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“Fuck. I’m sorry,” I say, still banging my head.
“Luna, it’s fine. Forget it. Come away from the window.”
I nod, but my forehead is still resting on the window, looking out over the view. I should go. But I don’t want to. Even now, I feel safe here.Just a few more minutes and then I’ll walk away and never come back. Just a few more minutes, I tell myself. “Hey, um, I didn’t eat my dessert yet,” I say, finally turning around to face him.
He looks so different with his shirt unbuttoned, freed from the tie that I pulled off his neck. Embarrassment flares at the memory, and I groan again, dropping my head into my hands.
“Hey. Stop that. Look, I’m going to go get your dessert. I put it in the kitchen for you. But when I come back, you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”
There isn’t any fight left in me, so I just nod. Almost meaning it.
He leaves, and the room instantly feels empty without him.
I step away from the couch and wander over to his mantelpiece, eyes washing over the photographs and clippings on the wall. There aren’t many, and I can’t help but be intrigued, thinking about how he must’ve chosen each one for reasons very important to him. These are the achievements that meant the most to him.
There’s one with him standing with three men that almost look like carbon copies of him, captioned:The Baxter brothers at the breaking of the largest women’s and children’s hospital in the UK.
I vaguely recognize them from the bar, definitely the one I saw at the bar and the hospital that day.
All striking blue eyes and almost platinum blond hair, they’re kind of hard to miss. Kingsley looks like he’s the eldest. Not because he’s older per se, just the way he looks like he’s spent his life keeping the rest of them in line.
I wonder if they’re like him in any way.
My eyes scan over to the next clipping—Kingsley bowing to Prince William at the Royal Variety Performance from a few years ago.
One with an older man who must be his father, kind eyes, and blond but graying hair.
None with any women other than one who must be his grandmother, at the opening of a china factory.
And… then…
And then…
My body ices over.
No.
No.
No, it can’t be.
Oh my god.
I swallow and rub my eyes.
I’m tired, fucking exhausted. I have to be imagining things.
I lean in, reading the caption.
Fuck.
Holy fuck.
Kingsley’s footsteps coming back to the room pulls me out of my frozen state.
And before I can hesitate another single second, barefoot,I run.
Nine
