Page 106 of Nine-Tenths

The first person I call is Dr. Chen's receptionist.

My therapist gave me a lot of great stuff to prepare for if I saw Dav again, but I need to resupply. Figure out what it is I'm actuallyfeeling, and how to articulate it. I book an appointment for tomorrow morning, then hang up, and start scrolling through the endless pages of messages in the family group chat. They all basically amount to:What did you do? Where are you? Are you okay? Answer! What's going on?And, from Stuart, one of the last messages:

If you don't answer in the next two hours I'm driving down there and kicking your dipshit ass.

I run my free hand through my hair, turn my face up to the sky, wish I had remembered to put on sunscreen, and hit 'call'.

"Thefuckis wrong with you!" is how Stu answers.

"I'm fine," I deadpan back at him. "By the way."

"I know you're fine, you're calling me. But Mum islosing it. Some photographer caught you leaving your apartment, and now you're inHello!You're inPeople!Christ, Colin, you're on the goddamnednews. And not like Entertainment Tonight.Realnews."

"Oh," I say softly. "I didn't think they’d call out a manhunt for a missing person that soon."

"Manhu—Colin, the CBC is losing its shit about a royal wedding! Mum is boycotting Entertainment Tonight on principle."

"You know the celebrity gossip shows, Stu-pid. Mountains out of molehills. Besides, Dav's just a peer."

"Still a Tudor, though!" Dav calls from the patio. I flip him off and deliberately walk down toward the barns.

"Wait, what,ishe in line for the throne?"

I groan, and scrub at my face, and explain that Dav is so distant a cousin that most of the British Royal Family would have to die for him to get anywhere near that crown. And thank god for it, too. But the thought that my family only knows the man that I will be spending the rest of my life with through shitty grocery store magazines curdles my breakfast.

"Hey, how about we set up a video chat soon, huh?" I ask. "You can meet Dav properly?"

"We could drive Mum down this weekend?"

"Uh. Maybe, um, maybe not just yet," I hedge. "Let me, um, talk to Dav about it."

"What are you hiding?" Stu asks, voice soft. He sounds like Dad.

Royal weddings. My forever person. And Dad's not here for any of it.

He'll never be here for any of it.

Fuck.

"Nothing! Just… we’re getting caught up, okay? At his place. I've been…"Acclimating to the reality that my boyfriend's people are going to see me as little more than a glorified pet."…hiding from the press. He's got a farm, with these tall walls. It's nice—"

"Yeah, I know," Stu snarls. "They keep replaying a clip shot through thebars on the gateof you standing in some second floor window looking wistful and shit."

"Say what?" I ask, head swiveling around to see if I can spot the glint of sunlight off of a telephoto lens. I can't see Dav's expression from here, but the line of his shoulders as he stands and marches into the house makes me think his hearing is better than he let on. Also, that somebody in security's about to get a strip torn off them. "Wait, is there like, a media circus parked outside of our front door?"

" 'Our'? " Stu echoes. He's been talking on speakerphone as he drives, but now he's pulled over. He cuts the engine of his pickup and the world goes strangely quiet and echoey.

"I… it's complicated," I say miserably. "Dragons."

"Yeah," Stu says. "I'm getting that. Hey… do you need me to come down there,mo leanbh?" He's trying to make light, but behind that I can hear the big-brother offer to beat up someone on my behalf.

"I'm fine." I mostly mean it. I can't imagine what might happen if Stu did take a swing at Dav. Dav would probably let him, in all honesty. And I do meanlethim—Dav'd be able to block or duck away, before Stu had even finished swinging at my boyfriend.

Boyfriend?

Husband?

Keeper?