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“It doesn’t matter what I think. It only matters what happened. And what happened is that people died. They died, Lola, and all the talking in the world isn’t going to change that fact.”
“Beating yourself up won’t change it either,” I tell him.
He whirls on me then, eyes blazing with a pain that breaks my heart. “You don’t have any idea—”
“So tell me.” I scoot closer to him, try to take his hand where it’s balled up on his knee. But he won’t unclench his fist and he won’t say anything more, his jaw working like it’s taking every ounce of control he has to keep his shit together.
It’s not my place to push any more than I already have. I don’t know what he went through when he was captured, don’t have a clue how much psychological and physical damage was done to him. Picking at him without having a clue what I’m doing—or what I’m bringing to the surface—seems like a really bad idea.
Fuck. Why don’t I ever think before I jump in? “I’m sorry, Garrett. I’m being an asshole and you don’t deserve that.”
This time when he laughs, it sounds like he means it. “You’re not an asshole. And you don’t have to apologize. Everyone’s got an opinion about my abduction. Why shouldn’t you?”
I start to correct him, to tell him that that’s not what I meant, but before I can figure out what to say, we pull up to the hotel.
Correction. We pull up to a hotel that very definitely is not the hotel where I have a reservation.
“What are we doing here?” I ask as I look up at the placard for the Four Seasons George V, one of the most exclusive—if not the most exclusive—hotels in Paris. “We’re supposed to be staying at the Pullman—”
“We can’t stay there,” Garrett tells me. “I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean we can’t stay there? It’s a perfectly lovely hotel. I stay there all the time. It’s not as fancy as this, obviously, but I think that could be a good thing. Who would think to look for you there?”
“No one, be—”
“Exactly. I want to go to the Pullman, Garrett.”
He closes his eyes, rubs the bridge of his nose. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks exhausted, defeated, and I can’t help feeling guilty for making a fuss. But this is my trip, not his. He’s only here because he wants to keep the pressure on his father by making sure new pictures and articles about us appear in the press daily. Which is fine. But this is a business trip for me and I’m going to treat it as such.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I start when he doesn’t say anything else. “I’m not trying to be difficult, okay? I picked the Pullman because it’s close to a lot of the places I’ll be going in the next few days, which cuts down on the hassle of renting a car, fighting traffic, et cetera. If we stay here, a lot of that goes out the window.”
Plus, I’m pretty sure I can’t afford the suite Garrett is sure to have reserved for us. And since this is my business trip, I need to be the one paying, not him.
One of his bodyguards opens the car door. “The lobby’s been cleared, sir. We have you two checked into the Presidential Suite, so if you’re ready—”
“Give us a minute, Bastian, will you?”
Surprise flashes across his face, but then he nods and steps back. “Of course, sir.” The car door closes firmly.
“I’m going to the Pullman,” I tell him. “If you want to stay here in the Presidential Suite, feel free to do so.”
“You’ve got to know that I want to be wherever you are, Lola. But I can’t stay at the Pullman. The security isn’t good enough.”
“I don’t understand. You have your own security.”
“Yes, but even so, there are certain security protocols that all the members of my family have to follow when we travel abroad. Those protocols were put into place by palace security and they are pretty much indisputable. We’re staying at the George V because their security fits within these protocols, while security at the Pullman doesn’t.”
His explanation isn’t what I was expecting, but it makes sense. Of course it does. Old prejudices of mine notwithstanding, Garrett isn’t the kind of guy to just override my plans for the fuck of it. Damn it.
There’s a part of me that wants to say to hell with it, I’m staying at the Pullman anyway. But that would totally be a case of cutting o
ff my nose to spite my face and I’m smart enough to know it. Partly because I want to be wherever Garrett is, even if it’s in the Presidential Suite of this hotel, and partly because I know if I make a big enough fuss, Garrett will try to give me what I want.
And that’s not fair to him—not when he explained things to me the way he just did. Because, after everything he’s been through, Garrett deserves to feel safe. He deserves to feel like he doesn’t have to worry about his own safety, the safety of his people, or my safety. If staying here will do that for him, then I’ll suck it up. Just like I’ll suck up the fact that there is no way in hell I’ll be able to afford the Presidential Suite.
“Okay. Let’s just go in, then.” I reach for the door handle, but he stops me.
“I really am sorry. If I could let you have the Pullman, I would. But safety protocols have become even stricter since the abduction. My hands really are tied.”
