Page 36 of Stay Close
“Is this what I think it is?” I ask, tipping the phone at Lucas.
He pulls the Velcro tight across my stomach as he reads the screen. “He let your stalker know his time is running out.”
“Excellent. No, I meant that he’s trying to intimidate me with an even bigger crowd,” I counter. “Idiot,” I say, glaring as I work my way back into my big sweater. “The man is an idiot. It makes me want to give Sove to the Vorburgians just for spite.”
His mouth tightens with an unwilling smile, and I see a flash of something in his eyes that looks like he wants to peel me out of Kevlar again. It’s there and gone so fast I can’t be certain.
“You would never,” he says.
I emit a frustrated grunt from the back of my throat. He’s right. I would never. Both countries are going to get a fair hearing, no matter how ridiculous a prime minister is.
For the next two days, I spend every second of my time reviewing every morsel of evidence, so well-versed in the history of Sove that I could write my own epic ballads in its honor. Lucas brings me food regularly, nudging me to shower and stretch. Each night he secures the room and takes his place on the sofa, slipping on the silky fabric with each turn. From across the dark room, we talk drowsily about work and hobbies, feeling our way around our differences like we’ve already settled what’s going to happen between us.
I lie in the dark and try to figure out what I want. A relationship with him will complicate the path I’ve been on since I was three, when I was memorizing the list of U.S. presidents and mastering the rudiments of simple math. Lucas isn’t a rungon the achievement ladder. He’s not a position to be gained or a scholarship to be won. He’s not a test or an award. I know without inputting the pros and cons into an Excel worksheet or examining the proposition of our relationship for logical fallacies that it’s going to impact everything else in my life.
But I lie in the dark, listening to his breathing, and feel safe.
When I wake on the morning of the final day, he brings me porridge and orange juice. I scrape the bowl as surely as if my mother were standing over me on the morning of a big test. He shrugs on his jacket, curiosity lifting his brow.
“What?” I ask. “I can’t hand out a whole island to an undeserving nation just because I’m hangry.”
“Is this a real concern?”
My cheeks tucks in a smile. “I’d like to think it’s not.”
I open the walk-in closet. “Can I not wear the whole chest armor thing?” I call. “There’s this cute—” The word chokes off as he crowds in behind me.
“What am I going to say?” he answers.
“You never care if I look cute,” I mutter. “The pictures today are likely to make the international press, and you don’t care that I’ll look like a linebacker.”
“Linebacker,” he scoffs. “Do you watch football? Have you ever watched football?” A smile plays on his mouth. “Do you even know what a linebacker does?”
I punch his shoulder, but his reflexes are lightning fast. He grips my fist in a loose hold, and time cools, slowing to a crawl.My blood feels heavy and slow, like my veins are full of winter molasses.
“Don’t worry about the clothes,” he says, swallowing thickly. “You always look cute.”
This is a man who has seen me in a carousel of menswear-inspired blouses, fuzzy socks, and cartoon-t-shirts. My hair has had moods. But the way he’s looking at me now makes me believe him.
He takes a sharp breath and closes his eyes like his shoulder angel is having a word in his ear. Before I let the angel get his way, I reach for Lucas’s tie, straightening what doesn’t need to be straightened.
“This room doesn’t even have windows,” I say. “I’m completely safe.”
“Edie.” He tugs his tie out of my hands and backs out of the room. “You’re not going to the Grousehof without the safety vest.”
“I know what a linebacker looks like,” I mutter as he closes the door. “Not cute.”
Frustrated and overheated, I make a selection which will hide the protective gear and uphold the reputation of Knickerbocker, Gouss & Astor. Lucas nods when I emerge at last, carefully made up. “See?” he says, reaching for my coat. “You look very capable.”
“Capable of providing cover for a defensive backfield?” I grumble.
“You researched this in the time it took to change.”
I send him a dark look and scoop my arms into the coat he’s holding out. “The Wi-Fi was terrible.”
Suppressing a smile, he turns to the door, and I fall into my accustomed position. Time for business. He grips the handle, and his voice drops.
“When this is over, I’ll make up for it.”
