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Andela taps the handle of her rolling suitcase, offering it to me. “You can escort me. And tell me what’s up with you and Eva. Did you two finally hook up?”
I shudder as I follow her to the doors. “No, we didn’t ‘hook up.’ I hate that phrase. It’s so—in the States, it often has a sexual connotation.”
She flashes a knowing look over her shoulder at me. “No, duh. But I know you, and I was awake when Eva got home, so I already knew you didn’t hook up that way. Did you at least kiss her?”
My face goes hot, the cold air outside doing nothing to cool it. “No.”
“Why the heck not?” Andela slows to give me an incredulous look. The falling snow melts on her cheeks but clings to the green hair curling beneath her knitted cap. “That was the perfect romantic moment! Royal prince follows his common-born love across the world to save her from—” She breaks off, the hand she’d been dramatically sweeping in illustration falling to her side. “Okay, saving her from a K-pop meet-and-greet isn’t exactly the stuff of fairy tales.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “Exactly. We talked about the royalty thing—she hadn’t tumbled to it, yet. Not until the paparazzi broke in on your balcony.”
“Seriously? I’m starting to wonder how dense she is. I can’t believe I didn’t say something that tipped her off. It’s crazy how often random conversation gets tricky when you’re trying to hide your identity.” She slows at a corner, but there’s little traffic on a cold, snowy Sunday evening.
“Tell me about it. My appreciation for Clark Kent has grown immensely. Although, I haven’t tried at all over the last few weeks—I thought she knew after Eddie called me ‘cousin.’ But she didn’t. Maybe the key is to not try so hard.” She gives me a hard look, and I fling up a hand. “Not that I’m planning on trying again. What’s the point?”
“Good.” She steps up to her front door and unlocks it. “Bring that up, will you?” She walks inside, letting the door drop closed behind her. Andela definitely has the princess attitude down.
I catch the door with my foot before I get locked out and drag the suitcase into the foyer. Collapsing the handle, I heft the case and jog up the stairs in my sister’s wake. “By the way, I’m surprised you took Celeste with you. Good job.”
She turns to roll her eyes before she unlocks her apartment. “I’ve grown up a lot since Monaco, brother. I didn’t need you and Hans to rescue me. I’m not sure what you thought you could do that we couldn’t do ourselves.” She snorts delicately. “If you really thought I was in trouble, you should have brought a full team.”
I don’t have a good response to that. She’s one hundred percent right. If I’m honest with myself, my goal in following them to Vienna had as much to do with Eva as with my sister. I shrug, attempting to cover my incompetence. “Victoriana insisted I go.”
“Tori should mind her own business.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
EVA
My phone rattles on the nightstand in the “shave and a haircut” rhythm that indicates my father. I scrabble at the table without opening my eyes and manage to grab the device before it falls to the floor. Thanks to the short charging cable, I have to scooch closer to the edge of the bed to see the screen.
Four ten. If my dad is calling at four a.m., it must be an emergency. My stomach goes sour as I swipe the answer button. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I sit up a little and shove a pillow behind my head.
The screen flickers, and Dad’s face appears. He’s sitting on the couch in our darkened living room, the light from his phone giving his face an eerie cast. His expression is grave. “Eva.”
“Dad. Are you okay? Why are you calling in the middle of the night? Is someone hurt?”
A shadow of guilt crosses his face and disappears. “Something tragic has happened.”
“What? Is it Nica? Uncle Blake? Rachel?” A thought hits me in the chest, taking my breath away. “It’s not Kitty, is it?”
He snorts a little, and a tiny smirk appears at the corners of his mouth. “No, your aunt’s dog is fine. So is everyone else.”
A blonde head leans on his shoulder, and his girlfriend, Nica, waves at me. “Hi, Eva.”
“Hi, Nica. Dad, it’s four in the morning here.” I yawn. If my family—including their pets—are fine, I can’t imagine what he’d be calling about. It can’t be Mom—I’d have gotten a call from her sister, not Dad. “What’s the tragedy?”
He makes a show of looking away from the phone toward our old grandfather clock. “Oops, my bad. It’s only seven here. I must have forgotten the time difference.”
My eyes narrow. “What’s going on? I’m not buying it. You know how time zones work.” After my first few days in the country, we agreed to not text each other at night except in emergencies.
He lifts a gallon-sized freezer bag full of cookies and shoves it at the camera. The words “chocolate chip” and a date in August appear large on my screen, then blur as he pushes it too close. The bag moves aside, and Dad gives me his best fatherly glare. “This is why I have trust issues.”
I cackle. “You found the raisin cookies.”
Nica leans in again. “They’re really good.”
Dad frowns at her, like a disapproving professor. “They’re good if you’re expecting raisin. If you’re expecting chocolate chip, they’re disgusting.”
