Mr. Zeller has settled into his volunteer role quite nicely. He is an active participant, an enthusiastic camp counselor, and an excellent addition to our team. Our students adore him, as do we. Thank you for allowing him to come to us this summer!
I read the letter again. And then again, my mind racing. I knew the Queen had mandated two hundred hours of community service for Charlie in lieu of pressing charges. But I didn’t know he’d chosen to do that community service at one of the organizations I was involved in.
An organization he knew I was passionate about.
I put the letter down and looked out the window, the afternoon sun making me squint. I didn’t want to read too much into what it meant. But Charlie could’ve picked any place to volunteer. A homeless shelter. A hospital. Our family was involved in all sorts of charities and causes.
He’d picked one of mine, though. And I couldn’t help but feel…warmed by that fact. He was acquainting himself with my work. Getting involved.
A con, working at a summer camp for girls learning how to code. It was laughable.
It was cute.
I sniffed, giving my head a shake, and turned back to my desk. I was being stupid. Charlie wasn’t volunteering out of the goodness of his heart. He’d planned to steal a fucking Warhol from my bedroom, and now he was serving his time.
The fact that he was volunteering at Camp Code was just a happy accident.
Nothing less. Nothing more.
But the progress reports kept coming. Every Monday, I’d find one on my keyboard. Week after week of praise for Charlie.
He’s become an indispensable part of our team.
Charlie has already completed his two hundred hours, but he continues to volunteer. He says he enjoys the work too much to leave.
The girls love Charlie. Everyone does. He encourages our students to be who they are and chase after what they want. He says HRH Princess Jane should be their inspiration as she’s done the same. Honestly, I think half the room swooned hearing him say that, myself included.
Three months of this. Of a rush of tears every time I read the reports. But that last one—bloody hell, it got to me. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was sitting down in my chair at my desk, I would’ve swooned, too. A falling-to-the-ground, back-of-my-hand-on-my-forehead swoon.
I clutched the paper to my chest instead. Like having this small piece of him close enough would make the ache there lessen. For a second I allowed myself to fantasize about having Charlie at my side. Helping me run The Foundation. Making my dreams for this country come true. Making my dreams for my life come true.
I missed him. Missed the way I’d felt when I was with him. Like I was soaring. Like I was just me. And all the lovelier for it.
I squeezed my eyes shut. What was I supposed to do? Did I believe that Charlie had changed? That he was giving back instead of taking? There was no way of knowing if he still conned people. If he was still living a life of lies. But if he was volunteering this much at Camp Code—he wouldn’t have time for much else, right?
I didn’t know.
Taking a deep breath, I got up. Paper in hand, I marched down the hall to Jack’s office. He was on the phone at his desk.
Looking up when I entered, he smiled and politely ended his call.
“I know you’re the one who keeps putting these reports on my desk,” I said, sliding the paper toward him. “I can’t take it anymore, Jack. Hearing about Charlie like this.”
Jack calmly folded his hands on his desk. “That’s the point. Why the hell do you think I’ve been sharing those reports with you? He loves you. He misses you. Clearly. He’s not over you. You’re not over him. So go to him. Hear him out.”
I swallowed. Crossed my arms.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
“What these reports don’t say”—Jack nodded at the paper—“is that he talks about you all the time.”
I speared him with a glare. “Are you spying on him or something?”
Jack lifted a shoulder. “I may or may not have asked my bodyguard to do some recon.”
“Still having your Whitney Houston moment?”
“Oh yes. Very much so.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Being able to bask in the heat of his hotness everyday almost makes up for the fact that I can’t touch him with a ten foot pole.”
I covered my eyes with my hands.
“Anyway,” Jack continued. “Malone tells me Charlie keeps a very regular schedule. When he’s not at Camp Code, he bartends at a restaurant. When he’s not bartending, he’s making sandwiches at a deli in Soho. Bloke never sleeps, but he isn’t stealing, either.”
I take a breath.
“Charlie is a con,” I replied. “Maybe he’s just playing another trick on us.”
“He was a con.” I started at the sound of my grandmother’s voice. She’d do this every once in a while—pop into The Foundation’s offices for a meeting or a morale boost. I turned to see her standing in the doorway. Done up to the nines, like always. Bright green suit, purse on her forearm, not a hair out of place. “But he’s making amends for his past. Let me tell you, dearest. I wish that my husband had made the reformation this young man has.”
“Your Majesty,” Jack said, standing. He buttoned the top button of his suit jacket. “Your timing is impeccable. I was just trying to convince Jane to go and see Charlie. Talk to him.”
The Queen’s pale eyes met mine. “I’ve learned my lesson, Jane, so I won’t meddle. The decision is yours. From what I hear, however, you are besotted with this gentleman and quite miserable without him.”
I looked at Jack. He looked at me.
“Go have your Whitney Houston moment, love,” he said.
The Queen arched a brow. “Whitney Houston? The woman who sings that dancing song about feeling the burn or what have you?”
“Yes,” I said, stifling a laugh. “The song’s about being with the one you love.”
“Oh,” she replied. “Then yes. Do go have your Whitney moment, dearest.”
But as I turned and headed back toward my office, I knew I wouldn’t be going to see Charlie. Yes, he was volunteering. Paying off his debt to my family. But he’d been a professional liar. Maybe he still was. Maybe this was all part of a larger con. A larger lie.
My gut said otherwise. But there was just no telling with Charlie.
Chapter Thirty
Charlie
“Mr. Z? Mr. Z, I can’t find my lunchbox.”
“Mr. Z, will you tell that joke about koalas again?”
“You’re going to teach us more sandwich secrets tomorrow, right, Mr. Z?”
I grinned, helping Elle into her backpack before turning to grab Olivia’s juice box just as Hannah launched it out of her hand. End of day pick-up was always a zoo here at camp. The mad rush of one hundred campers gathering their things, checking their homework, and making their way out onto the sidewalk brought some counselors to their knees. But I actually enjoyed the whole rigmarole. It kept me busy, which meant I wasn’t thinking about Jane. And I liked being surrounded by the noise and excitement and energy of the kids. They’d become my adopted family of sorts. After hanging out with Jane’s family, I realized how much I appreciated being surrounded by people. By conversation and a little bit of chaos.
It distracted me from the hollowness inside my chest. At least during the day. When I was alone with it at night in my bed—God, it was crushing. I’d never known heartbreak like this. Heartbreak that was worthy of a Nirvana song. Probably why I tried to stay as busy as possible. Sleep wasn’t happening for me anyway, so I figured I’d might as well be working. Three jobs, to be exact. I’d take on a forth if there were more hours in the day.
I was so busy with the kids that I didn’t see the Range Rover pull up to the curb at first.
But I looked up from handing Olivia back her juice box, and my gaze caught on a familiar head of dark blond hair through the car window. My stomach dipped. Tim
e seemed to slow down, then stop altogether. I heard it in my ears. A low unwinding sound.
Couldn’t be. No way he’d—
But then Jack was climbing out of the backseat. He stood, buttoning the top button of his blazer, and scanned the sidewalk, clearly looking for someone. He was holding a manila folder.
The breath left my lungs. I knew—somehow I knew—he was looking for me. Why, I had no clue.
It hit me just how much he looked like Jane. Same color hair. Same furrowed brow and pert nose.
Longing bowled me over. Fuck, what I’d give to see her again. To breathe the same air she did.
Not that I deserved it.
Jack’s eyes caught on mine. He inclined his head, once, a shallow nod of acknowledgement.
“Mr. Z.,” Elle said, tugging on my shirt. “Are you okay?”
“Miss Wright will help you,” I said, giving her a gentle nudge toward another counselor. “I’ll be right back.”
Running a hand down my face, I headed toward Jack and stopped a few feet away. I shoved my hands self-consciously into the front pockets of my jeans. I looked like a bum next to him in my button-down, stained with ketchup and God knew what else, and beat up sneakers.
My face burned, a fact I didn’t try to hide.
“Have a moment?” he said. I couldn’t read his tone.
I nodded. “Of course.”
“Let’s walk.”
He held out the folder as we headed away from the school.
“You have completed your two hundred hours of mandated community service,” he said. “Here’s your release letter, along with some additional paperwork. Several of the staff insisted they write you recommendations.”
I took it, pressing the pad of my first finger against one of the folder’s crisp corners. My brow puckered as I slowed my steps. What the hell?
“Thanks,” I said. I waited for him to speak. When he didn’t, I added, “I gotta be honest, Jack. I appreciate you giving this to me. But couldn’t someone else have delivered it? I know how busy you guys are at The Foundation...”
It was Jack’s turn to slide his hands into his pockets. His eyes flicked to meet mine.
“Someone else could have delivered it, yes,” he replied evenly. “But you’re a special case.”
I arched a brow. “I am?”
Jack stopped, the soles of his shoes catching on the flinty sidewalk. “You offered to go to prison for your brother, Charlie. Jane told us who Owen is. You took the fall for a crime you didn’t fucking commit. That’s something we should talk about, yeah?”
My pulse thumped. I pressed my lips together, taking a breath through my nose.
“I already told you—”
“I know what you told me,” Jack said. “And I know you were just trying to protect your brother. Fine if you don’t want to say the words out loud. But I know the truth, and so do you. So does Jane. Which is why you need to talk to her.”
I looked at him. Scoffed. “Seriously? You still want me around your sister after everything I’ve done?”
He took another step forward. He was close enough now that I could make out the smattering of freckles on the bridge his nose. Same as Jane’s.
“I asked you before, and now I’m asking you again. Go talk to her, Charlie. It’s been months. Prove to her you’ve changed. Because I truly believe you have. Please.” His eyes were pleading now. “She’s suffering without you. I thought she might get better over time, but…” He shook his head. “The world my siblings and I live in—you’d think it’d be easy for us to meet people. And we do meet loads of them. But the good ones—the genuine ones—they are few and far between. You’re one of the good ones.”
I scoffed again, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m definitely not a good one, Jack.”
“But you are.” Jack dug a finger into the center of my chest. “Here, you’re good. Maybe you’ve made some shit choices in the past. But you have the desire to do better, and you have.”
I was still looking at him. But now a moon rose in my throat, making it fucking impossible to breathe.
He was right. I was trying to do better. I’d have liked to believe I had since everything had gone down. I was still a far ways from solving all my problems. Owen and I were still on the hook to Jimmy for money. But I hadn’t given into the temptation to do another job for him. At this rate, I’d pay Jimmy off when I was about eighty years old. But I was trying.
“Still doesn’t change the fact that I was a con,” I thought out loud. “Even if I did go talk to Jane, and she took me back, a journalist would only need to do a little digging to find out about me.”
Jack’s gaze was piercing. “You forget we’re The Crown, Charlie. If we can cover up your brother’s theft, don’t you think we could create a whole new background for you if we wanted to?”
Was he for real?
“No more lies,” I said. My voice shook a little.
“You wouldn’t be lying to my sister,” he replied. “And that’s the important thing. The public would still know you as Charlie. They’d know you as the man who loved my sister well and treated her right. They just wouldn’t know you used to be a con artist.”
I was breathing hard now. This was ridiculous. Insane. Improbable in the extreme. I needed to pinch myself. Make sure this wasn’t a wacked out dream my sleep deprived brain had come up with out of some misguided notion of hope.
Because that’s what I felt right then. Hope. For the first time in what felt like forever. I’d been pushing a boulder up a mountain all my life. Was I really about to reach the top?
Was I really about to be done with all this shit?
Did I deserve to be?
“What about the Queen?” I backpedaled. “She can’t be okay with all this. Having a scandal—albeit one that’s covered up—so close to The Crown must make her nervous.”
“It does.” Jack nodded. “But since she holds herself responsible for the whole thing, I think we have some leeway there.”
Our gazes remained locked. He was for real.
So was I.
“I’ll talk to her,” I said. “When the time is right.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Jane
I settled the napkin on my lap, smoothing it over with a little too much care. Today’s luncheon was being hosted by a donor, Hannah Carlton, in my honor. She’d taken some finance classes The Foundation had funded a while back. Now, a decade later, she’d just started her own hedge fund, and she credited her interest in financial markets to those very first classes.
I was proud of Hannah. Proud of her success and The Foundation’s, too. I genuinely enjoyed events like these. It was a luncheon, but also a fundraiser—Hannah had hosted a lottery for donors that included a ticket to the event and the opportunity to speak with me one on one.
But ever since Charlie had come and gone, I’d felt numb. I still liked my life. Was still in love with my work. He’d just taken everything to the next level. He’d been that extra something I hadn’t known I’d wanted.
I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. I was sad about Charlie—Jesus fuck, when would I stop being sad about Charlie?—but I wouldn’t let that overshadow the happiness I felt being here, surrounded by people who cared as much as I did about causes that mattered. I’d be sad later. In the privacy of my bedroom, where I spent sleepless nights reliving the things Charlie and I had done in my bed.
I wondered all the time if he’d truly changed. His time at Camp Code had ended; Jack had dropped off a copy of the farewell letter Ria and Natalie had written Charlie.
What was he up to now? Back to being a con?
The luncheon went by in a blur of speeches and applause and some great conversations with donors I’d never met before. Usually I was the first to leave an event—protocol demanded it—but since this was a more private setting, I stayed behind to make sure I met with each and every guest until it was just Hannah and I left in the ballroom.
I was gathering my ba
g, slipping the event’s program into a pocket inside, when she appeared at my side.
“What a lovely afternoon,” I said, wrapping her in a hug. “Thank you so much for doing all this. The effort does not go unnoticed.”
Hannah beamed, stepping back. “Thank you for all that you do. I know everyone here today was thrilled to have met you. Speaking of—there was one donor who couldn’t make it on time. He said he couldn’t miss lunch at the school where he works. But he’s here now if you have a moment?”
“Of course,” I said, slipping my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll say hello on my way out.”
“Brilliant.”
Hannah scurried to the opposite end of the ballroom. I heard her open the door as I grabbed my glass of water for one last sip. I set the glass down.
Then I looked up, and there he was.
Charlie.
My heart exploded inside my chest. My knees turned to jelly. I grabbed my chair to steady myself.
He looked thinner. Cheeks a little hollow. Purple thumbprints underneath his eyes.
So he’d been suffering, too.
The hardness around my heart softened. Just a little.
Despite all that, he was still handsome as hell. Eyes even bluer than I remember. A preternatural shade that stood out, even from across the room.
He was wearing jeans and that plaid shirt of his. His hair was everywhere, like he’d been pulling his hands through it.
Hannah looked from me to him and back again.
“Well then,” she said. “I’ll let you have some privacy.”
Were we really so obvious?
She moved through the open door. It shut with a small sigh behind her.
Silence filled the space between Charlie and I.
“I heard about her lottery,” Charlie said at last, inclining his head toward the door. “I may or may not have gotten Jack’s help in nabbing a last minute ticket.”
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