Page 39 of Lone Spy (Starstruck Thrillers #2)

The bedroom is musty and shadowed with just one curtained window providing weak gray light. Omar walks over and clicks on the bedside lamp, illuminating a brass-framed bed covered in a blue quilt.

He returns to where I stand next to the closed door. Omar takes my hands and then frowns. “Your hands are so cold.” He looks honestly concerned—brow drawn down, eyes tight.

He lifts my hands to his mouth and kisses my knuckles, his lashes fanning. Tingles of awareness travel down my arms. He is gorgeous if nothing else.

“Angela, this isn’t how I wanted to do this,” he says, lowering our joined hands. “But you need security. And I can provide it. No one can protect you the way I can.”

I’m not sure what he’s saying, offering, asking for, so I stay quiet, keeping my eyes wide and expression innocent.

“The moment I saw you, I knew I’d ask you this question.

” He smiles, self-deprecating and almost shy—but not quite.

“But I’d hoped to have more time to win you over, to help you see what I knew the first time my eyes landed on you.

” His gaze is intense, beautiful. “Angela, please marry me. If you agree, I can keep you safe. Forever.”

“Marry you?” I ask, my voice pitched higher than normal.

He smiles, eyes sparkling. “Yes.”

“We hardly know each other. This is…” I pull my hands free and he lets me. “I mean, I see what’s in it for me. Literal survival. But what do you get out of it?” I’m trying to buy time, trying to sort out what is happening.

“You.” His eyes are wide with wonder that it isn’t obvious. “A stunning wife. A brave and powerful partner who understands our world. Who can help me create the story we want to tell.”

No mention of love—but that’s good. He couldn’t love me. Omar wanting to use me for what I am is better than him being deluded into thinking he wants a love marriage after so few hours spent together.

“I don’t know your world,” I protest. Because it’s true. “I’ve never been to the Middle East. I’m not Muslim.”

“You can convert. My mother did.” I shake my head. Take another step back. “They won’t stop coming for you.”

Omar reaches for me, but I scoot away from him, knocking into the bedside table and unsettling the lamp. It crashes to the ground, the bulb popping, dropping the room into deeper shadows.

“Angela.” His voice is gentle. Like I’m a frightened horse and he a steady trainer. But I am not livestock. “Think strategically,” Omar begs. “Please.”

“I’m not putting my head into a noose to avoid the guillotine.” It comes out a hissed whisper.

His frown deepens. “Do you think marriage to me would amount to strangulation?”

I shake my head. “I’m. No. But. I don’t want to stop working.” It sounds so stupid. So very stupid. I don’t want to give up on my dreams. That’s what I mean. I don’t want to be a princess. I never wanted that.

I want to make films. Make my own money.

Have my own power. It’s not that I crave normality—I don’t.

My whole life I’ve felt different, apart.

Separate from other people. Losing my parents young, growing up looking the way I look, with the family history I have.

My innate ability to take on characters as if they were my own. As if I was them.

I’ve always been an outsider and that won’t change no matter whose ring I wear on my finger. But I want the life I planned for, the one I pined for, not this…

Omar watches my face, intent on every micro expression. He thinks he wants to marry me. That he can have some kind of meaningful relationship with me.

“They will come for you again.” It sounds like a promise verging on a threat. “You can’t hide. You won’t be safe.”

The room is suddenly hotter, closer; fear claws at me. Omar steps into my space, his hands sliding into place at my waist. He moves closer, fingers tightening, pulling me into him.

It’s happening fast, I’m barely able to register the heat of his palms, the strength in his grip before Omar slants his mouth over mine.

This is not the electric fire that sparked between Ash and me. But there is a flame here. Omar pulls back, holds my gaze. “Please marry me.”

A knock at the door saves me from answering. Omar creates some space between us but keeps a possessive hand on my waist. “Yes.”

Ash opens the door. “The helicopter has landed. If we are going to go, we need to move.”

“Omar,” I say. “Can I have a minute with Ash please?”

The prince turns fully to me, giving his back to Ash. “I would like to tell you to take all the time in the world, but we don't have it.” He kisses my forehead and then leaves, slipping past Ash without a glance.

“Close the door,” I say.

Ash does as I ask, his gaze staying on me. It drops to the broken lamp, then comes back to me. There is nothing in his eyes. Cobalt ice.

“Ash,” I whisper. It draws him closer. Just a few steps. Just close enough for the electric grid to light up. “You knew this was a possibility. That we’d be trapped here. That they’d try to kill me.”

“Yes. I knew it was a possibility. If the queen died.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” It’s my turn to take a step toward him.

“You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t ask.” Is he fucking kidding?

“It’s not my job to advise you, Angela. I’m tasked with keeping you safe.”

“I think we are a little past that.” His jaw tics. Oh, are you getting a little angry, Ice Man? Welcome to the fucking club. I make a sound of annoyance mixed with disgust. “Well, I’m asking you now. What do I do? Omar asked me—” I stop talking because my throat tightens too much. I can’t say it.

“To marry him?” Ash asks. I nod. “I think you should.”

My jaw loosens and my eyes widen. “Even after.” I gesture to the other room, to the kiss. To the painful craving we share.

“Here are your options.” Ash comes closer, bending his neck to speak quietly. “I can take you out of here. Back to your house. We can beef up your security. Cancel nearly every public appearance. But if you try to resume even a semblance of your career, I think they will still manage to kill you.”

I shrink away from him. He closes his eyes, lets out a long breath.

“I can also make you disappear. Hide you. You give up your fame, your life, give up everything, give up any power you have to affect the world. But you’d be safe.

” He opens his eyes and they burn me with their heat.

“I know how to make it so they will never find us.”

I’ve stopped breathing.

“Or you can marry his royal highness. You will be safe.” He pauses, the rest of the sentence, the real truth hanging in some liminal space for the long breath he takes before continuing.

“You will also be very well positioned to help Temperance and his allies. You can help mold the world you want.” He pauses, his expression softening.

“Those are your three options. Which one do you want?”

He’s holding my gaze. And it hits me: this is really happening.

This is my life.

I’m tangled in a web that has enveloped me since I traded my independence for my freedom the day Temperance walked into my life. Its filaments are hard to perceive, but strong as spun steel.

And now that I can see it, the choice becomes clear. I can carry on at my extreme peril. I can forgo all agency and try to disappear. Or I can take the one option that will allow me to manipulate the strings.