Darcy Devereux and the Security Service

Chapter 11

As Ambrose cruised away he got lost again in his thoughts and arrived at headquarters before he realized. He passed security and headed straight to Harrow’s office.

“Ah, Ambrose, more progress with your brother, I take it?”

“I briefed him today. He gave me some contacts related to the IRA operation. The one where they’re using sewers to hide the guns.” Ambrose showed him the data.

“Oscar Terrence. Who is he exactly?”

“Black market dealer, involved with Orbis and the arms smuggling operation and working for Kasim Marwood.”

“So it’s confirmed. He’s taken over Maurice’s place?”

“Maurice is presumed dead. There was nothing else to do. He was his right hand man.”

“He was also your professor.”

“Yes.” Why did everyone keep pointing that out?

“Anything else you can tell us about him that his file can’t?”

“I never asked about his personal life, but Fitz gave me the story. The report’s in the file I uploaded.”

“This is progress. How did he take to it?”

“He’s eager to pin everything down. Fortunately, he seems to have separate most of what he knows from Maurice himself.”

“Good. Continue as you see fit.”

After some thinking at his office and putting in inquiries about these new leads, Ambrose went off to conference with his colleagues.

“It’s official.” He turned on the TV, holding the remote, and displayed Kasim’s file. “My informant confirmed one of the largest suspicions we’ve had for a long while. Kasim Marwood, Professor at Oxford, English Literature, is Maurice’s former right-hand man and now the person leading the syndicate. Taking in what Petra’s agent gave us, it solidifies this even more.”

“Hey, you went to Oxford.” Jerry tore a bite out of his apple.

“Yes, I did. Yes, I knew him as my professor, and, no, I didn’t suspect him to be a criminal.”

“Kind of ironic.”

Petra cleared her throat. “Could we all finish our reports?” Her Greek accent thickened when she was annoyed.

“Yes, let’s get on.”

Jerry shrugged.

He revealed how the IRA had been getting the guns in without notice and then moved on to other more imminent threats. “Sabrina Nabih. Another new old face. She’s been following my agent. Assassin and former contact of British Intelligence. Knowing her, she could be after anything. The break-in yesterday was an attack on progress. We’re getting close.”

“What about Shadow?” Elsie quipped. She was Scottish.

Ambrose blinked. “What about it?”

“Well, there’s been movement, and they do use rogue Orbis agents. What if they’re making contact?”

“It’s possible.”

“Don’t you have an ‘in’ with them?”

“Barely an ‘in’, and they’re on radio silence for a reason. It’s not safe to communicate. The less anyone knows about them the better. And I doubt Sabrina is one of theirs.”

Petra shrugged. “All right, you seem to know her more than we do... Objectively or not.” She raised a smug eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” Ambrose hardened his tone.

“You’re excused.”

“Have we gotten anywhere with the uplink yet?”

Elise checked her laptop. “The satellite connection keeps bouncing around, and I don’t have anything to compare the encryption to for a comprehensive pattern key to crack it. I’m afraid it’s a dead end, but I’ll keep trying. I think the jumping about could be either Orbis hijacking other satellites or using their different bases around the world. We also found a small encrypted file in a folder with a different algorithm than the satellite encryption. But whatever it is, we have no idea any more than before.”

“Right.” Could be a fail safe.

“My agent will keep an eye out for Sabrina and Terrence.” Petra clicked her tongue. “If their paths intersect with Kasim, it might clue us into what either of them are up to. I’ll tell her to exercise extra caution.”

Ambrose nodded and pulled up the list Fitz had made and the sketches.

“Woah, good drawings. Your contact.”

“They’re resourceful.”

“And skillful.”

“Yes.” He quirked his lips in pride. “Ahem. These people are the links in the gun-running chain. From Japan to Belfast. We can’t stop all the games Kasim has running, but we can keep an eye on this one. Let’s see if we can catch one of his deals going down and discover potential clients.”

Elsie made notes on her laptop. “I’ll create profiles and a timeline of the deals. Maybe Interpol will have something in their reports. We can use the way Kasim works to figure out what he’s up to next.”

“Since we’re sure Kasim is Orbis now, and he’s the head” – Petra put her fingertips together – “I’m going to see if my agent feels comfortable getting more inside information and possibly entering the syndicate. It would be dangerous but potentially useful. However, she’s gotten us far, so the wiser decision might be to pull her out delicately. In addition, I’ll get in touch with GCHQ connections to see if I catch any whispers from the underground.”

“And I’ll watch the telly.” Jerry bit off half the apple core.

All eyes pivoted to him.

“I mean, surveillance. I’ll watch the cameras and keep an eye on Orbis’ known nasties.”

Ambrose suppressed a chuckle. “Try not to have too much fun writing your reports.”

“Oh, of course, I’ll have more than ‘too much’ fun. We need all the details, don’t we?”

Petra shook her head. “I know you do voices while you watch the footage. We have thin walls.”

“I can hear you from the cubicle.” Elise laughed.

“Don’t forget dry-erase marker mustaches.”

“Wow.”

Jerry sighed. “It’s gets boring after a while. I can’t focus if it’s not fun.”

“Yes. Well, anyway, I think we all know what we want to do. We’ll convene again when we have something again.”

His colleagues rose and prepared to disperse.

“Hey, see you at the club later today?” Jerry clapped his shoulder.

He grunted. It still acted up after the wound from time to time. “Wrong shoulder.”

“Ooh, sorry, mate.”

“I’ll stop by with my brother. They prefer I keep him close, and I’m not sure it’s a bad idea.”

“It’s been too long, either way.”

“It’s been very busy.”

“Good to see you again. You look better.”

“I feel better.”

Jerry clicked his tongue. “Tonight’s going to be fun, eh?”

“Oh, yes, I look forward to beating you at poker again.”

“And I look forward to calling your bluff.”

“You’ll try,” they said.

“Jinx.” Jerry grinned.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“No, thank you, I already have a girlfriend.” He smirked.

“Whew. I’m relieved. Maybe I should find someone for kicks. Try to fake feeling romance.”

Ambrose laughed in disbelief. “Yeah, well, let me know because Constance thinks about double dates sometimes.”

“Eugh. Never mind. I prefer walking my cat and eating pie while I do crunches and research dragons while my roommate judges me from a distance about calories and screen time. That should be my tagline. ‘Jerry Springer, a lovely single mess and happy to remain so. When I retire, I’ll end up making digital crosswords and burning coffee. Hope you don’t mind a drooling sleepwalker for a neighbor’.”

Ambrose shook his head with a grin. “Why are we friends?”

“Because everyone else is God-awful boring.”

“And I make money off of your poker habit.”

“Wow, yeah, 25 quid. What a fortune.”

“It will be in 20 years. I might invest in bearer bonds.”

“Or the new Bitcoin.”

“Pfft. I hear it’s about to either crash or pick up.”

“Huh.”

“Well, back to work. Fitz and I’ll drop by around six-ish.”

“The guys’ll get a kick out of it.”

“I’m sure Fitz will be very intrigued too.”

“Great. Well. I’ll go people-watch. You talk to your shadows.” He clapped the right shoulder this time and strode off.

“Have fun.”

“I will.”

As the two departed to their stations, Ambrose spent the rest of the morning thinking about the next steps, and then he walked nearby for lunch. He called his brother, but it went to voicemail. He must’ve been catching up on sleep as Ambrose had suggested. That was good, wasn’t it?

He left a message and then texted George.

Hi, George, checking in. How’s Fitz?

Napping. He put on music earlier.

Has he eaten?

He’s been out for about an hour or two, but I’ll see if he wants to later

All right. Thank you.

Of course

Reassured, Ambrose phoned Constance.

“Hello, love.”

“Hi, darling, how’s rehearsals?”

“A lot of work honestly, but being the rat is sooo much fun. Almost as fun as Snow and Arabian. The rats are underrated, except for the costumes. They stink. One of the inside jokes with my friends is that we aspire to be the rat king.”

Ambrose laughed. “They star most of the show. It should be called Die Ratten.”

She giggled. “Lowell’s the rat king this year. It’s hilarious. He clowns around between practice. The rats keep doing funny poses when the other is around. I can’t even begin to explain the shenanigans... And the calluses and the blisters.” She wrinkled her nose and chuckled. “Taking an ice bath after my swim. Oh, and Maria’s bringing over the kids for Christmas.”

Ambrose smiled. “I can’t wait.”

“She’s about to send her book over for publishing too. I’m so proud of her.”

“I’m sure she’s worked hard on it. From what you’ve told me it sounds brilliant.” Her older sister was a fantasy novelist who lived in home-schooled her children in Sussex for school and Greece in the summer, though the rest of the extended family was in the latter. They’d all meet on Christmas Day. It would be nice to see her nephews and nieces again.

“Neither can they. They adore you, you know.”

“I feel much the same.”

“How about you and Fitz? How are you settling in?”

“A little rough, but I think we’ll come to a routine. He’s having a time of it. He... He pushed himself too hard this morning, and we had a few discussions.”

“You told me he used to be very active. Ballet, running, swimming, gymnastics. Playing piano out of everything. Now he needs to take it slow and sleep. I can’t imagine it’s easy for him. I remember how much I struggled with my ballet injuries. It’s... difficult. All you can do is work your way up and watch the others dance, learn from a distance, and exercise what you can.”

“How did you deal with it?”

“One day at a time. Every day is different. I tried to see the smaller changes. Meanwhile, you’re doing well, being there for him.”

“Is it enough, though? His friends are in Chicago. With time difference and the distance, it’s different. I sometimes think I’m making a mistake keeping him with me. Or maybe I should’ve moved.”

“Ambrose, he wanted to come. Why wouldn’t he? He hasn’t seen you in ages, and right now you’re the best thing for him. Chicago would’ve only reminded him too much and made it more difficult to move on.”

“Abner thought so too.”

“He needs to be somewhere that doesn’t remind him of Maurice. A clean slate. Or as clean as it can get.”

A small smile snuck upon him. “He likes you, you know.”

“He does?”

“It’s the first thing he said when we left from lunch.” He repeated what Fitz had told him.

“That’s big coming from him, knowing what you’ve told me how he is around new people. I like him too. He’s funny and very intelligent, like his brother.”

Ambrose beamed. “At first, I thought he’d be worried or scared about, well, our relationship, Stevie and Matthew, about a lot of things, but he seems quite the opposite. Even after all the years wondering what I’ve been doing, I suppose I keep expecting him to bring it up, to be jealous, or bring up the mistakes I’ve made, which I wouldn’t blame him for, but... He’s been very lenient.”

“You mean very loving.”

“Yes. I’m surprised at how close he’s let us become again, but I know we have a long way to go still.”

After a while of talking about the Dickens, Ambrose had to go back to work and she to practice. And so he was left looking out onto the bridge again. The call had brought him onto more stable ground and gave him the energy to go on.

He used the rest of his afternoon to exchange communications with GCHQ on underground chatter and get in touch with his other agents. Fitz left a voicemail around four, not doing too badly, nor too good. Ambrose would need to make a stop before home.

As the clock ticked by, the hour hand neared five. He’d set up contact with the new potential agent. They’d meet in a few days.

Then— Knock knock. A sound at the door led him out of his trace when the minute hand reached forty-five.

“Who’s there?” He sighed.

“Ash.”

Ambrose snorted. “Ash who?”

“Bless you. I’ll invite myself in.” Jerry opened the door with a self-satisfied smirk.

“What news?”

“Erm. It’s Kasim. I found him. He’s abroad at a conference in Germany, or at least his double is. For some reason, he’s dropped off the radar, though we’ve caught glimpses of him in Cardiff and Dover under the alias Jack Bones. His itinerary shows him going back to London tomorrow.”

“Hmm.”

“Set off any alarms for you?”

“Kasim’s cooking up another deal or pulling off another job. Perhaps related to the arms smuggling chain.”

“London’s got some big dark corners. I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Thank you. Oh, and send me the report, would you?”

“ASAP.”

“Thank you.”

Jerry left with a nod, and then after looking into the activity in Germany and Dover, Ambrose left too. He retrieved his phone from security and buttoned his coat. When he stepped out of the building, his eyes surveyed his surroundings. If there was anything he learned in this line of work it was this:

There’s always someone watching.

Chapter 12

After Ambrose left, I walked around and crashed on the couch.

I’d have hidden in the library researching death cap mushrooms and the Roman Empire. But instead...

Ba-dum smack!

Ba-dum smack!

I bounced the stress ball against the wall. Gershwin and Rachmaninoff played from my phone.

“So bored...” I sighed.

And then my arm got more tired than my brain. After watching a cat play with a spoon, I conked out for three hours.

So a regular Tuesday.

“Ugh. Bored!” I shouted into the air. There was something satisfying about shouting into an empty house. Another descending chromatic sigh echoed. I was going crazy not being able to make music. I couldn’t dance, research, or read without my mind going into white noise.

Ambrose had called over his lunch break. I’d missed him by an hour.

“God. Voicemail.”

I pressed play.

“Hey, Fitz, checking in. I’m having lunch. Er, I assume you’re taking a nap and nothing’s happened. I mean, George would’ve called.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, when you wake up, paninis are in the oven. I’ll be home in a few hours. I love you. Bye.”

It was only half past one. I groaned again. Worse, George was my Ambrose-appointed babysitter.

I stared at the oven. George glanced at me over his newspaper as he went to town on a gooey pesto grilled cheese. Must’ve been nice to have an appetite.

My eyes caught the piano. My stiff fingers ran along the black and white lacquer. Last night I’d used gravity. Yet before— I could pull different finesses, sounds, and feelings from those hammered strings. It was a whole other world. Once closed off to me now. A Rachmaninoff or Mendelsohn piano concerto rushed through my mind and left my fingers... unanswerable to it.

That two-week coma had wiped away over a decade of virtuosity. It had shut the door and bolted the access to my one true escape from anguish and madness. It would take a year to get back.

My headache ached, and my eyes pricked. I sighed. My fingers wandered along different notes. It sounded like a galaxy when I closed my eyes. Notes spaced out. Higher pitches and deeper ones. Nostalgic chords. The melancholy thickened. So many notes, so many melodies, all trapped in my head.

The front door closed.

My head poked up.

“I’m back!” Alice sighed and skipped up the stairs.

I stood and retreated to a corner in the library, used a few tissues, and gained a few breaths. Then I called Ambrose back, but it went to voicemail as I’d expected.

“Er, listen, I got your voicemail. I did take a nap. Three hours. I also tried the piano again. Er... It’s disheartening. Pathetic.” I sighed. “I really have no idea what to do with myself, especially when there’s so much I used to be able do.” My eyes pricked again, and my voice was close to breaking again. I swallowed before breathing deeply. “It’s... quiet... I remember that red bell pepper soup you used to get from that European deli when I was sick. Honestly, would be nice right now. I hope work’s going okay. Talk later I guess. I love you.” I fidgeted. “Bye.” I rested my head on my knees.

“Hey.” Alice peeked in.

“Oh. Hi.” I gave a thin, uncomfortable smile.

“We never did get to hang out yesterday.”

“Yes, jet-lag. How was... The thing, the place where you get homework and they torture you with inane lectures.” I’d been forgetting words sometimes, amongst other things. Boring.

“School?”

I snapped my fingers. “Yes. How was it?”

She chuckled. “Dying a little every day, but the good news is in a few years, archeologists will find me an interesting study.”

“Yay.”

“What are you doing?”

“Lounging in ennui. You?”

“I’m making quesadillas with spicy Cheetos.”

“Yum.”

“Wanna see?”

“Yeah, why not.” I sighed and pulled myself up. I didn’t have anything better to do. Alice took the half-cooked quesadillas out of the microwave, buried Cheetos into the pockets, and then set them in the microwave again. “My friend Coco showed me, and I’m addicted. Trust me. It’s to die for. ”

“To die for? I have risked my life countless times. I know what is to die for and what is not.”

She noshed on a powdered Cheeto that stained her fingers scarlet. “Oh, I’m sorry. Looks like you’ve lived on subpar food for most of your life.”

I huffed. “Wow.”

“Wounded?”

“Deeply.”

“How may I make amends?”

“Pass me another bag of Cheetos, and I’ll consider it fixed.”

“Gladly. Think fast.” She tossed me a bag of Cheetos.

“Woah!” Pow! Cheetos rained to the floor with little taps. I’d smashed the bag and the nitrogen-puffed bag burst, covering me in red dust. I blinked. Should I even breathe? At least my reflexes were there.

Alice stood frozen with her mouth agape. “What was that!”

“What are you talking about? I said ‘pass’ it not ‘throw’ it.”

“And you were supposed to catch it, not punch it to bits!”

“Well, I’m sorry I have deadly reflexes!”

“What are you, Nikita?”

“No idea who or what that is.” I tossed my hands.

“Okay. Mea culpa.” She held her hands up. “You really need to catch up on mainstream TV.”

“No, thank you. However, I hope it’s not too much to ask you not to throw anything at me again.”

She stifled a laugh. “No, it’s not too much. I’m sorry.”

“Obliged.” I grabbed the roll of paper towels and wiped the powder off my face. Alice helped me clean-up the floor and the counter. I’d lost my appetite again. I sneezed the powder from my nose and sniffed a few times.

Alice opened the half-cooked quesadilla to add the Cheetos and adjusted the time again. “Bet you won’t even tell me why you have dangerous reflexes or how you risked your life.”

“Noo.”

“Joined a fight club?”

I cocked my head. “Fight club? Really? Do I look like I fight?” I looked myself up and down. The answer was ‘yes, of course, I can fight, but only in self-defense.’ But she didn’t need to know that... Mostly because I couldn’t prove it right now.

She shrugged. “You’re like a twig honestly.”

“Thank you.” I rolled my eyes and crashed on the couch again, lamenting for the time I’d been in better shape.

“But it’s a great look. I mean, you know, some people like tall thin guys that look like they’ll fall over when you look up at them.” She chuckled. “A new layer for a metaphor. I’m going to use that in tomorrow’s essay.” The microwave beeped. I flinched causing Alice to stifle another laugh. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“All right, but you look like a startled stoat.”

“I do not.”

“Mh-hm.” She took a bite out of the quesadilla and hissed when it burned her mouth.

“I may have taken martial arts in high school,” I off-handedly.

“Ooooh. The mystery speaks.”

“Hmm.”

“I have trig and English upstairs. Join me?”

“I don’t like math.”

“Moral support?”

“Don’t you have friends for that?”

“Darcy. I’m looking for an excuse to get to know you.” She reached for my shoulder, but I shifted away with a raised eyebrow.

“You already know me.”

“Through your older brother.”

“I don’t like to be known any other way.”

“Oh, come on. Give me chance.”

“Why?”

“Because I know what it’s like wanting to remain a mystery.”

I cocked my head. “That’s the best you’ve got? I could stay here all day.”

“You could. But... You’d still be lounging in ennui.”

“Hmmm.”

“Come on. Nobody likes being alone.”

“Sociopath remember? I dislike people, and I like being alone. People and I don’t mix. Ever thought about that?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Nope. Nobody likes being alone.” Luke shook his head.

“Wrong. Being alone is perfectly all right and doesn’t necessarily mean ‘lone-ly’, which others may have a problem with, of course.” I smirked.

“What if you’re meeting the wrong people?”

“Right, wrong. Semantics.”

“Okay, now how is that semantics?”

“It isn’t. See what I did there.”

“Come on, then.” Alice strode off.

I blinked and looked about.

She headed toward the lift though, and I joined her up to the third floor. Her room was colors of red and brown. Bookcases filled with textbooks, novels, biographies, an antique atlas. There was a study on as well and a tiny kitchen. Desk arranged at the window. A brown velvet rotating chair with a white knit throw blanket sat at one corner of the room. She crisscrossed her legs sat at her desk.

“Why cook downstairs if you could cook here?” I sat on the revolving chair, knees up to my chest.

“I like to pop in on George, and I wanted to find you.”

“Oh, of course. I’m told I’m very interesting.” For the next few weeks or so, maximum. I looked over scrap paper. It had elaborate sketches mixed in with the problems. “Clever methods. I think you should teach calculus how to math.”

She chuckled. “I learn differently, and I get distracted. Which means I also have to be creative in finding solutions.”

“Hmm. What do you want to major in?”

“Criminology.”

“Ahhh, so trigonometry and calculus might not come in handy unless you go into forensics.”

“Try white collar police detective.”

“Ahh.”

“My French grandfather used to be a thief like in Thomas Crown Affair.”

“Intriguing.”

“Then he got caught and escaped here. The police only found out after he’d died. He was good at disappearing.”

“Huh.”

“Anyways, he used to tell me stories about his heists, and then I became fascinated with the whole thing.”

“So now you want to catch thieves like him?”

“All the fun without the criminality. He’d be turning in his grave if he knew.”

“Indeed.”

“Ambrose said you’re a good pianist and something about film music. Is that what you want to do?”

I shrugged a shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind composing for films and being a hotel lounge pianist with the occasional concert.”

“Ooh, swanky.”

“If I get my skill back.”

“Sorry.”

I sighed. “No, it’s a touchy subject. I don’t suppose Ambrose told you much about my personal life.”

“Well, he’s always talked about you as a kid, how funny and sweet and smart you were. The things you two pulled on that farm. Before you got here, he said you’re moving in with him because you’re uncle died and you got out of a coma from brain surgery. That’s all I know.”

“Right. So... It might be a while until I can play again.” Ambrose didn’t tell her specifics about Maurice. I was somewhat surprised yet also grateful. For once I appreciated his sensitivity toward my past.

“Must be difficult.”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t want us to exasperate ourselves by talking about it. What about you? Why live here with your uncle? Why not with your parents?” I’d presumed they were dead, but that was a shot in the dark.

“Well. They were travel bloggers.” She shrugged and bit her lip. “And now they’re retired.”

“I see.”

“In heaven.”

“Oh, so I was right,” I said mostly to myself. “Oh. That’s— I am sorry. I didn’t—”

She giggled.

“I didn’t mean to say that out... loud. What is so funny?”

“Well, you managed to be insensitive, apologetic, and confused all at the same time. It’s adorable.”

“Adorable?” I wrinkled my nose.

“Would you prefer broody?”

“It is my default social setting.”

“Uh-huh. Sorry, I laugh at almost everything. It’s a... thing.”

“How did it happen?”

“With my parents?”

“Yes.” I rubbed my neck. “If it’s something you’re comfortable talking about, that is.”

“Yeah, no, it’s... Okay. It was a car accident in the Germany on the Autobahn. Eight years ago. I was ten when my grandfather and George took me in.”

“Must’ve been difficult.”

“Well, you would know. Ambrose said you two lost yours when you were only six.”

“Yes.” I wrung my fingers.

“Erm... You read?”

“Nothing from this century. Mostly old manuscripts and classics from the 19th or 20th century.”

“Old manuscripts?”

“Copies of the Bible in Greek, Aramaic, and Hebrew, works by Da Vinci in Tuscan, Eratosthenes music theory. That sort of thing. It’s a peculiar fascination to see how the meanings can change around. My personal favorite is Da Vinci’s personal writings. They were in the 15th century Tuscan dialect and drafted in his invented shorthand mirrored handwriting that read from right to left. It’d like a puzzle. I love puzzles.”

“Okay, but where do you get a hold of those?”

“I have my contacts.”

“You’re in high school. How do you have contacts?”

“Was in high school. My brother signed to graduate me early because he’s awesome and cool. Also I met the director of the museum in Italy online by chance. He sent me pictures of the manuscripts after I expressed interest.”

Alice shook her head. “You meet the director by chance? Online? An Italian?”

“Yes, yes, and yes. He’s... on Tumblr oddly enough. As a matter of fact I should get in touch with him for something of Aristotle’s I’ve been interested in. I have his number, you know.”

“Oh, do you? Damn, you talk about Da Vinci with the director of a prestigious Italian museum on Tumblr while I sit her trying to decipher calculus and Latin. Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing with my life.”

“Yeahh, don’t let my interest make your life seem dull. I’m sure your Latin gets interesting.”

“I do kick ass with Latin. People get confused all the time with George and I speak it like we’re talking about the weather.”

“There we go.” We high-fived.

My phone chimed. There could be only one person who would text me right now.

“Is that him?”

“Ha! No, my best friend.” I checked my phone.

Bored, Luke texted.

I shot off a reply. Ah. Mr. Crowley is raving about the Civil War again. My sympathies, Luke.

I’d PAY to be one of the casualties – _ –

Come, come, now.

I’m surprised the boredom hasn’t killed me. In fact, if boredom could kill, I’d be one of the casualties :D

And what if you’re seen texting?

I read fast, but I’m not looking at my phone when I type under the desk

Exemplary. I’m surprised nothing’s misspelled.

I’ve practiced. Also auto-correct

Auto-correct’s evil and stupid.

Not to me :D

Teach me.

Would if I could. But I think it likes me better ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Pfft. What about Lucy?

She’s repeatedly tapping out ‘I’m surrounded by idiots’ in Morse code while taking notes to see if the professor will catch it

Oooh.

It’s the only entertaining thing in the class right now

I can imagine.

Oh

What?

My phone is dying :(

Eesh. When’s the funeral?

Anytime now :/

How unfortunate.

Anyway, what’s floating on your side of the pond?

Guns and fists.

...?

Metaphorically. Boredom’s ailing me too.

Darce.

What?

Don’t murder someone : |

Ha. Ha.

Actually, do. Then we can cover it up and pretend to solve it ;)

I am virtually rolling my eyes.

I don’t see an emoji

Of course, you don’t. You know I hate emojis. You use too many by the way.

Trying to keep it interesting. Btw phone’s been 1% for 20 minutes. I will now bombard you with emojis until it turns black : D

There will be repercussions!!!

*Maniacal laughter XD

I stifled a laugh and shook my head as I pocketed my phone. It repeatedly sounded.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Alice raised an eyebrow.

“No.”

“Darcy—”

“Wait for iiiiiit.” The phone stopped. “It’s dead.” I grinned.

“What is?”

“Luke’s phone.”

“Huh. So Luke?”

“What about him?”

“What’s he like? How did you meet?”

“He pick-pocketed me, and I fought off his bullies to get my things back. Then he tried to make amends, and well, we ended up doing everything together and studying all the time, and I became friends with his sister, Lucy. We’re all now thick as thieves.” Sometimes literally.

“Wow.”

After studying a little, Alice took a dance break, and then Luke called around his lunchtime. He must’ve Lazarused his phone by borrowing Lucy’s charger. She was eating at the same table, and I told them more about living in London and Alice while hiding away in my room again. “She called me adorable.” I wrinkled my nose.

“Cause you are,” Lucy said.

“Shut up. I am not adorable.”

“Okay, you’re tough and resilient, but still adorable.”

I laughed. “What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Nothing. You’re face says enough.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.” She grimaced. “Ohhh, wait you can’t. You’re on a island the other side of the Atlantic. Guess you’ll have to suck it up.” She grinned.

“Ha! My brother is the British Government. I can have you put in a space capsule to Mars.”

“Damn, that would be fun. Mars aside, tch, pulling the Big Brother card, are we?”

“Literally and figuratively. Not ashamed, by the way.”

Luke chuckled. “And cut. That was Han Solo and Princess Leia scene 23. Let’s do it again, but more charm than snark.”

“Upcoming. Luke loses an arm,” Lucy said.

Luke screamed into his sleeve.

“I am your father. You know it to be true,” I said in a deep voice.

“Noooo!”

Lucy nearly fell over in laughter. “Do I need to call Yoda?”

Luke sighed. “He’d be too disappointed in me to answer.”

“Probably busy making swamp soup anyway.” I shrugged.

Lucy downed her glass of water and slammed it down like it was whiskey. “It’s nice be around other nerds. Validating.”

I chuckled. “To be sure.”

“Oh, hey, I got the recording you sent from last night. Thanks,” Luke said.

“You’re welcome.”

“You try the piano again?”

I rolled my eyes. “Define ‘try’. With this muscle stiffness and losing all the muscle memory... It’s... I don’t know. It’s not the same. It’s complete... excrement. I can’t play like this. It’s not enough to slog by with chords. It’s inane. That’s what it is.”

He chucked a radish aside. “If I were you, I’d punch a wall.”

“Hmm. I almost punched a piano.”

“See.”

“Sometimes I want to smash my violin.” Lucy sighed forlornly.

“Hmm.”

“On Luke’s head.”

“Hey!”

I burst laughing. “Oh, my God, Luke, what did you do?”

“It’d break because sometimes he so thick-headed. But it would be worth it.”

Luke scowled. “Is this because I accidentally used your toothbrush and threw away your music analysis?”

“First. It’s disgusting. I don’t want your dental germs even though we share DNA. It’s not hygienic. Second, I wasn’t finished with the analysis.”

“They were scribbled all over! There even a tear in the middle of the paper!”

“I got frustrated.”

“You got frustrated? You got bat crazy angry. At notes.”

She stood up. “I had a right to get furious. My point is it wasn’t yours, and you threw it away! I wasn’t done. I needed to copy things from there. Now I need to write things down breathing in rotten banana juice and chicken bones.”

“Eww. Luke. How could you?” I wrinkled my nose.

“It was an accident.”

“She has a point, though.”

“He hasn’t even apologized.” Lucy crossed her arms.

“Ah. Unacceptable. Luke?” I raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“Fine. I’m sorry. I’m wrong and embarrassed to admit it. I’ll leave your things alone next time.”

Lucy and I still stared at him dead-eyed.

“And I’ll copy the analysis myself since it’s my fault.”

Lucy smiled. “Thank you.”

“Happy?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

The front door sounded.

“I’m home!” My brother called from downstairs.

“Ambrose!” I jumped out of bed.

Luke laughed.

“Bye,” Lucy called out.

I slid down the stair rails. My feet staggered on the landing.

Ambrose hung his coat, brown takeout bag in hand. “Ah, Fitz, I got your message, and— woah!” Ambrose caught me as I crashed into his chest.

“Finally.”

He held my head. “I missed you too.”

“You smell like rain and engine exhaust.” My lungs heaved as I caught my breath from the exertion.

“Thank you.”

“Mmph.”

“Long day?”

“Yeah.”

He held me for a while until I caught my breath. Then he took a good look at me. “Have you eaten?”

“No?”

“You haven’t eaten since this morning?”

“I forgot.”

“I left a message.”

“I forgot twice.”

“It was in the oven.”

“Okay, fine, I didn’t feel hungry.”

“Fizzy. You must eat to recover. It’s hard, I know, but... One bite. A fruit. A cracker. Anything would’ve still been better than nothing.”

I sighed.

He rubbed my back.

“How was work?”

He took a deep breath, seemingly reluctant to change the subject. “Productive, long, and tiring.”

“We had the same day, then.”

“Hm.”

“What’s in the bag?”

“Stuffed bell pepper soup. There was this Romanian deli nearby. I thought why not.” He lifted the bag.

“What?” I looked at him, surprised. I smelled the bag. “Wow.”

“I told you. I listen to your messages.”

I smiled and looked aside. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” He tousled my hair. “Come on. I need to refresh.”

And a lift ride later, we found ourselves in his olive-toned room. I’d barely seen it, but it felt different than mine. My brother’s room always felt like that. Like home but safer. Better yet, it felt like pillow fort. I folded my legs on his bed and ate the panini with the soup while he showered. The birds were happy in the rain outside.

Ambrose shaved with a robe over his t-shirt and boxers, hair wet and mussed. He seemed pensive. But then again, he had for a while now since we’d arrived in London.

“Did they find anything new on the uplink?”

“Not really.” He ran the tap over the shaving brush.

“‘Not really’ or you can’t say?”

He raised an eyebrow at me through the mirror.

“What about Kasim? Anything on him?”

“He has a double in Germany for a press conference, I think, while he’s really in Dover. The itinerary has him coming to London tomorrow. Might be related to that file I showed you.”

I nodded, glad that he could tell me something. “What about... The break-in?”

He gave an exasperated sigh and put down the brush of lather. “I can’t say.”

“Right.” I bit my cheek. “Ambrose?”

“Yes, Fitz?” His voice softened from exasperation to care.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He gave a slight smile and resumed his shave. It reminded me of our father. Old days with charm, lost in time. He cleaned up the bathroom before sitting on the bed, hands steepled.

“Everything else all right, though? You seem... stressed.”

He glanced at me. “Just a lot going on at the moment.”

“Ah.”

“Well. What now? Stay in or get some air?”

“Air would be nice. You mentioned meeting some friends of yours.”

“Laid back chaps. You’d like them.”

“I’m up for it."

“Right, then. Going out, it is.”

“I don’t need to change, do I? You never said where we were going.”

“No, it’ll be a casual evening. Jeans and a polo shirt can work with the right accessories if you want to add a little more style.”

“All for it.” Having made it through half the jar of soup, I screwed the lid on and set it on the night table. Then I fell back onto my stomach, possibly entering a cozy food coma.

Ambrose tousled my hair. “Good lad.”

A ghost of a smile passed over me.

He pulled on an olive green turtleneck, brown corduroys, and a beige marine quilted jacket with a corduroy collar. Brown leather watch, Oxfords.

“All right, then. Let’s see what we can do.”

I rolled off the bed and followed him to my closet.

He passed me a leather jacket and a scarf. “If you want, you can take these and the Chelsea boots.”

I looped the blue scar around my neck. “This is really soft.”

“It’s wool.”

“Wow.”

“There.”

I shrugged on the leather jacket and looked in the mirror. It looked cool. “Nice. Very classy.”

“Shall we go?”

“We shall.” I grabbed my flat cap.

Chapter 13

Ambrose and I parked the Mustang near Trafalgar Square and walked to his hangout. And there we stood before the wood front where gilt metal letters spelled out ‘The British Gentleman’s Society’. The left side sold custom tailored suits and gentleman wear. The right side was an elegant barber shop.

In the back there was a bar counter with people. One disappeared behind a bookcase, which is where Ambrose and I headed. We were meeting a few friends of his, but... Here? What was this place? Ambrose searched for a book on the fourth shelf. Abneptis Tumidus by Anonymous. Odd title for a book. It either meant “the prideful great-granddaughter” or “the swollen granddaughter”, a less favorable translation.

“Ah.” He pulled the book. A click resounded, and the two-sided bookcase revolved, taking us on the other side. A soft ding echoed, and Ambrose sat back against the wall with his arms crossed and ankle bent behind the other. Another hidden elevator.

“Okay. I assume you’re going to tell me where we’re going.”

“The book I pulled was in Latin.”

“With a ridiculous meaning.”

“Because it was an anagram for studium bipatens.”

“Two-way study?” I rose an eyebrow.

“That’s where we’re going, and that’s what this is.”

“Ohhh, you mean... I don’t know what you mean.”

“A long while ago several members of the government and military involved in covert operations and sectors founded the British Gentleman’s Society. A place to relax and be themselves or train and improve, challenge each other outside the field. There are archives here too and covert post boxes for whatever reason they may be needed. Everything you saw until now is the cover for what’s underneath to shield from public discovery.”

Ding!

“Here we are.” Ambrose and I stepped out of the elevator as others got in.

Dark wood furniture, elegant rugs, mellow lights, music, and ordinary people who had extraordinary jobs saving the world every day. Ahead were corridors and a large lounge with a bar, a cafe, large round tables with leather couches and armchairs all around. It was filled with a warm hum of conversation. Two people played air hockey. Others focused on Operation without looking at the game. There was also a very focused chess match. Card games at tables went on glamorously.

“Fitz, meet the British Government.”

“Woahh.”

“Well, at least some of it. Off the hall there’s also the gym and the shooting range. Archives. Conference rooms. And everything else.” He gestured.

“This is where you go to the gym?”

“And where I go after work to see my friends.”

“Huh.” I wore a curious smile tinged with awe. “Wait, isn’t this classified?”

“Ohh, this is a social circle. We don’t talk about work here. Plus I can vouch for you.”

“Cool.”

“Come on. There are some friends I’d like you to meet.”

“I’m so excited.”

He chuckled.

We walked over to a group people playing cards and drinking at a big coffee table bordered with three couches.

“Ames! Mate, we haven’t seen you for ages.” A gentleman with a smoky silver side-part waved us over. Strong Cockney accent.

“Smokes, long time.” Ambrose shook hands with him.

He clapped his back. “Heard you were down in Chicago liaising for the CIA again. Or was it FBI?”

“Ahh, you’ve been listening to rumours.”

“Not a rumour if it’s true.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Ambrose rolled his eyes. “Anyway, got back yesterday, and I thought I’d pop by. Jerry, Dev, Pax, good evening.”

They greeted back in their own way. The first was a young man in jeans and a leather-strap watch, Sussex; the second a swarthy gent with swagger and glasses, also Cockney; and the third an Beatles t-shirt guy with a Birmingham tongue.

“Sit down, Ambrose. We’ll deal you in.” Pax shuffled a deck of cards.

“All right, then.”

“Who’s this? New guy?” Dev raised eyebrow.

“No, but I think we can make an exception. This, gentlemen, is my brother.”

Jerry smirked. “Heyy. Finally.”

“Nooo.” Smokes cocked his head.

“Your brother?” Dev widened his eyes.

I furrowed my brow. Did everyone know me?

Smokes snapped his fingers. “You’re the guy who gave it to one of the world’s most wanted underground criminals. They say you defused a bomb with a Swiss knife in less than a minute and saved Ames’s life along with a couple of Yanks. Bloody hell.” He whistled. “Brass stones, this bloke.”

“All right, who told you? Was it your friend in the FBI?”

Smokes shrugged.

“I heard there was girl too.” Dev clicked his tongue.

“Oh, no, we’re not—”

“Of course, you’re not. Do you know how to play poker?” Pax dealt out the cards.

“Yes, but I haven’t played in years.”

“Good enough.”

“Another around?” Smokes collected the glasses. A mixture of replies added up to the affirmative. “You two want anything?”

“Virgin Bloody Mary.” Ambrose nodded.

“Lemon water on the rocks.” I took a seat between Pax and Ambrose.

Smokes took the tray of glasses off.

“Well, Devereux, let’s see what you’ve got. Old rules stand. Winner picks lunch Saturday.” Pax sat back.

“Hey, what if he wins?” Dev took his cards.

“Eh, if he does, he’s practically one of us. Devereux, we have high expectations of you after playing with Ambrose. You don’t mind, do you?”

“On the contrary, I’ll try to surpass them,” I quipped.

Pax chuckled. “‘Try’ is right. But if he’s as good as he is, it’s hard to think you wouldn’t be either.”

“Got the drinks.” Smokes passed out glasses of various sizes.

They cheered.

“Bourbon with club soda for me. Two whiskey and a lemon on the rocks. Virgin Bloody Mary. And dirty martini.”

“And small bets, gents. Small bets.” Jerry winked. “We’re looking to have fun and still have money to pay the bills.”

They laughed.

Ambrose and I had played poker since his high school days. Like chess it was a good representation of life. Whether one played poker or life, one would benefit when one knew how to read for truths and lies, weigh risks against rewards under pressure, manage money, and most importantly, how and when to fold like a gentleman. Over many a game, I’d learnt how to meet with Triumph and Disaster, and how to treat those two imposters just the same. It was an intriguing game.

“5 quid.” Dev tossed a bill on the table.

Smokes followed. “I’m in.”

Ambrose and Jerry narrowed eyes at each other.

Jerry grinned. “I see your 5 quid, Dev, and raise you.”

Ambrose scratched his eyebrow. Good hand, then. “Raise. Fitz?”

“Call.”

“Call.” Pax added to the pot. “How’s London treating you?”

“Not bad. Seems I’ll never be bored.”

“Draw two.” Dev shifted.

“That’s London. Sometimes.”

“How long have you all known each other?” I sipped my drink.

“Few years give or take. Give me three, Pax.”

“Three.”

Smokes savored a sip of Bourbon. “Well, Dev used to be an accountant. Got bored. Now he’s in communications. Ambrose and him crossed paths with Pax before Ambrose moved on and Pax became the best guy around with computers.” I took note of that. “Jerry was in intelligence with Ames back in day, thick as thieves those two. I used to be in Ministry of Defence before we met in the same department when I switched. So we’ve all become friends of friends and then friends.”

“Huh.”

Jerry double-checked his cards.

Ambrose took a swig of his drink. Huh. “One.”

“I’m good.”

He drew a side glance at me.

“Dealer draws one. Bets.”

“Fold.” Dev threw his cards down.

Smokes took a sip from his bourbon. “Call.”

“Jerry, you know want to fold.” Ambrose scratched his eyebrow. “It’s a horrendous hand you’ve got there. Are you certain you want to risk it? Fifteen quid. Mmh.”

Jerry touched his nose. “I’m more about the game.”

Ambrose gave him the look. “And yet we both know you can’t bluff.”

Jerry narrowed his eyes. After a staring match, he gave up. “For God’s sake. Fold.” He threw his cards down with a laugh.

“How’s Constance?” Dev sat back, nursing his drink.

“Still dancing but retiring this year. Lonnie ask you for another date?”

“Nahh, found some other bloke. But I got this girl Deirdra, CPA, who own a successful gallery. Has an MBA too. Very girlboss kickass. I could listen to her talk about Renoir all night.”

“Leveled up then.”

“Oh, and Smokes took the wife to Surrey last weekend. Baby on the way.”

Ambrose chortled. “Congratulations, Smokes. That is good news.”

“Ta.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Baby girl. I’m building a dollhouse and a 1965 Charger.”

“She will be lucky to have a dad like you.”

“Thanks.” Smokes grinned, taking a sip of bourbon. “When are you going to propose like you’ve been talking?”

“Soon, Smokes. Soon. Raise.” He threw his chips into the pot.

“How soon is soon?” Jerry quipped.

That’s what I wanted to know too.

“Soon enough.” Ambrose inclined his head insistently with a nevertheless pleasant smile. “I’m not going to rush this.”

“Ahhh, just don’t wait too long.”

“Relax, marriage is like poker. You need to wait for the right hand in life before cashing in.” Pax shrugged.

I cleared my throat. “Raise.”

My brother raised an eyebrow.

I shrugged.

He hummed in suspicion.

“Fold.” Pax threw down his cards. “Looks like we’ve got some action. Ames, Darcy, and Smokes. Who’d have thought?”

“Fold.” Smokes threw down his two pair.

“Woahh. Smokes, you’re never intimidated.”

“Nahh, but I’ve got a bad hand, and I wanna watch the Devereux boys face-off.”

They chuckled.

Now Ambrose obviously had a good hand, and I knew I had a good hand. But who had gotten the better of the other? He was a good loser as any other good poker player, but I knew he wouldn’t fold now. Or was he bluffing?

“Full house.” Ambrose revealed his cards.

I flipped mine over and clicked my tongue. It was a good try. “You know, I might be wrong, but I think that’s called straight flush.”

Ambrose threw his head back and laughed. “Dear God. I’ve taught you well.”

I grinned.

Smokes whistled. “Damn.”

“Ames brother’s, all right.” Dev chuckled.

“Good poker face.” Pax swirled his martini and popped the olive in his mouth.

“Your winnings, m’lord.” Jerry pushed the pot towards me.

“Oh, no, put it toward the tab.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Everyone clinked glasses. After another game, Pax took the pot of 25 quid. It had been a great deal of fun. My mind drifted a couple of times. Before I could be tired but alert, and even close to normal. But now, my senses dimmed too. I got tired more often. As the next game went on, I found myself reminiscing, and then... My mind summoned the wrong thought. A memory from Maurice again.

At first, it was nothing, but then my breath left whispers of pain in my chest every time it came and went. Clearly it wouldn’t go away. It would get worse. And things had been going so well. Thinking about it made it worse. Only unlike yesterday, I stood before it got at such a point.

“Er, I’m... Going to, er... Go to the bathroom. You can go on without me.”

“Fitz.” Ambrose furrowed his brow.

I ran a hair through my hand and left in a hurry. I went to the archives. No one went to look at old files and history. A shaky breath made it out of me. My eyes stung. And then not a moment later, I heard someone, and I jumped, wiping my face.

“Fitz?” Ambrose walked in. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Got too loud in there for a moment.”

“Right.”

“Seriously, I’m okay. I’m—”

“Hanging out in the archives.”

“Yeah.”

“On the floor.”

“Ambrose—”

“You’re having a panic attack.”

​“A minor attack. It’s not even—” I fisted my hand as it shook.

“All right. Okay. It’s all right. I’m not mad, just concerned. You should’ve told me. I’ll stay with you, and we’ll go back when you’re better.”

I shook my head. “Ambrose—”

“If you’re fine, hold out your hand.”

“What—”

“Hold it out steady, and I’ll let you off the hook.” He looked into my eyes.

I broke the stare.

“Hmm. And I don’t think suffering silently makes things any better. Do you?”

“Okay. You’re right. Happy?”

“You don’t have to prove anything, you know. Not to me. Not to yourself. Not to anyone. Do you understand?”

“Can you just hug me?”

“All right.” He wrapped his arms around me.

I ducked my head against his chest while I held my face in my hands. The tears came slowly, painfully, a knot in the throat, an itch on the cheek, an ache in my chest.

That constant breath was pretty much the only thing that held me from falling apart further.

After a while, I drew back against the wall again with a sniffle. Another panic attack brought down. Wahoo.

Ambrose hummed a familiar tune.

I looked up.

“The other day a friend of mine said, he said.”

“‘The sun’s not really yellow’, he said, he said, ‘the sun is really red,’” we sang in a quiet tenor.

I breathed a laugh.

“I said, my friend what do you mean? You read that in some magazine? Next thing you’ll say the earth’s not green.”

“How can I be sure of you anymore? In a world that’s always changing. Rearranging, always changing, changing?”

We used to listen to vinyls in his bedroom while he passed on studying for finals because he already knew the answers, and we bounced on the bed with me even though we both knew it messed with the mattress springs. Ambrose was the coolest person I knew back then. His confidence at all times was one of the things I’d wanted to imitate. My brother, the popular kid in school, who hung around with me instead of the all the ‘friends’ he had. He’d always known who he was.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“What now?”

“You’re tired.”

“I mean—”

“That wasn’t a question.”

I quirked my lips.

“Stay longer or head home?”

“I thought you’d suggest the latter.”

“I’m asking because I won’t make you if you need a little more distraction.”

“A little longer would be nice.”

“Okay.” He smiled and tousled my hair. “You don’t need to exert yourself on my account, though.”

“Hmm.”

He pulled me up, and I rinsed my face at the loos before we returned to the lounge. No one showed they’d noticed. Impossible they hadn’t, but the liberty was appreciated. We moved to the cafe. Dinner was on, and they caught up, cracked jokes, and told stories while I observed contently. When I found myself falling asleep, I nodded at my brother. A minute later, he excused himself on account of jetlag, and we called it night.

It wasn’t a long drive home fortunately.

During the past few years I hadn’t considered what it’d be like once I saw my brother again and escaped Maurice’s grasp. It was more than I’d wished for and less than what I’d expected... Mostly because I hadn’t expected much at all, anything. Expectations were hard to meet when they were vague. Worse, I didn’t even know what I missed, what I wanted. It felt so... Odd. I criticised myself for it. For not being who I thought I should’ve been, who I’d liked to have been.

And as if this amount of change wasn’t already overwhelming, Ambrose would get married soon. So many questions in queue. It felt irritating, like I had to eliminate at least one concern. And of course, I chose the seven on the ‘uncomfortable’ scale.

“Ambrose?” I shut the car door.

“Yes?” He grabbed his keys.

“You know...” I fisted my free hand in my pocket. “Just because I’m here doesn’t mean you need to hold off on getting engaged.” I was neither for nor against it, but being supportive seemed the best way to gather answers.

“What do you mean?” Ambrose glanced at me.

I looked aside. “Well, I want you to be happy, and my being here shouldn’t change anything. I don’t want you hold off on getting married if it’s because— well, because I’ve popped up again and you feel you need to—”

“All right, stop.”

I bit my lip. Great. I’d said the wrong thing.

“I think I see where this is going.” He sighed. “We’ve barely seen each other these past years. I’ve missed you a lot. We have a great deal of time to catch up on, and we’re different people so there’s a newness even, and getting to know each other again will take time. Not to mention, a month ago you were in coma, and you’re still recovering from a decade years of abuse and loneliness. To top it off, you’re only 17 and trying to take down a criminal network. I— Do you want me to pretend as if all of it didn’t happen? To go on as if the past few months were just a Monday?”

I shrugged a shoulder. “No, I... I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do know. You just don’t want to say it.”

I pinched my thumb.

He softened. “What is it, Fizzy? What are you asking that you feel the need to go about in such a roundabout way?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing or not, I’m here to listen. I won’t get upset or angry. You can talk to me bluntly if you need to. I won’t shy away from a conversation because it’s uncomfortable or awkward. So, what is it?”

“You don’t need to put your life on hold for mine. That’s it.” I pressed my palm. Stop talking. Just... stop.

“I’m not.” He furrowed his brow.

“You said before you planned to propose before I called, and now you’re pushing it back.” Don’t.

“And you think I’m holding off on it because you think that I think you need my attention.”

I glanced at him. This was stupid. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.

“Well, you’re right. It’s part of the reason.” He ran a hand through his hair. “However, it’s not the whole of it.”

I bit my cheek, wanting to end the conversation. “Oh. Okay, then—”

“Fitz, look at me.” Ambrose wasn’t convinced.

I dragged my gaze to his.

“I’m not holding off just because I need to be there for you or whatever you think it might be, as an obligation. I want to take the time to be around, catch up, to know you again. There’s a lot of change about. Being able to see you again—” He shook his head. “The past few months we’ve both changed, and our lives will never be the same. I want to settle and enjoy the changes. I don’t want to act like nothing’s happened, to treat the past with so little respect. With Constance switching careers and you being here now, it needs to feel the right time. When the dust has settled. There’s nothing wrong with that. And... I’d also like you two to get to know each other before I take the next step. I wouldn’t want to get married to someone you know as a near stranger or acquaintance. You are both very important to me.”

I quirked the corner of my mouth.

“My point is: there’s every reason your being here should change everything, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s not something you need to feel guilty or ashamed about, that I take the time. I love you. I care about you. And that’s all we need to say about it. I’m living my life in full motion, and I’m happy. All right?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

I shifted. So little bit of a relief. I wasn’t disturbing anything. However... He would still propose, get married. Of course, I loved to see him click with such an extraordinary person as Constance was. I truly liked her. But... I supposed I didn’t really know how I’d fit into all of it. Selfish thought. Would he move? Or would he feel the need to stay? And I didn’t want to be a third wheel or interfere—

“But that’s not all you’re wondering, is it?”

“Hm, what? What— what else would I be wondering about?”

“You tell me. For someone who says he’s certain, you hold a lot of questions on that brow.”

“I... That was... all... really.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

He raised an eyebrow.

I bit my cheek.

“Unless, you’re not ready to ask, and you want me to drop it without telling me to drop it. Am I wrong?”

I shrugged. “It’s cold out here.”

“All right, then.” Ambrose jingled the keys.

“Wait.” The door was ajar. And suddenly we had bigger problems.