Page 68 of The Last Love Story

I just need to be here. With him.

This is how the story was supposed to go. I couldn’t have written it better myself.

Chapter 16

The White House is beautiful at night, and I never thought I would think that. Everything glistens in the early spring heat; crickets and bubbling fountains fill the silence as Callum walks me back to my room.

We haven’t broken the interlace of our fingers since we kissed. How was I content to walk around as one person? There’s a calming completeness about his hand holding mine; I feel delirious at the feel of his thumb rubbing against my knuckle, spinning the massive diamond as we cut through the courtyard.

And for now, it’s just us. The press secretary has captured the attention of the cameras and now that we’re back on White House grounds, the security team seems satisfied that we’re safe. Even Hux couldn’t argue with that, even though I could tell he wanted to.

So we’re alone, the two of us, with a sort of secret hope that we’ll never be alone ever again.

Callum walks me to my door, pulling my arms around his waist as he leans in to kiss the top of my head. I clasp my hands against his lower back as lift my head, loving how he runs his fingers through my hair. How he bites at his lower lip like he’s remembering our kiss. How he stares down at me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

“So. Today was better,” he murmurs, and I nod.

“Today was amazing,” I reply. Maybe when I wrote this scene, I would have written a pithy retort, let myself be a little silly or snarky. But in real life, there’s no room for that. I am glitter in a snow globe; I’m a shimmering pink cloud of happy.

“Get some sleep. Tomorrow we have another outing,” he says, pulling back to look at me properly as he brushes the hair from my face, like he’s memorizing it.

“What is it?”

His expression tightens a bit, and I stand up straighter. “Hurricane Zelda,” he says. “They’re downgrading it, and the press thinks it’ll be a smart photo opportunity, kind of like your debut into society. I don’t love it. It’s dangerous, and this time it’s not just us. We’ll be on theDemeter.”

The name rings a bell. “Isn’t that one of the—”

“—weather-hunter superyachts owned by the Bellaccimi sisters? Yeah. They call them hurricane parties.”

My stomach twists at the title. “Do you think the levees are going to hold?”

Callum looks away.

“And did they finish evacuating? I heard that it’s been hard with the fuel shortages—”

“Where did you hear that?” Callum asks. There’s no violence in it, only curiosity.

I flush. “My DopaMine algorithm must skew toward social justice,” I lie. I’m not ready to tell him about the server room. Not yet. Just like Callum said, we have to wait until the right time to do the right thing.

Right?

Callum sighs. “You’re so perfect. Have I told you that today?” He leans in for a kiss but I gently rebuff him, holding him at arm’s length with a light palm on his chest.

“Still,” I push, worrying my lip, “I don’t see how hanging out at a party like that will be good for the Girl Next Door angle. Disaster tourism isn’t exactly relatable.”

Callum nods. “I know. I know. But it’s the only vessel that’s been tested and cleared to get that close to an active hurricane. If we want to show the world what’s happening, we have to see it. The Bellaccimi sisters are letting us do that.”

I feel my hackles lower, just a little. He’s right. We have to use what we can to show the world the devastation that the administration would hide from the country otherwise. It’s too easy to pretend this stuff isn’t happening, especiallywith handpicked feel-good stories and DopaMine streams offering a wayoutof the depressing reality we’re in.

“Okay,” I whisper, going up on my tiptoes. Callum grins as he leans down, knowing what I’m after. He lifts me, and my legs wrap around his waist as he deepens the kiss.

We’re endgame.

He spins me around, and I squeal as I pull myself tighter to him.

After a few moments, he eases back and lowers me to my feet. I grab the handle of my French doors with one hand, and Callum lifts the other to his lips, kissing me just over the band of my engagement ring. Our engagement ring.

“Good night, Ripley,” he whispers against my skin.