by Mia Sheridan
My heart beat dully in my chest. He was wrong. I loved him, and I didn’t care that he couldn’t read, didn’t care that he’d lied about it. I understood my broken prince so well now. It had all fallen into place. But none of what I felt mattered. What I knew, what I believed, didn’t make a whit of difference if he didn’t believe it himself.
“Please don’t look so sad, Jessie. We still have a little time. Let’s not waste it.”
A little time.
We were back to that. It was all he was willing to give us, and I wanted more. I wanted him, but I was suddenly so confused. I’d hoped we could work something out, but now I couldn’t see the picture clearly. It was misty and full of roads that suddenly ended, fading into nowhere. Oh God, how would I say goodbye when I didn’t want to, when I wanted him in my life and he still didn’t believe he belonged there?
A little time.
A handful of days.
It wasn’t enough.
It was all I had.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Callen
The burn of the liquor was a welcome distraction from my thoughts, if only a momentary one. If I drank enough, it would dull them completely, but that would mean I’d likely pass out and miss a whole night with Jessie when we had so few left: four to be exact.
I was still completely sickened by myself, by the up-close view Jessie had into the life of debauchery I’d been living. Annette. Fucking Christ. I felt like I’d sullied Jessie’s purity just by her witnessing that horrific scene. Not only that, but I’d stuck a knife into the very spot she’d confided to me was the most tender place inside her. I knew what that felt like, and I hated myself for doing it to Jessie.
I sighed, raking my hands through my hair, going over what we’d said to each other in her room the night before. Jessie knew I couldn’t read, and she hadn’t immediately rejected me. The knowledge sang in my soul and yet…the familiar shame still clanged in the background, drowning out the relief. I had lied for so long, I didn’t think I had the courage to live the truth openly, couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like not to have to cover for myself in a million small ways that I could never anticipate until they actually happened.
I’d become a master at deception, had honed my ability to lie on the spot, to distract, to deflect. And it was fucking exhausting. I’d grown used to the lies at this point, but now that Jessie knew, what would it feel like to lie in front of her and know she understood what I was doing? What kind of shame would that inspire? To constantly lie in front of someone you respected who knew you were lying? And if she saw the skill with which I did it, would she understand, or would it eventually whittle away any trust she might be able to have in me? How could you trust in someone who reminded you of the person who had hurt you the most?
I took another sip of alcohol, frustrated and confused by my own aimless thoughts.
I’d been tempted to stay in my room for the day, waiting for Jessie, but I’d felt cooped up. The music wasn’t playing in my head. No writing would get done, and I’d wanted a drink. I’d called Nick, and he’d been working, but he’d said he’d meet me at the bar at five. I’d come down at four and had been nursing the same drink for the past forty-five minutes. Someone laughed loudly from the other side of the bar, and I glanced up at the older couple and then around, hoping to God Larry wasn’t anywhere nearby.
There really hadn’t been much to say to him the day before and there wasn’t anything to say now. What was the purpose of saying sorry when it didn’t erase the betrayal? And as for him, apparently he’d decided there was no reason to waste his time yelling at me or Annette. Who would want the facts of when and how often anyway? Fuck.
I knew Annette had left on the first flight out of France, and Larry was leaving the next day. I had no idea of the state of their marriage after what had happened in my room. Of all the revolting moments in my life, that one had to take the cake. I blew out a breath, the memory causing another flash of disgust to reverberate through me.
I didn’t even know if I still had an agent at this point, or if I even wanted Larry’s representation. Or anyone else’s for that matter.
Larry was very good at what he did and had the best contacts in the business, but I’d seen him stab enough people in the back to know I couldn’t fully trust him either. Just as he couldn’t trust me, obviously. Unfortunately, I’d gotten sucked into that whole lifestyle because it was easier for someone like me to hang around people who easily looked the other way, who didn’t ask deep questions, who smiled and nodded at flimsy excuses and flimsier behavior. And so I’d become one of them.
On his way out of my hotel room, Larry had told me about an interview with a French TV program, one that I would be incredibly moronic to attempt to get out of. The final look of disgust told me that moronic was putting it mildly. That he’d scheduled me to work while I was on vacation sucked, but I wasn’t in a position to say no. Not after what Larry’d walked in on.
“Well, look who’s returned.” Nick slid onto the barstool next to me and raised a brow as he glanced at my drink. “I thought it was happy hour. And if it is, why do you look so damn unhappy?”
I bared my teeth in what I hoped was a decent smile. “How’s that?”
He shuddered. “Not good.”
That elicited an actual laugh. But then I groaned, taking another sip of my drink. The bartender came over, and Nick ordered a beer before turning back to look at me again.
“What’s wrong, Cal? I hoped you would return from your romantic weekend with a spring in your step and a smile on your face. All that research into wine tours and museums, French gardens and breakfast spots…All that planning and it didn’t go well?”
I stared into my drink, allowing myself to relive the weekend, just for a moment. Jessie and I had never made it out of bed long enough to do half of what I’d planned. And it’d been…incredible. “It went too well. Everything’s…suddenly complicated.”
Nick’s drink was placed in front of him, and he took a long sip. “Ah. I see.”
I tipped my head, looking at him sideways. He did. He always had. It was why I’d first begun pushing him away when I’d started bringing people into my life like Larry and Annette. I turned my head, staring down at the bar, collecting my courage. “Nick, why don’t you ever text me?” That and a hundred other little things I’d pretended not to notice.
There was only silence, but instead of looking up, I folded the cocktail napkin in front of me over once, and then again, turning it into a small square.
“Do you want me to say it?” Nick asked softly.
I blew out a breath. “No.” I’d known for a long time he knew I couldn’t read. It’d been an unspoken truth between us. I wasn’t sure how he’d first connected the dots, but he’d been with me before I had enough money to hire people to read my contracts, before I had the funds for computer programs and phones that I could download apps to. He’d noticed, and because it was obvious that I was ashamed, he’d never said a word. He’d just helped me when and where he could.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Callen.”
I didn’t answer, and after a moment he asked, “Is that why?”
“Why what?”
“Why things are suddenly complicated? You could tell her, you know.”
“I did.”
I glanced at him, and he was wearing an expression of genuine surprise. “How’d she react?”
I shook my head. “She says she doesn’t care. And right now she probably doesn’t, but that’s because she hasn’t considered all the ways it would affect her, even probably all the ways it affects me.” She had no way to know what a struggle it was, knowing it’d be easier to tell people the truth, but also understanding that it could be asking to be taken advantage of. No idea how being illiterate not only made me feel stupid, but it made me feel vulnerable. There were things others might believe made it easier—like voice to text—but those were filled with pitfalls, too. I should know; autocorrect had ma
de a fool out of me one too many times. So I’d abandoned certain technology. I’d rather appear rude for not answering right away than like the idiot I was.
“Okay. So you’ll…what? Just be alone forever? Drinking way too much, sleeping with any woman who crosses your path, rinse and repeat until your liver gives out or your dick falls off? Sounds like a hell of a plan.”
I couldn’t help the chuckle that came up my throat. “When you put it that way…”
“Exactly.” Nick sighed. “Sad, lonely, and dickless. Not the way to live, or die.”
“So what do I do, then? She lives halfway around the world.”
He shrugged. “Those are details the two of you will have to figure out. All I know, Cal, is that I haven’t seen your eyes shine with anything other than intoxication for a very, very long time. And I was afraid I’d never see it again.” I heard the sadness in his voice, and it made me wince. He’d seen the path of destruction I’d been on for a while now and had tried to head me off. I hadn’t listened. I’d done everything to push him away, shut him out.
I took a sip of my drink. “You didn’t have time to come on this trip with me, did you?” He’d been working almost the entire time we’d been here.
“I always have time for you, Cal.”
I smiled at him. Yeah, he always had. Even when he really didn’t, he made time. The only one who truly did. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a lousy friend lately, man.”
Nick took a swig of beer. “Get the next round and I’ll forgive you.”
I laughed, but it ended in a grimace. I owed him a lot more than that. A hell of a lot more. “Thank you.”
We shared a drink and chatted, the mood growing lighter, and after fifteen minutes, I felt someone slide up next to me and glanced to my right. The girl smiled and for a second I couldn’t place her, but then I remembered her from the first night I’d arrived, the same night Jessie had shown up in this very bar. The girl smiled coyly. “Hello again.”
“How are you?”
“We’re good.” Her friend leaned around her and waved at us, and seeing the vacant seat next to Nick, walked behind us and scooted into it. She held out her hand and began introducing herself to Nick.
“I hoped I’d see you again this week,” the girl said. Fuck, I couldn’t remember her name. The bartender came by, and she ordered a chocolate martini as I searched my brain for her name. Had it ever even registered?
“Yeah,” I said after the bartender had turned away to make her drink. “I’ve been working a lot, and spending time with friends.” Friends. That felt wrong. But if Jessie wasn’t a friend, what was she?
“Working? I thought you were just here on vacation. Are you composing something new?”
“Yeah. I’m working on a score for a movie.” Who would have guessed that I’d show up here, suffering from a terrible case of writer’s block, and a week later I’d be in the middle of a piece I suspected—hoped—might be one of the best things I’d ever written? Jessie. It was because of Jessie.
“That’s so exciting!” the girl said, putting her hand on my arm, the signal I knew meant I could take her back to my room if I wanted to. I didn’t.
I pulled my arm from beneath her hand just as the bartender set her drink in front of her, and she held up her glass to me. “To your latest masterpiece.” She took a sip of her martini.
“I appreciate that.” Well, this was awkward. I knew she had an agenda, and I wasn’t interested. And I never had to bother with small talk before. I opened my mouth to excuse myself, but she started talking before I could.
“My friends and I have been doing a lot of sightseeing,” she went on. “There’s so much to do in the Loire Valley. It’s beautiful.” She took another drink of her cocktail and then tilted her head, smiling flirtatiously. “I still haven’t had a chance to enjoy the hot tub.”
I released a breath on an uncomfortable smile. “Listen, ah—” I looked up and saw Jessie standing in the doorway of the bar, staring over at me with a look on her face that was simultaneously surprised and hurt. I hadn’t expected her to get out of work for another half an hour or so, but I was so happy to see her, I was on my feet in an instant. She began walking toward me, her body held stiffly, as though she felt unsure. “I gotta go,” I muttered to the girl next to me.
“Wait? Already? I was hoping we could—”
“Sorry.” I turned to the bartender. “Charge all these to my room,” I said, indicating Nick and the two girls. The bartender nodded, and I threw down a tip. “Nick, see you at dinner?”
“No. Can’t tonight. Breakfast?”
I nodded at him and scooted out from between the barstools, noting the pout on the face of the girl I’d been talking to, and walked toward Jessie. She gave me an awkward smile and waved to Nick. “Hey,” I said, “how was work?”
Jessie glanced behind me at the bar. “You don’t have to leave if you were—”
“I was waiting for you. Only for you, Jessie.”
She gave me a brief smile. “Okay. Well, then, shall we?”
I took her hand as we turned. She shot a quick look behind us, her expression troubled for a moment before she flashed me another smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jessica
In the year of our Lord 1429, on the twenty-first day of July
We are returned from the coronation of King Charles VII, made victorious much in part due to Jehanne’s bravery as she led our troops to victory. The celebration was a sight to behold, and though I dressed as myself with all the fineries of which I am familiar, I felt somehow…not myself at all. I’ve changed, and I’m not sure how to change back, nor if I even desire to.
My father made my introductions to several gentlemen of the court and told me that he is simply waiting for the most advantageous offer for my hand. My heart sank at knowing this is what I will return to when my duties have ended—a loveless marriage and a lifetime of pretending.
I spotted Olivier skulking behind pillars and partaking of far too much wine as he watched me dance with one aristocratic gentlemen after another. I danced and laughed, yet I was unable to stop thinking about that kiss the captain and I shared before he released me and returned to camp, leaving me angry that he’d taken such liberties and somehow dissatisfied that our kiss had ended. And so when he pulled me behind a column and pressed himself against me, planting his lips on mine again, I did not stop him. Indeed, I must admit that I encouraged it and returned his kiss with much fervor. I will be utterly ruined if it is found that I have conducted myself in such a manner, and with a member of the military no less, and yet I do not seem to care. What am I doing? Olivier and I have no hope for a future—none at all—and yet I crave his hands on me in a way that both terrifies and thrills me.
I am almost thankful to be back at camp now, where the rules are different, where I am still playing a part and yet I am somehow more free. The focus has turned, once again, to the strategy of war and whether it is best to press our advantage and take Paris. Olivier says he agrees with Jehanne’s assertion that we should, though Charles wavers, swayed no doubt by the opinion of his court. Sometimes I grow so weary of all this war, I think I might scream. Why should God care about our victory? Aren’t there English soldiers in their tents right now praying to the very same God? Why should he answer some prayers and not others? Jehanne says I ask the wrong questions, but I don’t know what the right ones are. Perhaps if I could cease questioning as she does, my mind would find peace. Perhaps God is attempting to lead us all to peace, but if no one but Jehanne has faith in his calling, we are destined to fail. For one girl cannot save an entire nation by herself, no matter how devout she may be. Indeed, one girl cannot save anyone—not a country, nor a man—lest they believe as strongly as she.
He was dreaming again. This time I knew what he was dreaming about as he whimpered softly, the sound a child would make, and clenched the sheets in his hands.
I’d been dreaming, too, of the tr
anslation I’d worked on earlier that day. Dreaming of coronations and secret kisses, war troops and military camps, and a young girl trying to navigate it all. But his cries had woken me, and now my dream faded away like late-morning mist.
“Callen,” I whispered, shaking him gently. “Callen, wake up. You’re dreaming.” He flailed slightly, his head turning as if he’d taken a sudden smack on the cheek, his eyes springing open. He blinked at me in the low light of my room, reality dawning, the shadows in his eyes fading as he released a long breath and pulled me close.
I ran my hand down his cheek, feeling the roughness of his jaw. It had to be close to morning. I’d have to roll away to glance at the bedside clock, and I didn’t want to turn from him, even for a second. “Same dream?” I asked.
“Yeah. Same dream.”
“He can’t hurt you anymore,” I whispered. Only he was hurting him, wasn’t he? How could I help him stop allowing his father’s words to poison his mind? “His words are lies.” I scooted closer, pulling him tight, feeling the quick beating of his heart against my shoulder. After a few minutes, it slowed, his body relaxing.
“Come live with me, Jessie,” he whispered against my hair.
My eyes blinked open, and I tilted my head back. “Live with you? In L.A.?”
“Yes.”
A shimmer of happiness ran through me, but so did a jolt of uneasiness. Move to Los Angeles, where the life I’d been confronted with in his room upstairs was everywhere around him?
“Why are you so quiet?” There was vulnerability in his voice, and I realized how difficult it must have been to ask the question. Was he suggesting he’d change? Change his lifestyle altogether for me? It’s what I wanted, right? Only why did I feel so unsure? Because his words from yesterday were still so fresh in my mind. “God, Jessie, if I could change for anyone, it would be you. I don’t want to be that man. But it’s who I’ve become. It’s who I have to be.” If he could change…
