‘OMG AM!!!!!!! I told him!!! And it went AMAZINGLY! Prince Liam is the best guy ever. I’m not even kidding you. #Swooning <3’
I lie on my bed, Grey purring at my feet, for hours while Amelia and I text. About Liam and me. About Am and Dash. About the woodsy, sweet smell of the air here and the irritation of working on an animated movie. Sometime around 10 p.m. my time, I notice a long text from Heath that, at a glance, looks to be about B&Bs. I decide to read it later. In the morning.
For now, I fill my giant, sunken tub, running the water lukewarm for the baby, but with bubbles so it’s still a little fun.
When I emerge, wrapped in my robe, I find milk and cookies on my bed side table, as well as a printed itinerary.
Heath says these are Liam’s favorite places. –Pete
It’s not until I wake up around 3 a.m. to use the restroom that I notice: Grey is gone.
*
An hour and a half later, I’ve checked almost the whole damn castle, so I’m pretty sure Gray is in Liam’s rooms. At least, I’m hoping he is.
I stand outside Liam’s door for the longest time, listening for noise, trying to see if he’s asleep. His big, thick door is slightly cracked, which makes me feel more sure Grey must be in there.
I guess whoever brought the paper itinerary and cookies must have let him out by accident. If they brought something to Liam at the same time—and left his door open—it makes sense that Grey might have run across the hall.
I don’t want to intrude on Liam, especially when he thinks he won’t be seeing me for several days, but if I can’t find Grey…
I push the door open slowly, spilling a triangle of golden light into the darkened room.
Shit! I’m going to wake Liam. I crouch down and crab-walk my way into the room, praying that if Grey’s in here, he’ll...I don’t know, smell me or something and come out. As I creep along the rug, I notice movement along one of the walls. I pause for long enough to realize it’s the night breeze blowing through the curtains.
Before I start to move again, I glance up at the bed—and spy a pair of glowing, green cat eyes. The moment I spot Grey, he shoots down off the bed and out the door. I rise quickly, turning toward the door. Despite my need to follow Grey and get him into my room, my gaze glues itself to the bed.
If shadow vision serves me right, Liam is lying on his side, his body curled into a big “C” underneath the covers. After a second looking at him with a mix of hunger and concern, I realize he’s covering his face with both hands.
“Liam?” I don’t mean to speak, just like I don’t mean to move closer to the bed. But here I am. I’m right beside him. I can see he’s shirtless underneath the sheets, can see his shoulders drawn up. I can see him…is he shaking?
“Liam? Are you okay?”
His body tenses. Then, in a low, strained voice, he says, “It hurts…”
“What hurts?” My voice sounds breathless. My heart pounds. I lean down so I’m close enough to see the pain on his face.
“Is it the light?” I whisper.
“Yeah.” He holds his forehead with his big hand, and I want to kick myself for leaving the door open.
“Oh damn, let me close it.” I pull the door shut and return to his bedside. He’s got both hands over his face again, and through the wall of his fingers, I can hear him breathing heavily.
“Hey Liam… What’s wrong?”
“I have a headache,” he moans. “Really bad.”
“Is it a migraine?”
“I don’t know.” The words are almost whimpered.
I look around for his phone or an intercom, my eyes distracted by a tumbler on the bedside table. “Is this liquor?” I sniff it, and Liam lets out a breath I hadn’t even known he’d been holding.
I stand there, listening to his measured breaths, and wonder what the hell is the right thing to do.
“I’m calling someone,” I whisper. “I think you need some medicine or something.”
“Heath.”
I’m pulling my phone out of my robe pocket when Liam rasps, “Five-two-two. Over on…the intercom.”
I hit the sequence of numbers, watch Liam flinch at the soft crackle, and hold my breath until his cousin answers, “Yeah?”
“Heath? Hi. It’s Lucy. Rhodes. Um…I was wondering, have you seen Liam tonight?”
“No,” he answers. “Why?”
“He has a bad headache.”
“Okay…”
“I think he needs a doctor.”
Heath makes a sound that I can’t quite ID as a laugh or a snort. “A doctor? For a headache?”
“Yeah. Is there a castle doctor? For his migraines?”
“For his migraines?” Heath sounds incredulous. “Liam doesn’t get migraines.”
“He doesn’t?”
Liam clutches his head, fingers digging into his skull, and my body goes ice cold. I stare down at him as Heath says, “Fuck no. Nothing’s wrong with Liam like that. What have you been doing with him?”
“Doing? Nothing. We were camping and he fell off his horse.”
“Liam fell off a horse? Is he fucked up on something?”
“No. I promise.”
Heath sighs. “All right, Lucy Rhodes. You better not be lying to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“I’ll send someone.” There’s a short pause, followed by, “Please be discreet. My cousin doesn’t need any bullshit right now. I’m not sure if he made you sign the castle’s NDA, but—”
“I would never.”
He snorts. “Yeah.”
“I wouldn’t do that. And Heath?”
“Yes?” He sounds exasperated.
“Tell whoever you call to hurry up.”
I hear the click of Heath hang up the phone—or leave the intercom, or whatever it is he’s doing. Then I’m in the dark again with Liam. He’s breathing hard and sounds like he’s in awful pain.
I lean carefully over him, daring to rest my fingertips on his forehead. “Hey…” I gently stroke a strand of his hair. “I’m sorry. Is there anything that I can do?”
His lips flatten as he shakes his head, and I see a tear drip down his cheek. It makes me feel sick, seeing him like this.
“I’m so sorry.” In the dark, quiet room, my voice sounds loud.
I take one of his hands in both of mine and stroke his long, strong fingers as he writhes and pants.
“I’m sorry,” he rasps.
“No—don’t be. If the doctor doesn’t get here soon, I’ll call again. And if you know of something I could do to help, just tell me.” I lean down and kiss his forehead. “I’m here with you. I’m so sorry you’re in pain.”
As I lean against the bed, my eyes go back to his nightstand. I stare at the liquid in the tumbler, thinking how awful he must feel to guzzle liquor for his headache. What could be wrong?
He’s been quiet and still for a few minutes when I lift my hand off his hair. His hand in mine squeezes. I press a kiss on his knuckles, then climb carefully up onto the bed beside him. I can’t help thinking how much this reminds me of the first night we met.
He stayed with me; I’m going to stay with him.
Sometime not much later, I hear a slight click, and turn and find a man in khakis and a plaid shirt standing in the door. He’s got thinning gray hair and black hipster glasses, which look strange on his oval-shaped face. As he steps inside, he takes a flashlight from what looks to be a briefcase.