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At first light, we grab a bite to eat, and quickly hop on the bike, as if someone is chasing us. But I don’t think about that. I have strictly forbidden myself.
Marco takes a detour so that we don’t come across the site of the accident, or ‘the attempt’, as I call it in my head, but not out loud, because Marco is beginning to look seriously pale, and I personally think that he’s done enough throwing up for the week.
For life, maybe.
I haven’t asked him about that. I don’t know if I will: he hasn’t given me the impression that I have the right to ask him about his life, even though he kissed me as if he was drowning. Even though he moaned and held me and… No. A child would think this way. In adult land, a kiss means barely anything. It means nothing.
It probably meant pity, if I’m honest.
So I’m not going to be honest. I can’t stand that it might have been pity. But at least, he didn’t do two things: He didn’t tell me he would save me. And he didn’t make me call my guards, since this has officially now become a life-threatening situation. He didn’t call them himself either. He knows I’m a big girl, I’ll call them if I want.
He did not lie and tell me that everything would be ok either, which I appreciate more than he knows. I’ve had it up to here with lies.
As we head out to the waterfront, the problem of calling my guards resolves itself: My phone activates by itself, scaring the crap out of me.
I have been told that this might happen in times of extreme crisis, but it was never implied that the ‘extreme crisis’ would be me running away from my guards for a little more than twenty-four hours. I am not that kind of person—no one was afraid that I would ever do a thing like that.
Well, I was not that kind of person.
But now I am. I am the kind of person whose phone turns on by itself (I had turned it off yesterday) and I jump a foot in the air. Marco clutches the breaks, and then just sits on the Ducati, watching me with a half-smirk on his lips. But he doesn’t interfere, letting me handle it by myself. I’m too chicken not to pick up—but also it’s not a number I recognize. I don’t know if I would have picked it up if it was one of the guards, or my dad or someone from the palace.
But as it is, I slide the answer button.
“Olivia?”
It’s Angel. He sounds frantic.
“What?” I tell him, sounding more defensive than I had meant to. “I didn’t do anything. What?”
“Don’t be stupid,” he says gruffly. “Come on, Liv, don’t freaking die just because you’re mad at me.”
My jaw drops. “I’m not mad at you,” I hiss. “I’m not the one who kicked someone off my university campus without saying one word to help. Besides, since when do you care if I live or die?”
“Don’t be stupid, Liv,” he says again, his voice shaking a little. He should stop saying that. He has no right, not after everything that’s happened between us. “Answer your damn phone, ok? Everyone is freaking out, this is serious. Just answer your phone.”
“No,” I reply forcefully. “You don’t tell me what to do, Angel. And don’t pretend you suddenly care. What did they give you so that you’d call me? How much did they…?”
“Stop it, Liv.” He says it forcefully, angrily. But he doesn’t sound angry; he sounds like he’s freaking out. “Do you know how many calls I’ve had since you left? Do you know how scared everyone is for you? I know that you’re hurting right now, but for Christ’s sake, don’t be stupid.”
“Stop calling me stupid!”
“Stop being stupid. Look.” His voice drops and trembles a little, as if he is fighting for control. “I acted like a complete jackass, ok? But right you, you are… You need to be safe. Just let your guards take care of you, and we can talk like civilized adults as soon as this is over, I promise. Will you do that for me, Olivia?”
For him?
“The time for talking is over, Angel. I came out all the way over here to talk to you, to ask you for help, and instead, you…” I’m shaking again, shaking so badly I can’t speak. “I’m sorry for existing, ok? I mean it. I’m sorry that my existence is such a problem for you, for the palace and for the whole freaking world right now. I’m sorry that my dad ruined your life, and that I don’t…”
“That is so not what I said,” Angel starts saying defensively, “don’t be so dramatic. I tried to help you, Olivia, but as usual, you…” His voice fades as if it’s underwater and I feel the blood drain from my head. He’s going to turn this whole thing around, isn’t he? He’s going to make me feel even worse, while he keeps defending his own actions and…
“End the call,” Marco says from over my shoulder. The smirk is gone from his face. He looks absolutely feral. “Now, or I’ll do it.”
There’s something violent about the way he says it, and I remember how he yelled at Angel for hurting me yesterday. But there’s no need for him or anyone else to order me around: I have already ended the call.
Immediately, my phone rings again.
It’s Hector.
I answer it.
