I lick my dry lips, mouth parched. “We can get it annulled.”
Jack doesn’t blink as he asks, “Is that what you want?”
My phone rings. For a second, I worry I might’ve drunk dialed Farrow or Donnelly last night, but I see it’s just Charlie.
I click into the call. “Hey.”
“We’re going to Vienna. I’m leaving in five.” He hangs up.
And just like that, there’s no time to discuss what to do. No time to even get an annulment if we wanted. We’re headed to Austria.
35
JACK HIGHLAND
Oscar and I agree to pocket our rings and not speak about the marriage until we’re alone again. A difficult task, seeing as how we spent ten hours on a private plane with Charlie.
I think maybe we’ll get time to talk when we check into a two-bedroom suite in a five-star hotel. But we’re there for less than two minutes, just enough time to drop our bags.
Charlie’s true destination is a baroque palace, open to the public. Acres of gardens, an orangery, and fountains all landscape a historic, stunning structure.
“Johann Lukas von Hildebrandt was the architect,” Charlie tells me as we stop in an area under a ceiling mural, chandeliers, and gold molding. Five windows have breathtaking views of the gardens. Charlie’s eyes trace the painted ceiling. “It was commissioned as a summer home for Prince Eugene of Savoy.” His voice carries a reverence whenever he talks about architecture or art.
Hands on my camera, I capture Charlie and the palace in an appealing frame. “What do you like about it?” I ask, eyeing him outside of the lens.
He smiles and says something in French. I glance over my shoulder, wishing Oscar were here to translate for me.
Currently, he’s busy talking to the palace’s security by the door. A few visitors strolling through have recognized Charlie, but after a quick autograph or photo, they’ve left him alone.
I’m about to ask Charlie another question when he lies down flat on the marble tile. Legs and arms spread out like he’s creating a snow angel and stopped midway through. His eyes fasten on the mural like he’s studying each brush stroke.
My curiosity piques, and I can only imagine others would feel the same seeing Charlie Cobalt now. He loves art. For someone so raw, this is one of the few soft things about him.
I zoom in.
And as noise pitches near the doors, I take a quick, concerned glimpse at Oscar.
Palace security is angrier. He waves an annoyed hand towards Charlie on the floor. Oscar nods over and over, and I start to distinguish their voices. But I don’t know a single word of German besides nein which just means no.
Not helpful, dude.
One thing is clear: Oscar can speak fluent German.
Learned that new fact this morning when we checked into the hotel.
I should know all the languages my husband can speak before marrying him. That…did not happen. Structurally, this is off. We’re at the end without finishing the middle. Learning new things about each other. Married. My husband.
Jesus fuck, I can’t even process. The worst part is not being able to talk to Oscar about it. Having to spend the day pretending it never happened when we are very, very married.
The palace security guard leaves abruptly.
Oscar strides over with determined steps. He stops beside Charlie’s black scuffed and worn down Bolvaint shoes, and Oscar lightly kicks the sole. “Get up, Charlie.”
Charlie pats the ground. “Lie down, Oscar. Watch the clouds move.”
Oscar’s brows furrow and he squats down beside his client. I keep the camera rolling. “What’d you take?” he whispers.
“Just a couple booms.”
“When?”
“Hotel.”
“You have a bad trip, you tell me right away.”
“Always.”
Oscar stands up and meets my eyes.
“What are booms?” I whisper to him as we sidle to a middle window, leaving Charlie in the center of the room. On the floor.
“Mushrooms.” Oscar’s gaze intensely sweeps every entry into the marble-floored space. There are more doors and windows in this area than I think he’d probably prefer.
I’m not too surprised Charlie’s high on mushrooms right now, considering he’s experimented with hallucinogens before. He’s not always quiet about that fact.
What draws my curiosity is Oscar’s role in all of this. “Do you care that he does these kinds of drugs?”
Oscar’s eyes fall to the camera in my hands. I’m ready for him to tell me he’s not my subject, but then he says, “Not really.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “I care more about when he does them. If I’m not around, he knows I’ll be pissed.”
He pauses for a second, considering something before he says, “The first time he took LSD, he tried to take off all his clothes and jump into a fountain.” He snorts into a laugh at the memory. “He got a toe in the water before I intervened.”
I smile. “Wish I was there.”
“Me too. We could have laughed all night together.” Oscar’s lips slowly rise and his brown eyes flit to me. “I like having you here, Highland.”
Softly, I brush my finger over an inside pocket of my blue bomber jacket, the one with patches sewn on the fabric. It should be here…
The ring…
Where’s my ring?
Shit. I don’t feel anything. Panic sets in and I stick my hand further inside the inner pocket.
Oscar frowns. “What’s wrong?”
My shoulders sag in relief when I feel the cold metal. I take out the ring, not even thinking, just glad I didn’t lose it. “I thought it fell out.”
Oscar studies me for a long beat. “You would’ve been upset about that?”
I lay the ring flat in my palm, staring at the silver band—which I later realized is actually white gold. Oscar has the exact same band, three tiny diamonds set vertically in the center like an expensive notch.
Hazily, I remember Oscar at the jewelry store, saying drunkenly, “Three diamonds to express three classic words from a couple classic gentlemen…” He teed up with a long pause. “I. Love. You.”
So I study the ring now. The tiny diamonds.
I. Love. You.
“Yeah, I would’ve been upset if I
