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“You know everyone will figure out that you’re one of the rotten royals if they find out you’re in the country, right? Why else would you be here?”
“Oh, I’m aware, trust me. I was just… I wanted to be a part of this. To have what you have.”
“Good. Call me as soon as you tell her, ok?”
“Ha! How think you know me so well, so you, American boy? All I said was that I finally found the courage. I didn’t say I would tell her right away. I’m still scared she’ll hate me… She won’t forgive me for not telling her all this time.”
“She forgave me. Besides, you didn’t say you’d tell her, but I heard it. And if you call me American boy one more time, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Oooh I’m scared. As if you’d ever harm a hair on my head. You’re right of course. And what should I call you, oh royal one?”
“Notthat.”
“Oh rotten royal one?”
“Even worse. Just call me Hector.”
“Hector is your name for civilians—is that what you call them?”
“That is indeed what we call them.”
“Well, I’m family.”
“So, call me that then.”
“Family?”
“No, you idiot, brother. I’m your brother.”
“Fine. I’ll call you back in a minute then, bro.”
“You are such an idiot, you know that? Bye.”
seventeen
The world explodes—my world.
It’s so strange. Everything goes suddenly white, not black as it does when you’re about to pass out, but white with a brilliant, blinding light, and it’s like I lose my footing, but only for a second. Immediately, one of my guards is next to me, steadying me, his hand on my elbow.
“Olivia?” he murmurs, his eyes seeking my face, concerned.
“I’m—” I’m fine, I want to say, but my lips are trembling so much I can’t speak.
My eyes are glued to the line of guards in front of the still-screaming crowd. There, in the second row, concealed by the other guards, stands the one person I never thought I’d see. No, it can’t be him. My eyes are deceiving me.
My guard is beginning to shepherd me towards the limo, because the crowd is getting a little bit too wild, but I can’t move. I’m rooted to the spot.
I might be hallucinating.
I must be.
What other explanation could there be for the fact that I thought I just saw Marco in that line of guards?
He looked so strange in his bodyguard’s uniform—I’ve never seen him in it before. I crane my neck, trying to see, but the sea of people has swallowed him up. And of course, he can’t have been real. There’s that, too. It was just a trick of the brain. I look again, one last time, not willing to let go of the dream, before I turn away towards the car.
And that’s when I see it.
His tawny head, freshly shaven. His beautiful eyes, searching for mine.
