Page 79 of The Last Love Story

Callum swallows. “No. The camera was mine, but the footage was never supposed to go out. I warned you, Ripley. There are cameras everywhere. It keeps us safe. That’s why I always wear this one.” He points to the button camera on his chest. The same pin. I had assumed it was a campaign pin, half the size of my palm. But the glittering gold face has been a camera this whole time.

I lower my face to my hands.

“I wasn’t trying to get the kiss,” he says quickly, covering his camera pin with his hand. “These don’t transmit anywhere, I swear. I was just trying to figure out who had bombed the motorcade. I didn’t trust anyone. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

It makes sense, but it doesn’t. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to keep the shattered pieces of my chest from spilling out around me. I can’t break down in front of him. He’s not safe.

“I messed up,” Callum says. “But it was to protect you. I did it wrong, but... I couldn’t lose you again.”

Tears blur my vision.

“Because you love me,” he breathes.

My hands shake, and twin tears stream down my cheeks. “I did.”

He rocks back, naked devastation on his face. “No, Ripley. You don’t mean that.”

I shoot to my feet, and he surges forward, placing a hand over my lips. “Please, please don’t say anything now. You’ll regret it. I know how you feel about me.”

And I rush away, through the ballroom, stumbling drunkenly through couples dancing and crashing into Hux in the doorway as I go.

For once, he doesn’t follow.

I don’t notice the ocean stilling; I don’t even notice the sun breaking through the clouds. We arrive at a calm spot in theocean, where the captain decides it’s safe to lower the dome. We had been planning to dock at South Texas, but with the storm intensifying, we’ll be traveling by hovercopter.

The presidential copters touch down first, their black carapaces shiny in the sunlight. Someone behind me even whines about forgetting their sunglasses.

I don’t remember how I ended up standing here. Ever since Callum told me how he read my story, how he spied on me, the entire world has seemed like a bad dream.

“Are you okay?” someone asks, his voice low, a hand on my waist. I jerk away, not realizing it’s Hux until too late.

I look up, expecting an expression of hurt, but his green eyes are only careful.

“The president offered you the first takeoff,” he says, and I almost laugh at that. Of course, Graves wants me out of the public eye. I’m not playing his game. Think ofthe optics.

Still, Callum is waiting for me by the door, hand out to help me up. My heart stills as I notice Hux pulling himself into the cockpit.

“Ripley,” Callum says, and I remember the president’s words. He was warning me. If I don’t play my part now, my parents, my friends, maybe even the entire rebellion could be destroyed. I swallow and step forward, accepting his hand.

Above us, the copter blades whir on, pulling at my air-dried hair. Callum squints in annoyance; they aren’t supposed to power up until we’re safely inside, but with the storm encroaching, Hux must be hurrying.

Or President Graves told him to get my sulky expression off this boat of camera-toting influencers as soon as possible.

“Did you think about what I said?” Callum says, leaning in toward me. I’m caught halfway into the copter, just barely stepping up.

“I—” What am I going to say? That part of me wishes we had never met again, that he ruined my memory of him? That he lied to me?

Because that’s the scariest part. My Callum didn’t lie. This Callum, he’s not mine.

Maybe he never was.

I’ve been his since I slipped this ring on my finger. But it doesn’t work both ways. He owns me, as surely as if he—and his father—put a blade to the throat of everyone I love.

I glance up at the copter, hoping for an escape, expecting to see Hux watching me from the pilot seat.

But there’s no one inside.

Where did he go? Who’s powering it up?