Page 86 of The Last Love Story

My eyes widen even more as I stand next to Callum, who has his hand wrapped around mine. Hux cocks his jaw as Callum tilts his head, rage mounting in his expression.

“What was that?” he seethes.

Hux doesn’t back down. “I’m done with lying. I’m in love with her. I did turn to your side—but only for her. Because I’d do anything for her.” His teeth grit. “Even this.”

Callum huffs out a cough that masks his building anger.

What are you doing?I mouth.

Hux gives a wry grin. “But,” he adds, “now I know she clearly doesn’t return those feelings. She chose you.”

Callum relaxes, snaking an arm protectively around my waist. I’m crushed to his side as he presses a rough kiss to my lips. When we draw back, he laughs and turns to Hux.

“And if we don’t act, my father will die?” Callum asks.

I reach up, brushing a cornsilk curl from his forehead. “Cal,” I say, “think of how grateful your father will be. When you save him. He’ll owe you his life.” Something sparks in his blue eyes.

“They’ll try and kill him at the vote?” Callum asks. “The Senate?”

Hux nods darkly.

“Then we have to move the location,” Callum says. “Tell the team now.”

Hux nods, moving toward us and then past us, going forthe door. Callum puts a hand on Hux’s chest, stopping him. Callum turns his head, his voice low and deadly.

“You might be saving my father. And you protected her. But if I see you near her again, I’ll kill you myself. Do you understand?”

Hux nods tightly, pretending to be chastened. But he winks at me behind Callum’s back before disappearing out the door.

I bite my lip. I have no idea what the plan is now, but I’ve got—I check my watch—an hour to figure one out.

Chapter 21

Somehow, even when trying to prevent a presidential assassination, I can’t escape my glam squad.

The vote was moved from the Capitol building to the National Theater. Any other day, I’d marvel at the beauty of this place, but I’m a bundle of terror and nerves as Kaleb tries to bat my nose just one more time with a powder puff. I gently shake him off and push through the crowd, trying to keep an eye out for Hux. What the hell does he have planned? But even in a sea of black-clad guards, I know he’s not there. A worried part of me imagines that Callum changed his mind and that Hux is in a prison cell. If he’s even still alive.

President Graves thinks the Capitol building was rigged by the Machs—which maybe it would have been, if Hux hadn’t compromised the Machs’ computers and lost all their plans—so he was all too happy to move here. But whatadvantage do we have now? If anything, it makes the vote feel better. More special. Blue and purple house lights fill the stage, casting an unreal, fantasy glow to the situation. It’s picture-perfect, built for a DopaMine feed. It’s a play. We just gave him the perfect stage. And if we’ve learned anything, it’s that people love a story.

People are already filling up the seats, a murmur of excitement rippling through the whole theater. I recognize senators and their spouses and America’s richest, familiar faces from my one and only yacht trip. The voters and the people who bought the votes.

We have our audience.

I slip backstage, pacing nervously, when I catch my reflection.

Make her look presidential, President Graves had ordered from the hallway, since I’m going to be sitting behind him. Kaleb picked a simple black dress and white pearls, something you’d wear to a funeral. Which, I guess, is also fitting. I worry the strand of pearls, catching movement in the vanity mirror.

Becka appears at the doorway. She hasn’t said a word to me since I saved Callum. It’s like she wanted me to let him die.

“Security threat. We have to go,” she says curtly, not really looking at me.

“What? Where’s Hux?” I ask, unsure if this is a threat that should delight or worry me. Becka’s face doesn’t move.

“We have to go,Ms. Hart,” Becka says. My stomach sinks, and I follow her backstage.

President Graves is at a fork in the hallways, his immaculate suit pressed and wrinkle-free. Callum stands next to him, but he crosses the small concrete area to pull me next to him.

“Thank God,” he says into my hair, and I grip his jacket out of habit, hating the part of me that felt instant relief that he was safe. The gold camera pin there winks back at me.