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“I do. I was in a rage when everything went wrong. I was younger, impetuous, and…” He paused, as if not wanting to admit something. With a shake of his head, he seemed to resign himself to it. “I was heartbroken. I blamed him in lieu of blaming myself.” He straightened, his shoulders cracking. He cringed a little as he stretched what must be a stiffness in his back. “And, as I said, by the time I went to free him from his imprisonment, he was already a prisoner of the Vatican. There was nothing I could do. No offense, but I was not going to go in there after him.”
“When everything went wrong?” She raised an eyebrow. “What happened?”
He smiled. “Nice try. No. You remember the rules.”
“Damn.”
“Hey, asshole! Are you coming or what? It’s time to go.”
Gideon’s open expression instantly hardened. He glowered up at the plane, and at the man who had appeared standing at the top of the stairs. Harry.
Half of her was relieved and wanted to hug him.
Half of her was angry and wanted to smack him.
She wondered if she could get away with doing both because that was suddenly her plan. I have to pick a side eventually. I don’t think I get to pick my own, but damn it all if I’m not going to try.
“I’m not abducting you,” Gideon murmured to her, too quiet for Harry to hear over the roar of the idling jets. “You can turn around and go if you like. I will give you as much money as you could possibly need. I will leave you be, and you can disappear to anywhere in the world you want.”
“I know. And thank you.” She shut her eyes, the heat of the sun off the tarmac somehow feeling nice, like a sauna. It was far better than being cold. “I appreciate that, I really do. But I’m...sick of not knowing. I’m sick of whatever this is that I’m trapped in. I want to remember. I want it all to end, one way or another, and I need your help to do it.” She turned back to him, and there was that glitter of hope in his shining eyes once more. The longing that he betrayed to her in those rare moments.
The love.
Her heart cinched. She forced it away. “Let’s go, before Harry loses his mind.”
“I enjoy annoying our dear Hero.” He wrinkled his nose in irritation. “It’s one of my few joys in life.” He gestured for her to climb the stairs. “After you, princess.”
Princess. She was, wasn’t she? Well, an illegitimate one. The daughter of a king of France and his true love, but not his wife. She’d have to look up Henri the Second of France on her phone if the plane had Wi-Fi.
After she slept.
Climbing the stairs, she looked up at Harry. Everyone was generally taller than she was, and she was reminded how much the man resembled a football quarterback. His sullen and angry expression flickered to one of mild hope. Not the same kind of look that Gideon gave her, but one that maybe wondered if he was going to be forgiven for hiding his undead nature from her.
He smiled and opened his mouth to speak.
She slapped him before he got the chance. His head rocked to the side, and he looked at her, stunned.
The look of shock got worse as she hugged him. “I missed you, Harry.”
Clearly confused, he hugged her back. “You too, Mags. I missed you, too.” He squeezed her tight. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
She knew what he meant.
But she didn’t know if she would be, or had ever been, “okay” in her life.
Any of them.
