I take the sealed envelope out of the backpack and hand it to Logan. But when he starts to tear it open I put my hand on his. “You can’t open it until after we’re gone—it’ll ruin the surprise. But I promise it will be all right. I swear on my life.”
My eyes drift from Logan to Nicholas. “Trust me.”
And I want him to—so much. I want to do this for him, give him something he hasn’t had. Something he’ll remember always: freedom.
Nicholas looks at the helmet, then at Logan. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Ah…you could get assassinated and the three of us will hang for treason.”
“Don’t be silly,” Nicholas scoffs. “We haven’t hung anyone in years.” He smacks Logan’s back. “It’d be the firing squad.”
Tommy laughs.
Logan doesn’t.
James is Switzerland.
“Sir, please—if you’d just listen—”
Nicholas uses what I’ve come to think of as “the voice.”
“I’m not a child, Logan. I’m capable of surviving one afternoon without you. The three of you stay here, and that’s an order. If I catch a glimpse of you or find out you followed us—and I will find out—I’ll ship you home to guard the fucking hounds. Do I make myself clear?”
The guys nod, unhappily.
And just a few minutes later, he slips the helmet over his head so no one will recognize him while we walk through the lobby to the hotel’s exit.
“Welcome to Coney Island!” I fling my arms out wide as Nicholas locks up the motorcycle. “Known for its epic roller coaster, just-clean-enough beaches, and hot dogs that might give you a spontaneous heart attack but taste good enough to risk it.”
He chuckles. And holds my hand while we walk toward The Cyclone. No one gives us a second glance, but Nicholas keeps his eyes down or on me, just the same.
“So…how does it feel to be out…without them?”
He squints against the sun. “Strange. Like I’ve forgotten something. Like that dream when you show up to class without your trousers. But it’s…exhilarating, too.”
He kisses the back of my hand, the way he did that first morning—and it tingles all over again. After riding the roller coaster and eating hot dogs, we walk back to the bike to get the blanket I stowed there, and head toward the amphitheater.
“Kodaline is playing,” I tell him. Nicholas has a bunch of their songs on his phone’s playlist.
He stops walking and his face goes almost blank, but his eyes are the brightest green. Then in one move, he pulls me up against him and kisses me breathless.
He presses his forehead against mine. “This is absolutely the best thing anyone’s ever done for me. Thank you, Olivia.”
I smile—and I know it’s radiant. Because that’s how I feel. Right now—in his arms. Lit from the inside, like a luminous shooting star that won’t ever dim.
Inside, as we stand on line for drinks, “Everything I Do” by Bryan Adams pours from the speakers. “I love this song,” I tell him. “It was my prom song—but I didn’t get to go.”
“Why not?” he asks.
I shrug. “I didn’t have time or a dress.”
“Didn’t your boyfriend…Jack…want to show you off?”
“He wasn’t that into dances.”
Nicholas makes a disgusted sound. “Definitely a ruddy tool.”
After that, I notice that he keeps his head down, his chin tucked—trying to conceal his face.
I lift his chin. “This hiding-in-plain-sight thing only works if you don’t act like you’re trying to hide something.”
He grins a little self-consciously—and the dimples show up. Mmm.
“Most of the people here would never think that you’d be here—and the few that do are probably too chill to make a big deal about it. New Yorkers are cool about celebrity stuff.”
He looks at me like I’m nuts. “Not the ones I’ve seen.”
I shrug. “They’re probably from Jersey.”
Nicholas laughs—a deep chuckle that makes me close my eyes in the hopes of hearing it even better.
But then, a voice comes from behind us—kind of gravelly, probably a smoker, definitely from Staten Island. “Oh my gawd, do you know who you look like?”
Nicholas’s hand goes rigid in my mine, but I squeeze it because…I got this.
“Prince Nicholas, right?” I tell the aviator-glasses-wearing blond, letting my New York accent come through.
“Totally! You know, I heard he’s in town—” she points to Nicholas “—and you could so be him!”
“I know! I keep telling him we should move to Vegas—he could get work as an impersonator—but he doesn’t listen to me.” I jiggle Nicholas’s hand. “Do the accent, baby.”
With a soft look in his eyes, he speaks in his normal voice.
“I don’t have an accent…baby.”
I laugh loudly and the woman behind us goes crazy.
“Oh my gaaaawd, that’s nuts!”
“Right?” I sigh. “If I’m lucky, I’ll find out he’s some long lost relative.”
A register to the right opens up and I step toward it, telling the woman, “Take it easy.”
“Have a good one,” she says back.
Nicholas throws his strong arm around my shoulder and I lean in, pressing my nose against his shirt, smelling that awesome deliciousness that is him. Then I look up at him.