Page 180 of Charming Like Us
Jack doesn’t blink as he asks, “Is that what you want?”
My phone rings. For a second, I worry I might’ve drunk dialed Farrow or Donnelly last night, but I see it’s just Charlie.
I click into the call. “Hey.”
“We’re going to Vienna. I’m leaving in five.” He hangs up.
And just like that, there’s no time to discuss what to do. No time to even get an annulment if we wanted. We’re headed to Austria.
35
JACK HIGHLAND
Oscarand I agree to pocket our rings and not speak about the marriage until we’re alone again. A difficult task, seeing as how we spent ten hours on a private plane with Charlie.
I thinkmaybewe’ll get time to talk when we check into a two-bedroom suite in a five-star hotel. But we’re there for less than two minutes, just enough time to drop our bags.
Charlie’s true destination is a baroque palace, open to the public. Acres of gardens, an orangery, and fountains all landscape a historic, stunning structure.
“Johann Lukas von Hildebrandt was the architect,” Charlie tells me as we stop in an area under a ceiling mural, chandeliers, and gold molding. Five windows have breathtaking views of the gardens. Charlie’s eyes trace the painted ceiling. “It was commissioned as a summer home for Prince Eugene of Savoy.” His voice carries a reverence whenever he talks about architecture or art.
Hands on my camera, I capture Charlie and the palace in an appealing frame. “What do you like about it?” I ask, eyeing him outside of the lens.
He smiles and says something in French. I glance over my shoulder, wishing Oscar were here to translate for me.
Currently, he’s busy talking to the palace’s security by the door. A few visitors strolling through have recognized Charlie, but after a quick autograph or photo, they’ve left him alone.
I’m about to ask Charlie another question when he lies down flat on the marble tile. Legs and arms spread out like he’s creating a snow angel and stopped midway through. His eyes fasten on the mural like he’s studying each brush stroke.
My curiosity piques, and I can only imagine others would feel the same seeing Charlie Cobalt now. He loves art. For someone so raw, this is one of the fewsoftthings about him.
I zoom in.
And as noise pitches near the doors, I take a quick, concerned glimpse at Oscar.
Palace security is angrier. He waves an annoyed hand towards Charlie on the floor. Oscar nods over and over, and I start to distinguish their voices. But I don’t know a single word of German besidesneinwhich just meansno.
Not helpful, dude.
One thing is clear: Oscar can speak fluent German.
Learned that new fact this morning when we checked into the hotel.
I should know all the languages my husband can speakbeforemarrying him. That…did not happen. Structurally, this is off. We’re at the end without finishing the middle. Learning new things about each other. Married.My husband.
Jesus fuck, I can’t even process. The worst part is not being able to talk to Oscar about it. Having to spend the day pretending it never happened when we are very,verymarried.
The palace security guard leaves abruptly.
Oscar strides over with determined steps. He stops beside Charlie’s black scuffed and worn down Bolvaint shoes, and Oscar lightly kicks the sole. “Get up, Charlie.”
Charlie pats the ground. “Lie down, Oscar. Watch the clouds move.”
Oscar’s brows furrow and he squats down beside his client. I keep the camera rolling. “What’d you take?” he whispers.
“Just a couple booms.”
“When?”
