Theo rolls his eyes. “I’m not alone. Wren is here, and as you might recall, she acted as my bodyguard across five countries.”
Winston nods and turns on his heel to leave. Theo leads the way through the lobby to an elevator. “This is a private lift to our floor,” he explains as we step inside. “No one else has access.”
The doors slide shut behind us, and the energy in the elevator abruptly shifts. Now that the crisis has passed, it’s awkward again. He hesitates, looking like he wants to say something, but then leans against the wall and tips his head back.
“So…” I smile, trying to make this less weird. (Impossible.) “The world didn’t end.”
“Didn’t it?” he says, so quietly I might have imagined it.
Something is lodged in my throat. “How have you been?”
“Never better,” he deadpans. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one freaked out by this situation.
“It’s weird for me, too—”
“Obviously.” He scrubs both hands through his hair and fixes me with a hard stare. “I’ve basically just kidnapped you, and you probably hate me for it.”
“Oh.” I have the sinking realization that we are not having the same conversation. He’s talking about what just happened on the street, when I was talking about our reunion.Mortifying.
“The British press is vile, the absolute scum of the earth. If and when those picturesdoget released, we need to have our ducks in a row before sending you back to the States. Make sure we have a cover story—”
“Can’t we just tell them we met during the apocalypse, and now—”
Theo raises his eyebrows in question. “And now?”
I pull my shoulders back in surprise. I will not be the first one to address whatever is or isn’t going on between us. “And nowI’m here so you can return my dog!” I say, which doesn’t get a response from Theo. That’s fine. I’ll keep trying. He’s going to owe me after all this is over. The elevator doors glide open to reveal a long hallway. “So those guys with the cameras were British press?” I ask, remembering the one who called me “the bird.”
“Some of them, yes. Others are local. Bloody wankers are usually better behaved than that on tour.” We walk down the hall to a room that Theo swipes open with a key. He holds the door open for me as I walk into an impressive suite adorned with lavish furniture. I drag my foot across the hardwood.
“You probably don’t need a black light for this floor,” I muse, remembering Theo’s horror when I told him about the time the carpet in my family’s budget-core hotel room lit up like a neon sign in Vegas.
“No semen-covered duvets either,” he says as he releases the door. It swings shut with an ominous click.
My cheeks flush. “A shame,” I say dryly. I’m trying to play itcool but I’m emotionally vibrating with an intensity that could shatter glass.
Theo shrugs out of his jacket and rolls up the sleeves on his shirt as he peeks through the hotel curtains and swears under his breath.
“It’s chockablock out there,” he mutters, which is hilarious. The word, not the situation. He disappears into another room. “Wanna drink?” he calls through the open doorway.
“No, thanks.”
He returns to the room with a beer and takes a drink before collapsing onto one of the sofas in front of the empty fireplace. “You may as well take a seat,” he says. “There’s nothing for us to do but wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“Someone to tell us what to do.”
“Aren’tyouthe guy in charge here?”
He winces.
I suddenly remember what had to happen to make him the guy in charge, and if possible, I feel even worse. “I’m really sorry about your mom.” He drops his head, but I can’t stop myself. “I felt horrible when I heard the news. I wish I could have told you that.” I stop short of bringing up the number of times I tried to contact him. This isn’t about me, and I don’t want to make him feel guilty for moving on.
He clears his throat and stands. “Actually, there’s something I have to check on. If you’ll, um, excuse me, I’ll be right back.” He dashes from the room like it’s on fire and I’m the one holding the match.
I flop dramatically over the edge of the elegant sofa and pull a pillow over my face. I can’t believe he saidIf you’ll excuseme.Like I’m his royal grandmother or a teacher he’s scared of.UGH.The formality is devastating. I let the pillow drop to the floor, Theo’sIf you’ll excuse meplaying on a humiliating loop in my brain.
“Ifyou’llexcuseme,I’d like to get the hell out of here,” I say in a bad British accent.
