Page 49 of The Last Love Story

“Are my parents okay?” I ask, my voice quavering slightly. I can’t cry, not here. I need to keep it together. Who knows which of these guests have tablets. There are cameras everywhere. Becka could be watching. My parents could be watching.

Hux could be watching.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Callum replies. “My father lies. A lot.”

When my breath only hitches in reply, he wraps his arms around my belly, pulling me closer. To the other guests, we probably look like a couple deeply in love. Andthis close, I can almost feel it too. I can feel his heartbeat against my back, the rumble of his voice through my spine. As the guests take their seats, we steal another moment, almost alone.

“Believe me, Ripley. My dad is weaving a story, and they are a part of it. Even if you don’t trust him, trust that. And trust me. Do you think I’d ever hurt you or your parents?”

The words chill and soothe me at the same time. “A story,” I say, my eyes fluttering as I blink too many times. Callum nods.

“It’s a story. They’re writing it. We just have to follow the script. Can you help me with that?”

I hate how my heart crumples slightly at the words. He’s playing a part—and so am I. Even as his hand ghosts to brush a lock of hair behind my ear.

I shiver. “Right. For how long, though?”

Callum’s hand stills just under my jaw. “What do you mean?”

Finally, I turn to look at him, grateful to have my back to the rest of the room. “Are we actually going to get married?”

Before he can reply, aclink clink clinksounds on a glass.

“Dinner is served,” someone calls.

Callum’s hand drifts from my jaw to my lower lip. As I stare up at him, a camera flash captures the two of us in our embrace. I hadn’t even noticed the curious influencer to our left. “Later,” he murmurs.

Reluctantly, I nod, and Callum’s face relaxes into a handsome smile. His mask.

We take our seats, and President Graves goes through the motions of introducing everyone while I try to hide my panic and look even remotely interested.

Across from me is Sallie Zanders, his new chair of Private Endeavors. She looks like a hawk, with sharp eyes and her light hair slicked back in a severe bun.Private Endeavors, I realize, is just a way for President Graves to explain that Sallie is the liaison to the billionaires who fund the administration.

All the other names blur together: an offshore fracking consultant; the head of an environmental protection fund. They seem strangely friendly, considering their jobs. Perhaps I misheard. I can’t seem to focus on anything.

Plates seem to appear on the table. The salad looks delicious, impossibly colorful, but I find myself pushing it around with my fork.

Are we actually going to get married?The words echo around in my skull as the panic tightens in my chest.

Maybe I should have listened to Hux. I’m so glad to see Callum again—he’s my best friend. But it just reminds me that there isn’t aplanhere. They’re using me to make things worse, and I’m here on the hope that, what, I’d be able to convince Callum to talk to his dad, get my parents their jobs back, let me and my friends escape the war? If Lyceum put me here, where’stheirplan?

What do they think I’m going to do, write the president a pamphlet?

My neck burns with a flush, so I brush my hands against the condensation on my water glass and then affix freezing fingertips to my throat, trying to calm myself down.

I probably should have listened to Hux. I should have taken his help and escaped off that hoverplane with him when I had the chance. He’d laugh at me now, wouldn’t he? Huxley Finn would think it was hilarious that I was sitting here in this ridiculous dress, trying to pretend to be interested in what some energy executive and the first lady are discussing.

“Are you okay?” Callum asks, and his hand gently snakes across my chair until it rests in my lap, palm open. An invitation.

I stare at that hand, the scar across the palm. It’s a hand that belongs to the son of the most powerful man in the world.

I shouldn’t be here. I’m out of my depth.

I definitely should have listened to Hux.

Hux would—

“Excuse me,” Hux says.