Page 102 of Shelter Me

Angel: Ooooh I’m scared now.

Olivia: As you should be.

Hector: You know what we should do instead of acting like two-year-olds? Arrange a match between all three of us.

Angel: What, basketball? Have you seen me? I don’t do sports.

Olivia: Did you say you were scared, little brother?

Angel: I am literally seven months older than you.

Hector: Ok, then let’s do something else together. Running, anyone?

Olivia: The only running the prince has ever done has been running from responsibility.

Angel: Impressive. How long have you been trying to come up with that one? Six, seven years?

Hector: As I said, wanna do something together? You know, not like three-year-olds? Oh, wait, who wants to see a movie?

Angel: ….

Olivia: ….

Hector: Don’t everyone talk at once, guys.

Olivia: What kind of movie do you have in mind?

Hector: Horror.

Angel: I’m in.

Olivia: Seriously, answer faster. Couldn’t it be a romance or something?

Angel: It couldn’t.

Hector: I can find something romantic, if you-

Angel: No, he can’t. You can’t.

Olivia: Fine ok whatever.

Hector: Meet in five minutes? Liv’s room.

Angel: Be there in three (so we can talk about Hec while we wait).

Hector: Fine, have it your way. I’ll race you, and we’ll see who gets there first.

Olivia: OMG, boys, stop it, you’re being rid- Oh, great, you’re both offline. You’d better not show up in my room all sweaty, like you did last nigh-

nineteen

I’ve just hung up with Angel, when someone announces ‘King Mihail’ from the door, and the guard behind Marco clears his throat pointedly. I glance at Marco: he looks absolutely gray with fear.

Marco presses a kiss against my neck, burying his head between my collarbones, his hands shaking as if he’s afraid to let me out of his grip even for a second. Even for a few hours. As if he’s afraid that he might never get the chance to do it again.

The ‘we’ll make it work, somehow’ promise I gave to Marco suddenly feels premature. Stupid. Will we? Can we? How will we do that when the real world comes rushing in through these doors? And the real world, aka my dad, is about to walk in through them.

I hate the insecurity that suddenly grips me by the throat.

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