Page 38 of The Last Love Story

“Ripley Hart,” he murmurs, and it’s like he can’t believe he’s saying my name.

“Um,” I mutter, my cheek still flattened to his chest. “Callum. Why does everyone think we’re engaged?”

He clears his throat, and it almost sounds like a laugh. When he pulls back, keeping hold of my arms like he can’t quite let me go, his eyes are bright, full of an emotion I try to place.

“I wish I had more time to explain. But here—we can’t—not yet. They’re just getting the car to take us to the plane. From there, we’ll be headed to New Washington.”

“We?” I repeat.

He clenches his jaw as he shoots a look at the door. I know we don’t have too much time, and I have to make decisions here. “Are my parents safe?” I ask first.

He nods. “Yes. And they will continue to be. Can’t have my future in-laws in harm’s way, right?”

I nod, trying not to laugh at the casual way he says that.

I want to ask about Nef. I want to ask about everyone else in Lyceum. But doubt slithers into my mind.

I knew Callum years ago.

I knew him when we were kids. We shared chalk and secrets and Popsicles. He was the first person I wanted to talk to when I woke up and the last person I wanted to see before I went to bed.

It broke me to lose him, especially since it was all out of my control. His dad getting a new job. My parents losing theirs. And, scared to send him letters that would be read bythe New Washington Hammers, I instead wrote about everything I wanted to write to him.

But this Callum—the older, beautiful Callum who smiles easily in front of the cameras he used to hate—I don’t know him. He’s the son of the president, and as much as he’s smiling at me right now, I still know I can’t bring up anything related to the rebellion trying to get his father out of power.

I swallow and back up, aware of the weight of his hands, still resting on me. Heavy and solid, but not so forceful I couldn’t pull away if I wanted to.

“Why does the world think I’m your fiancée, Callum?” I whisper, knowing he’ll tell me the truth. The world was always simple for us. Right and wrong. Black and white. Trees to save and bullies to stop. Punishment to share, but also credit.That was Ripley’s idea, Dad. She’s the smartest. The coolest. The bravest.

Maybe he can make things simple again.

He inhales as he looks at our joined hands, although I’m unsure how we’ve ended up here. “My dad is going to make a big announcement at the Union Conference next week. It’s... major.”

“Is he endorsing that senator?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

When I open my mouth to ask all the questions bubbling up, he steps close to me, putting a thumb under my chin. I shiver at the touch, my breath catching in my throat. I haven’t seen him in years, but it’s like no time has passed at all.The hug, his smile—those are all familiar. But this touch is new. We were kids before. He has never touched me like this. Like he...

Is he going to kiss me?My heartbeat kicks up into a dead sprint, and I force myself to look up into his eyes. I’ve dreamed about this. I wrote about this. I’ve—

Before I can do anything else, he presses a gentle thumb under the right side of my jaw and pushes ever so slightly toward the direction he keeps looking at.

Is someone watching us? I follow his lead, pulling him closer in another hug, pressing my head to his chest. I use the moment to look back toward the door, expecting to see a figure in the frame.

Instead, above it, a red light blinks beside a round, black eye. A camera.

The world needs to think we’re engaged, for some reason, or my parents, Nef, they could all be in danger. I hate that I feel a small shard of disappointment in my chest. It was all for show. Of course it was.

“There are cameras everywhere,” Callum whispers, his voice barely audible against my hair.

I tilt my head up, and he lowers his lips to the shell of my ear, hiding his face from the camera.

“But he’s going to need all the support he can get. And... I’m the only one who can help with that.”

My heart hurts, and I don’t have to remember we’re being watched. I pull him closer out of instinct. “He’s using you?”

“He’s usingus. A wedding—my wedding—is something people want. My dad had names, daughters of senators and congressmen. We beta tested different DopaMine content, but people aren’t gravitating toward political marriages and American royalty. They don’t want alliances. They want someone real. The Girl Next Door. Someone who has worked in the data farms, who is just like them. And maybe I’m selfish, but when I heard thatyouhad applied for my dad’s postgraduate internship––”

I go very still, aware that I’m playing chess here. But half of the pieces are liable to explode if I touch them and the board is on fire.