Page 26 of Under Arthur’s Protection

I clenched my jaw and stared harder at the clouds. Part of me wanted to say all of it to Gwen. Wanted to justify my existence.

“The cottage has a good kitchen.” Well done. Way to prove to yourself it doesn’t matter.

Gwen tilted her head. “Hmm?”

“If you have any dietary restrictions, I should know before we land.”

“Are you offering to cook?”

“Restaurants in the area are limited, and eating out increases exposure.”

“That’s a yes,” Lance said from the divan.

“It’s an operational consideration.”

“Arthur’s an amazing cook,” Lance told Gwen, ignoring me entirely. “He won’t admit it’s a hobby, but he’s got opinions about olive oil that border on religious.”

I was going to kill him.

“No dietary restrictions.” She smiled. It was a small, private thing, aimed at her notebook. It wasn’t for me; it was just there. “But I do like olive oil.”

Lance caught my eye over her head and winked at me.

Fuck.

Chapter 9

Gwen

Lance’s voice came first. Soft, relaxed, somewhere ahead of me. “Did you have the cottage opened up?”

I kept my eyes closed. The back seat of the Land Rover rocked gently over uneven ground, and my neck ached from the angle I’d been leaning against the window. The flight crew had been whisked off to a hotel near the airfield—mandatory rest in case they were needed—but our drive had been long enough for me to drift off.

“Just a few rooms, and they dropped off some groceries.” Arthur’s voice, also ahead, also soft. “I called Ethan before we left Lansing.”

I let the words settle without grabbing at them. My brain nudged me to listen, but my body wanted more sleep.

Lance talked about three years ago. Coming out here when nobody knew. Snow. I caught pieces—sleeping in some hall, taking turns to wake up and add another log. The Land Rover bounced over a rut, and I lost a few words, then found them again.

“—roasted marshmallows in the fireplace,” Lance chuckled.

“And the cans of soup over the fire.”

“Your father would have murdered us.”

“If he’d known there had ever been marshmallows in this house, he’d have burned it down.”

They both laughed, and I smiled despite myself. They were just two men in the front seats of a car, remembering a night they’d spent in a freezing house and finding it funny. Arthur’s laugh was open and unguarded, and Lance’s was different somehow. Probably because he wasn’t flirting with anyone or working a room. He was simply sitting next to his friend.

I wasn’t sure whether Lance had mentioned Arthur when we’d dated. He’d told stories about so many people, but rarely with faces or names attached. I usually assumed they were random military or private security guys. With Lance, everyone seemed like a lifelong friend, but with Arthur, it was obvious they really were.

The car slowed, and gravel crunched under the tires.

“We should wake her,” Lance said.

I shifted, yawned, and made sure I sounded like I was just coming to. “Are we there?”

“We’re pulling up now.” Arthur put the car in park. “Did you get a nap?”