Page 502 of Bad Prince
A film note I had to send back to staff.
But it’s perfunctory.
Tidy.
Just enough to step back into our lives without getting blindsided by them.
Eventually she closes her computer, rubs at her eyes, and looks over at me.
“I don’t want to go back.”
The honesty of it almost hurts.
I shift closer in the wide leather seat and open my arms. She comes immediately, curling into me under the cashmere throw the flight attendant left earlier, head against my chest, legs folded under her.
“I know.”
“Newport was better.”
“By most metrics.”
She smiles sleepily against my shirt.
“My metrics are mostly hot tubs and emotional whiplash.”
“Strong system.”
A beat passes.
Then she tilts her face up and asks, “Are we okay now?”
The question isn’t small.
It holds everything.
The history.
The old wound.
The weekend.
The fear that magic sometimes disappears the second real life returns.
I look down at her.
“At no point this weekend,” I say slowly, “did I drag you across three states, a private terminal, my family, and an ocean-view suite just to become unclear with you again.”
That gets the tiniest smile.
“Romantic.”
“Accurate.”
Her fingers slide under my sweater to my side, warm against my skin, and I have to exhale once before I can think straight.
“I mean it, Stells.”
She studies me for one long second.
