuckingperfect.
The car rolled into the underground garage with a low, echoing hum. It was clean in anoverly clean, rich way. Polished concrete. Rows of designer cars. Lights embedded in the ceiling instead of hanging, casting everything in sterile silver-blue. The kind of place where wealth whispered instead of shouted.
A definite departure from the gaudy extravagance of the plane. Somewhere more familiar.
Comfortable.
“I really enjoy parking garages,” Morgan murmured.
Lex slapped his shoulder before the sentence even finished. “I had a good feeling two seconds ago! Don’t make me remember that.”
Morgan didn’t flinch. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“Of course it is.”
Morgan gave him the barest smirk, and Lex shoved open his door before Morgan could wax poetic about how Lex sounded inside the trunk or whatever went on in that head of his.
The air outside was warm. Not hot. Not sticky. Just nostalgic in that summer-camp kind of way. It hit Lex like a memory: bare feet slapping across the broken dock, lake water dripping down sunburned shoulders. Wet grass and tipped over canoes.
