But when I follow the cop out to the processing desk, it’s Prince Nicholas and Olivia who are there waiting for me. I look between them—in their fancy eveningwear—standing out in the downtown police station like a sixth toe on a left foot.
“What are you doing here?”
“What do you mean, what are we doing here?” Olivia asks—that hint of New York still clinging to her words. “Did you think we were going to just leave you in here?” She dips her head, her blue eyes dark with worry. “Are you okay? What happened tonight, Tommy . . . that’s not like you.”
It was always a privilege to guard them—it would’ve been an honor to take a bullet for them. Not because they’re royalty—but because they’re good. It’s fills them both to the brim, through and through.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
As the clerk hands me my belongings, Nicholas shakes the police captain’s hand. “I appreciate your assistance.”
He gives a shallow bow to them both. “Happy to be of service, Your Highnesses.”
The driver—one of Winston’s palace boys—leads us out the back to the waiting limousine.
Once we’re inside and moving, I ask Prince Nicholas, “How much do I owe you for the bond?”
He shakes his head. “No bond. The charges have been dropped.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“With a phone call. To Alistair Lipton’s father, Sir Aloysius. The man’s a full-on prick, but that’s how these things work. I promised him a favor, to be determined later, in exchange for his son not pressing charges. So . . . what you owe me is an explanation as to why I had to make a deal with the devil. Why’d you attack Lipton?”
My jaw locks up tight. “I can’t say.”
Nicholas’s gray-green eyes pin me hard.
“That’s not good enough, Tommy.”
I rub the back of my neck, giving him what I can without betraying Abby.
“He hurt someone I care about.”
“Who?”
“I can’t tell you that—it’s not my story to tell.” My voice goes low and solemn. “But I swear to you, he deserved it. I swear to God.”
The Prince knows me well enough to understand I don’t swear to God lightly. And if I do, it’s not just something I say—it’s something I mean, body and soul.
He holds my eyes for a moment, and then he nods.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Olivia hands me a cloth napkin filled with ice from the bar for my hand. “It looked like you were locked in there with some pretty rough characters.”
I snort—she was always a cute one. Prince Nicholas thinks so too, chuckling sweetly at his wife.
“He is the rough character, love. They were locked in there with him.”
Olivia rolls her eyes at us both.
And then we’re pulling up to the curb in front of my building.
Nicholas pauses a moment, recognition rising in his eyes as they’re trained on something outside the window behind me. Then he lifts his chin.
“Tommy . . . you have a visitor.”
I turn my head, and she’s there. Standing outside on the pavement, pale and perfect, her hair a halo of burning gold beneath the streetlamp.
I quietly thank Nicholas and Olivia again and step out from the car, closing the door behind me and giving a nod to the driver before he pulls away.
Then my eyes are on Abby and her alone.
The wet mist clings to her wool coat, glittering like a dusting of diamonds. She gazes at me long and a little desperately—like she’s trying to absorb the image of me—keep it for later.
“What are you doing here, Abby?”
“News travels fast. News about Alistair Lipton getting beaten to a bloody pulp travels at warp speed.”
I nod.
“You did that for me?” she asks softly. “You hurt him . . . for me?”
My throat aches with the weight of words, with all the things I feel for her.
“I wanted to kill him for you.”
Her breath shudders as she inhales and her green eyes shimmer with wetness.
“But why? We’re not together, if we ever were. We’re finished now.”
I shake my head, drifting closer.
“See, that’s the thing—we don’t feel finished. Not to me.” I splay my hand on my chest, over my heart. “Not in here.”
Slowly Abby smiles even while a tear spills over, slipping down her cheek. She picks up my hand, stroking her thumb gently across the bruised knuckles like she wants to smooth the hurt away.
Then she dips her head and kisses me there, whisper-soft and infinitely tender.
“We don’t feel finished to me either.”
And that’s when I know. That’s when I’m sure.
Me and Abby . . . we’re never going to be finished.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Abby
INSIDE TOMMY’S BEDROOM, HE KISSES me slow, cradling my face and stroking my cheek.
How did I ever go so long without this? Without him.
Our clothes are unbuttoned and skimmed away gently. And it all feels new—a wondrous discovery of warm skin and soft touches—and yet beautifully remembered. I relish the sharp intake of his breath that I know will come when I run my tongue across his throat and slide my hand down his abdomen.