TWENTY
THE MORNING SUN MAKES ELONGATED shapes against the white bedsheet. I wake, blinking, and stare at my outstretched arm. The triangle shape on my wrist has faded. I haven’t been tracing it as often. I’ve been thinking of other things.
Tate is still beside me, lying on top of the comforter while I’m tangled in the sheets. I think he’s asleep, but when I turn onto my side to face him, I see his eyes are open, staring out the massive windows.
“Good morning,” I say, and my voice sounds slight and sweet.
“Morning.” He reaches out for me, pulling me to him, and I slide my hand over his stomach. “You’re gorgeous when you sleep,” he says. The tension of last night has lifted, but he still seems somber.
“Did you sleep at all?” I ask.
“A little.”
I breathe him in and his fingertips trace lines down my arm. “Do you have to work today?” I ask.
“No—I’m all yours.”
I smile and press my lips to his bare chest.
“What would you like to do?” Tate asks, brushing his fingers through my hair. “See the city?”
“I would...” I respond hesitantly. “But this is nice, too.”
His gaze slants deviously and I shift closer, crawling from his chest to kiss him on the lips. His fingertips drift along my rib cage and our kiss turns heated fast, his mouth more insistent, and he slides on top of me. The weight of him is enough to make my breath come fast and uneven. He kisses my throat and then my earlobe, and I shudder as his lips press against mine, sinking deeper, the heat swelling between us.
My body arches into his, my knees drawing upward—looping around him—and my toes curl against his legs. His heart thumps against my chest as he lies fully on top of me, and I know he aches for me, too, his body tired of waiting.
I close my eyes, raking my fingernails up the back of his neck. He moans against my throat, dipping lower as his tongue makes easy circles on my skin. I press my head into the pillow as my body tingles in anticipation.
This is it, I think. This is the moment. No more secrets between us. No more reason to wait.
Tate moves his torso higher, his hips resting against mine. A new coiling ache unwinds in the lowest part of my abdomen, a need like I’ve never felt before.
“Charlotte,” he murmurs, his lips just beneath my chin now. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes.” My voice is breathy and quick, without hesitation.
He touches my face, kissing me on the mouth, and I tilt my head back, my hips shifting up to press against his. Urging him closer.
And then something shatters the stillness. A ringing. My cell phone.
I ignore it, kissing Tate again, and eventually the ringing stops. His fingers are at the hem of my underwear. There is almost nothing separating us and my heart trills, wanting to feel all of him against me. But then...the ringing starts again.
I tilt my head toward the sound.
It’s probably just Carlos, checking up on me. The ringing stops, then begins almost immediately again. Tate shifts his weight, staring down at me.
“I just need to check it,” I say, wriggling out from under him. I pull on a robe from the closet and pad out into the open living room. The phone is vibrating on the side table where I left it last night. I pick it up and my stomach sinks. I hit the answer button, clearing my throat and preparing to sound my most casual and composed. “Hey, Grandma,” I say, flashing a look back at Tate, now lying on his back on the bed, watching me.
“I know you’re not at a UN summit.” The voice on the other end is as angry as I’ve ever heard it. “You’re with him.”
I’m silent. A knife of fear rises inside me.
“Charlotte, I can’t—” She chokes on her words. “Lying to me? I can’t believe you, Charlotte...after everything...”
“Grandma, I...” But I’m not sure what to say. How can I explain myself? I want to tell her it’s not like she thinks, but I don’t want to lie again. “I’m coming home” is all I can muster. My voice so small I think maybe I should repeat it.
She hangs up before I can say anything else.
How did she find out? I open up my text messages and see one from Carlos, two hours old. It’s a photo of Tate and me, leaving the pizza place last night. And there’s a caption: TATE COLLINS OUT WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND, CHARLOTTE REED, IN NEW YORK LATE ON FRIDAY. And there’s another text from Carlos a few minutes after the first. Photo is everywhere. Ur grandma called me, she saw image on Mia’s phone. Not good.
Once again, the world knows we are together. There is no denying it now.
*
Tate rides with me to the airport, holding my hand in the backseat while Hank maneuvers the black SUV through the crowded streets of Manhattan.
I’ve been in New York less than twenty-four hours and now I’m going back to LA.