Page 21

Lock’s story took up half of the thirty-minute runtime.

And it’s not as if what he’s doing isn’t important. But what Beau is doing, that’s also important.

The photos of him at the pub circulated the news cycle for a full week. But the fundraiser got that single story and segment and is already forgotten. And all the time he spent with the children helping them with the crafts, actually being hands-on?

Barely a mention or photo shown.

It’s a dreary day as I hurry across town. Rain puddles slosh beneath my boots, and I grip my umbrella for dear life. I woke up to a steady drizzle outside, but of course it turned into a downpour the moment I needed to leave.

But I wouldn’t cancel on Aria. She called me last night, letting me know her morning freed up and asked if I wanted to meet for tea. I jumped at the chance, needing to do something besides sitting at home or meeting with Juliette.

A few hairs escape the slicked bun I did this morning and whack me in the face. The rain-kissed air is cool, and I shiver beneath my trench. Only a few more blocks to the tearoom but they feel like kilometers.

The warm glow of the cafe is a reprieve as I step inside and shake off my umbrella. Aria waves when she spots me from the little table she sits at. I make quick work of hanging my coat and dumping my umbrella in the shared bin by the door.

“What a nasty morning,” I say in greeting, fixing the sleeves of my light sweater.

Aria stands and gives me a quick cheek kiss. “If I had known the weather would be so miserable, I would’ve suggested just coming to your place or mine instead.”

“Should’ve known the beautiful stretch we’ve had was too good to be true. Did you order already?”

“No, I was waiting for you.”

I glance at my watch, worried I got the time wrong somehow.

“You’re not late,” Aria says. “I was just around the corner, so it didn’t take me long to walk here.”

“Did you end up having a meeting this morning, anyways?” Aria lives on the other side of the city.

She shakes her head. “I stayed at a friend’s place last night.” She chokes a bit on the word friend, and her hand flies to the high collar of her sweater.

I narrow my eyes at the movement. A faint, purple-ish circle peaks just over the top of the material. I may have never had one myself, but I’ve seen my friends boast plenty of them after coming home late from dates.

“A friend, hmm?” I hum, leaning back in my chair.

Aria fluffs the collar up higher but doesn’t seem all that concerned if anyone sees. “Yes. It got late, and I didn’t feel like calling a car home, so I spent the night.”

For sleeping over at a man’s apartment, she looks surprisingly well put together. Her rich brunette hair is glossy and smooth, makeup fresh, clothes wrinkle-free. But then again, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Aria look anything less than pristine.

“I’m going to need more details than that to make up for trekking through this rain.”

She flashes a wicked grin, but we’re interrupted by the waitress. I let Aria handle our order, to which she orders enough tea and pastries to last a week, and when she’s done, she launches into the entire backstory of this man.

Luckily for us, the shop is quiet, likely because of the storm, so all the gritty details are only heard by me. Which I have to say, I spend most of the time she’s repeating each raunchy thing with my palms pressed over my cheeks to hide the flush of them.

Our tea and food arrive, so she takes a pause for us each to fill our cups and plates. That gives me the opening to ask, “So, will this friend be escorting you to the birthday ball?” I ask with a sly smile.

She blushes but waves off my question with a flick of her manicured hands. “Please, he’s not ready for that sort of attention. The only man I’ll ever take to an event like that is the one I’m going to marry. And this one”—she peers at me over her teacup—“is just for fun.”

The idea that she can enjoy a man’s company, just for the hell of it, and not have it be her entire purpose is envy inducing, I must admit. My parents kept me well away from any men’s attention as much as they could. The knowledge that I was to be saved for Lock one day was so deeply ingrained in my own mind, that honestly, I rarely ever paid much attention to men the last few years.

It was harder when I was teenager and my friends were getting into their first relationships, and I was left behind. But eventually their nagging and matchmaking attempts died down each time I brushed them off. I kept telling them I was simply waiting for “the one.” They just didn’t know that it was the future king of our country.

“What about you?” she asks in my silence. “Are you being escorted by anyone, or attending with your parents?”

I take a sip of tea to bide myself a moment. I relish the warmth as it pools in my stomach. “Um, I’m not sure⁠—”

“You don’t need to lie to me, I already know.”