Page 51 of The Wanted Prince
“If I hadn’t run, maybe, but I did. For weeks.” I stabbed at my screen again, through a new crop of popups. The rehab thing was going semi-viral, only it had mutated from porn to theft. I’d stolen the amulet because I was a kleptomaniac. He stole my pen, someone tweeted. At a charity event. I asked for his autograph and he just took it. The tweet had twelve likes. Thirteen. A retweet. I wanted to tweet back, she was a liar. I didn’t sign autographs at public events.
Laura sighed. “Nothing?”
“Nothing. No, wait.” A new text popped up, this one from Carlo. Got the pictures, he said, and I whooped like a fool.
Laura bounced on her tiptoes. “What? Did you get them?”
“Carlo did, yeah.” I texted back, thanking him. He was typing. Laura pressed close to peer at my screen.
“Did he send them? How bad?—”
We both gasped at once as the pictures came through. These were no blurry amateur shots. The first was from outside, framed by the window, and it showed me and Laura leaning in, laughing. Her hand was stretched out, not quite touching mine. My head was tilted toward her, my eyes bright with mirth. All around us lay the detritus of dinner, our empty wine glasses, our dessert plates. A candle Laura had found and set out. It looked romantic, because it was.
The second shot was of me charging up the dark street, Laura hovering behind me, shielding her face.
“Oh, God,” she said, and tottered to the couch. She sat down heavily. “If these had got out…”
“I know. I know.” I dropped down beside her. She put her head on my shoulder and I gathered her close. I could feel her trembling, and I stroked her back. “Breathe.”
“Breathe yourself,” she said. “Your heart is pounding.”
I sank into the cushions, pulling her with me. We half-lay entangled, trying to breathe. Laughing. It wasn’t funny, none of this was, but the laughter came anyway, nigh on hysterics. We laughed till our breath gave out, then lapsed into giggles, then the occasional wheeze of loud, exhaled tension. At last, we lay quiet, our heads pressed together. Laura found my hand and gripped it to her chest.
“How did he even find us? I was careful, I swear.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I doubt it was you. He probably saw me when I met with my brothers. Followed me back here and waited for his chance.”
Laura tsked. “Vulture.”
“Yeah. The worst.” I wound a lock of her hair around my finger, then let it spring loose and wound it again. Laura sighed and relaxed. I kissed the top of her head. Outside, rain fell, a light summer drizzle. I’d drawn the curtains, so I couldn’t see it, but the sound it made was gentle and soothing. I closed my eyes for a second, and Laura’s phone buzzed.
“Ignore it,” I said, then mine buzzed too. Then it chirped, then it binged, overlapping alerts. Then Laura’s went off, and it didn’t stop. We sat frozen, eyes locked.
“It can’t be,” she whispered. “He bought them all, right?”
I could see my screen flashing on the couch behind Laura, an incoming call. Bouncing alerts.
“It could be something else,” I said, but my heart had stopped beating. I held my breath as I reached for my phone, pressed my lips together as I tapped an alert at random. Our picture popped up, and a blaring headline: PALACE LEAK – PRINCE FOUND WITH FRENEMY PARAMOUR! Laura made a wounded sound, and I angled my phone away. “Don’t look.”
“I’m not. It’s… it’s my brother.” She held up her own phone so I could see. INCOMING CALL – HUGO CARDONA.
“You should answer,” I said.
“What would I say?”
“Tell him, I don’t know, you heard I was here. You came to persuade me to turn myself in.”
“I can’t tell him that. He thinks I’m in New York.”
“Not anymore, he doesn’t.” I tried to think. “Tell him you felt bad about leaving early. You came back to make up with him and…” Inspiration struck. “Wait, no. Scratch that. Say Carlo asked you. He texted you yesterday and begged you to talk to me. Flew you out on his Gulfstream. You couldn’t say no.”
“We have to get out of here.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“What do you mean, no? They’ll figure out where we are. Someone will tweet out, I know where that house is, and two minutes later, we’ll be swarming with press.”
“I know,” I said, gently. “And you have to go. But I’m turning myself in.”