Page 76 of The Last Love Story

“Some people weren’t able to evacuate,” Callum says.

Mona winces. “She doesn’t know what she saw,” she says apologetically to President Graves, like the rest of us aren’t even here. “We’re closing the dome. For our safety. It’ll be sealed in another ten minutes.”

“Then we’re wasting time talking about it,” I bite out. I’ll go to the captain myself, convince him to stop, to turn around. “We have to do something.”

President Graves rests a gentle hand on my arm, and I come to a shuddering stop. For a moment, I can almost see pity in his eyes. Maybe even regret. And then he blinks, and his mask is back. After all, we have an audience.

“I cannot endanger all the people aboard this vessel on the off chance that youmighthave seen one person. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” His eyes dart to Hux. “You would be wise to learn that.” He starts to walk away.

My body is alight with rage, sparking with helplessness. “What aboutthe optics?”

President Graves motions for the party to continue as he makes his way back to Callum and me. I expect angry words, but instead he claps his hand on my back, the pressure of his palm anything but gentle as he steers us to the edge of the ballroom. Callum follows, eyes downcast, as does Hux.

When we reach the glass, I fight the urge to jab a finger at the proof. But all I can see is the rain, whipped sideways into the glass.

“She has a point,” Callum mumbles into his shoes, and President Graves forces a fake smile.

“The optics, Callum? What are the optics of a president partaking in—what do they call it, ‘disaster tourism’? Or the optics of revealing that I’m accepting donations for a campaign I can’t legally be running? Shall we tell them about the Senate vote that’s happening next week?” The president scoffs. “Callum, think, with your brain, for once. Some problems can’t just be smiled away.”

“And that’s what you have me for,” Callum mutters.

The president’s own smile goes thin. “A cost-benefit analysis I’ve found myself running daily.”

I don’t care. I can’t believe they’re talking about this while with every second, the waves grow higher, the winds stronger, as the storm barrels toward the coast.

I’m done.

We arrived by boat. It’s still tethered to the port side. I take off at a sprint. The sky above is an angry dark swirl;rain that had before only pattered down on the glass overhang is now a roar, too loud for me to hear my thoughts. But I’m done thinking. I need to act.

Overhead, the dome is encroaching; it passes directly overhead, sweeping like the hands of a clock, every minute ticking closer and closer to closed. I can make it. I have to make it. For insurance, and a pathway back since I can’t trust my eyes, I grab on to loose rigging, knotting it around my waist, and clamber down the ladder.

At first, I wonder if the speedboat is even still here, but then it slams into my shin and I curse, fumbling for the slick face of it. I fight to uncouple it from the yacht but I barely have time to celebrate my victory or even gasp a last lungful of air before the world is swallowed up by water. I didn’t see the wave that pushed me overboard, but now I’m a part of it. It rips at my hair, at my limbs, painfully jerking me down, around—and then up.

Up. Up. Up.

I break through the surface and gasp in a breath as Callum and Hux yank me back up onto deck by the rope, their arms flexing with the exertion, as the dome clatters closed just behind me.

Callum gathers me up into his arms, our soaking bodies pressed together, his hands in my hair. “You almost died, jumping in like that!”

I nod. He’s not wrong. As he pulls me into a hug, a whole crowd presses against the glass of the ballroom windows,staring at me in confusion and horror. So much for being a propaganda princess. I’m more of a drowned frog.

“But what about...” I try weakly as the storm batters the closed dome overhead.

“Callum!” a voice calls. The president, standing in the doorway, and his eyes are stormier than the skies.

Callum looks at me, torn. “I’m fine,” I say through teeth that are suddenly chattering. “Just go—”

I try a step toward the warmth of the ballroom, but the rope stops me, and I swear when it tows me back, my slick feet going out from under me. Before I can faceplant, Hux yanks the rope around my middle, towing me close to him by my hips and staring me down.

“What the hell was that?” he bites, pulling his blade from his holster and flipping it open. For a moment, I wonder if we’re going to continue where we left off last night. Instead, he saws at the rope.

I wait for anger, but I don’t see any. His eyes flash as he looks me up and down. “You aren’t a strong swimmer,” he says in a low voice. I don’t argue with him. We’ve done all the same training. He’s seen my abysmal freestyle.

Before I can object, Hux folds to my shin. I hadn’t even realized I was bleeding, but he starts probing it gently with his fingers.

“I had to try,” I say, my voice small.

He stills at that, something softening in his shoulders. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he says finally. “But, Ripley.” Helooks up at me, green eyes a beacon in the storm. “Don’t you dare pull something like that. Ever again.”