“Foolish girl,” he mutters, eyes on the welt. His gaze lifts from my blistered finger, locking onto mine. Stormy—no, unsheathed steel—in this light, sharp enough to wound. “Next time you want your hand there,ask. I’d prefer to pull over first.”
My mind flails for something clever, but my brain refuses to cooperate. “I hate you.”
It’s breathless. Weak. A shameful response because this night has already begun horridly.
And Eric delights in it.
His thumb drifts lower, finding the pulse at my wrist and stroking lazily. “You realise I can feel how much you don’t.” The words are muttered so low, I feel them more than hear them, and the beat beneath his touch turns frantic. I watch his pupils dilate. “Right here.”
Only when the lights shift to green does he drop my hand, but he’s pocketed my reaction like a secret he gets to hold over me. I lower the offending limb to my lap, folding it into the layers of my coat to hide how it twitches with nerves. I don’t realise I’m glaring at the drowned cigarette until Eric jokingly asks whether I want one.
“Never.”
“Good. I’d rather I was your only bad habit.”
His retort lights a fire within my cheeks, and I’m begging the cold air to do its job beforesomebody’sego grows to unhinged heights.
When that doesn’t work, I employ the blade I’ve promised to set down. “How ambitious of you, considering yourself a vice of sorts. I’m sorry to burst your bubble and all, but you don’t even rank above my rooibos addiction.”
And by God, he disarms me within an instant. “Doubt rooibos makes you blush like this, Francesca.”
I bite my tongue and turn away, his low laughter becoming background music to the sad music video I’ve found myself in. The rain is even hitting the windows harder, extra dramatic, just to remind me I’m rendered illiterate when verbally sparring against Prince Problematic.
Can even picture the littleVevosymbol hovering over my left tit.
The ambience of ‘awkward rainy drive’ is broken a millisecond later when he takes a swerve to the right so suddenly that my seatbelt nearly strangles the hell out of me. “What the fuck are you?—”
My words die on my tongue as I come face to face with one of the many gate sensors’ blinking red lights. I’m unable to produce even a single word as Eric smugly tips towards the glovebox and snatches Philip’s access card. He swipes it, and the gate hisses open as though welcoming an old friend. The guy in the gatehouse doesn’t even glance at us.
I don’t realise that my jaw is comically dropped until Eric taps my chin and says, “Did you think I offered to drive you to your Nanna’s out of goodwill?”
He hits the accelerator as I deadpan, “Yes, actually. My fragile heart clung to that hope.” The way he bites the inside ofhis cheek isn’t enough to deaden his obvious amusement. “This is kidnapping; it’s a crime.”
“The real crime was you thinking I’d believe a lie that thin. If your little panic hadn’t given you away, the way you couldn’t meet my eyes would’ve. Next time, just tell me you need out,” he quips, and I swallow my argument. “All you had to do was ask.”
The feeling of illegality in this vehicle heightens once we’re on the main road, a blur of cars rushing past us. There are people everywhere.Actualpeople. This isn’t a quick trip to the lake before sunrise; this is heading into literal gallivanting territory. Thunder echoes the loud crack my composure gives. No Philip, no security detail, nobody to filter this outing, and, oh God, a child just waved at me at a red light.
I sink lower in my seat. What if people recognise us? I barely know how toexistwithout permission, and here’s Eric making me walk the plank right into his version of freedom. No more training wheels. No controlled space. Every headlight is a camera flash, and every muffled voice is a new headline.
Duchess-heir seen gallivanting, bare-faced and stupid, accompanied by exiled prince.
Stop it. Breathe. You’re fine. Everybody’s fine. But how can I be fine if I don’t even have my gloves? I’m going to accidentally touch somebody’s hand and drown in their worst memory. I’ve got no hearth-ash on my person, and Redford’s wards don’t extend beyond its lines. Holy fuck, Gran’s going to astral project onto the bonnet and punch me through the windscreen for putting myself at risk this close to the Reaping.
Eric glances over. “Is this your first day on Earth? Calm down.”
“Yes, Eric,” I say on an unsteady breath. “My egg was incubated under lock and key for the past twenty-one years, and I only hatched this morning. Forgive me for being unfamiliar with fugitive joyrides.”
The bastard remains maddeningly at ease and has the audacity to chuckle at me like I’m something adorable. “Have you always been this insufferable? I feel misled.”
One hand shifts the gearstick, and the other rests lazily on the wheel as he merges into the next lane. Seems we’re headed straight into Lanorythe.
“Says the man who literally tricked me with benevolence.” He laughs—actuallylaughs—at that, the sound rough and unguarded. Freedom appears to have stripped him of whatever stale and aloof persona he wears like a second skin. The beauty of his delight is nearly blinding. “Why are we even headed into the city?”
“Because,” he answers, voice low, “I want to see what you do unsupervised. When there’s nobody around to feed you lines and tell you what to do. In simpler terms, I want to see the ghost girl come alive.”
Too specific.
Too close to Percy telling me to unbury myself.
