Page 37 of Stay Close
I stare at the broad expanse of his shoulders covered in sober, black suiting. “All of it?”
“All of it,” he promises.
I think of every lingering glance and soft kiss, broken off too soon. “It’s a lot,” I warn.
“I'll take my time.”
I let the words sink in, and he gives a clipped nod, leading me through the halls of the palace. I know better than to distract him at this juncture, but my footsteps are light. I’m counting on a lot of tomorrows.
As we near the Grousehof, he asks, “Are you anxious?” He flicks a glance to my hand pressed against my stomach.
I give him a wan smile. “A little punchy. This is exactly like the LSAT.”
We’re rerouted several times because of the size of the crowd, and Lucas grows tense in the driver’s seat. He’s careful not to get us boxed in, penned up in a position with no way out, but my job is on the other side of the tumultuous crowd.
“We have to get me in there,” I say, eyeing the waving flags and smoke bombs, the commotion of clashing protestors at the end of a narrow street.
“Let me make a call,” he says, turning into a broad avenue. The cell phone dials through the car speakers, and after a few rings, I’m surprised when Caroline picks up.
“VrouwTiele speaking. How may I help you?”
“Caroline,” he says, “It’s Lucas. I can’t get Ms. Spencer through the security barrier without backup. Is there a discreet way to get more personnel—”
“Absolutely,” she says. I hear the tapping of keys as she speaks.
“Can you get to ChurchillPlossenfrom your present location?” she asks.
“Three blocks south,” I whisper, pulling up the navigation app. Lucas executes a turn. As we pass clusters of people on their way to join the protests, I keep my head down and face averted.
“One moment.” Caroline places us on hold, but soon her voice carries through the speakers. “I’ve contacted the head of security for the Grousehof and given him your license plate and contact number. A joint delegation of Sondish and Vorburgian security officers will escort you through.”
“Thank you, Caroline,” I say. “It’s not a day to show partisanship.”
“Good luck, Edie,” she says.
Once we connect with the security team, we follow a convoy through the barricades. Crowds jostle and shout, throwing sauerkraut and eggs at the car. Lucas works the wipers, resulting in a smear of yolk and pickling juice. Green smoke wafts from a massive papier-mâché head ofQueen Helena.
“Head down,” Lucas says as we approach a narrow point.
“Not now,” I say, sorry to defy his order. “This is the one place I can’t look like I’m cowering.”
He sets his mouth and nods, keeping the car moving at a steady pace as the windows vibrate with the sound and commotion of the crowd.
“We’re safe,” I say when he finally turns off the engine.
He gives me no answering smile. Today, Lucas is all business, and I resign myself to seeing him—my Lucas—on the other side of these negotiations.
The diplomatic parties mean business, too, each side prepared to use every second to make their final pitch. Vorburg, it’s decided by a coin toss when a Sondish aide digs through his desk and finds an actualfennig, is first. Sondmark will present after we break for lunch.
By midmorning, I regret the sweater. Though the room is no more full than usual, I feel the heat and press of bodies, the warmth bruising my eyes.
While listening to the text of a traditional Vorburgian puppet show—the kind put on in parks for children about a mythical island for truants and idlers—I breathe with slow, careful breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. I roll a pen in my hands, my skin clammy and flushed.
My eyes drift closed, and I think of fresh peaches and fields of mint.Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.
My stomach performs a tortured roil, and I look at Lucas. My cheeks are pale and my hand shakes. His eyes narrow on me.
“Fahrvergnügen,” I whisper.
