“You don’t understand—”
“If you took a chance, if you let people in, there’d be a war for you,” Rory said hotly. “I’d fight an army if—”
If I thought I could have you. He snapped his mouth closed before the rest of the sentence escaped. Geez, he had toshut up.
Arthur stared at him, his expression confused, even vulnerable. “But—”
There was a loud throat clearing as Jade stepped into the doorway with Arthur. “Zhang’s just left,” she said, with an intent look at Arthur. “Walk me out.”
Arthur didn’t argue, and the pair of them crossed the parlor and disappeared. Rory went to the window, but it was dark now, and he saw only his own disheveled image reflected back in the black glass. Arthur’s and Jade’s low voices came in murmurs from the foyer.
“—let him decide for himself—”
“—trying to protect him—”
“—that doesn’t have to stop—”
Were they talking about him? The front door opened and closed. Rory put a hand on the window, pressing his face to the cold glass so he could see Central Park West outside. A light snow was falling again, the flakes highlighted in the streams of the streetlights. A few moments later, Jade and Arthur appeared, tiny figures on the sidewalk below. The coatless Arthur still escorted Jade through the cold all the way into a cab, because he took care of people, protected them, even ungrateful bastards who called him an overprotective asshole.
Rory swallowed hard and looked past the road to Central Park, where the streetlights faded and the trees trailed off into a sea of black. The relic was on the other side of that sea. He shivered and shoved away from the window.
The front door opened and shut again, and then Arthur reappeared. He dropped down on the settee and eyed Rory speculatively. “And what about you?”
“What about me?” Rory said defensively.
“It’s late, dark, and starting to snow. Will you let me pay for your cab, or do I have to learn to say it in Italian first?”
Late. Shit.“What time is it?”
“Just about ten,” said Arthur. Rory’s heart sank. It must have shown on his face, because Arthur sat up. “Rory, what’s wrong?”
None of your business.Screw off. Rory swallowed thickly, pushing away the automatic barbs that he didn’t even want to say, steeling himself instead to give Arthur the truth for a change. “My boarding house locks the doors at ten.”
“Oh.” Arthur sat back with scoff. “I thought we had a real problem.”
Sharp hurt flared through Rory. His jaw tightened, and with clenched fists, he turned away, toward the foyer and the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“To the shop,” Rory snapped, without looking back.To freeze in the armchair all night, alone like always, afraid to sleep, afraid of that relic, afraid they’ll open the box again, afraid I won’t find my way back—
“Why?”
The honest bewilderment in Arthur’s voice made Rory pause. He looked over his shoulder.
Arthur’s face was puzzled, and he spread his hands in a questioning gesture. “Was there something wrong with my bed the first time you slept in it?”
Rory blinked. “Your bed?”
“Of course.” Arthur motioned to the couch he was sitting on. “I’ll sleep on the settee; I’ve had far worse. And I know you’re already fretting about the locks, but Iwasa soldier and I’m still a very light sleeper. You won’t get out of this apartment on my watch.”
He’s giving me his bed.Rory’s every muscle tensed, his fists still clenched.He’s gonna watch over me.
He’s not gonna leave me alone.
Arthur cocked his head. “What on earth did you think I meant?” He frowned. “Did you honestly believe I would let you sleep in yourshop?”
Rory swallowed.
