Authors: Niki Burnham
Spin Control (18 page)
“I understand.”
He lets out an exasperated grunt. “It’s fine for us to keep things cool in public if we need to, but it’s not fine for you to think I don’t want to be with you. Because I do. And I told my parents that when I got home from Zermatt.”
He picks up my duffel bag and loops it over his shoulder, then reaches for my hand with his free one and leads me toward the
escalator to baggage claim.
“I think the cold air on the ski slopes cleared my brain,” he says as we descend. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you—about how funny you are, or about how you tell me what you think and not just what I want to hear. And I kept thinking about our night in the garden, and how much I like hanging out with you and just talking. And I realized we belong together—and if we really want this, we’ll find a way to make it work. I just hope you feel the same.”
My heart is thumping about a hundred miles an hour as we step off the escalator toward the rows of baggage claim carousels.
Man, do I want him. Bad. And not just for long, slow kisses. For everything—walking to school, talking about the world, laughing at each other. Every freaking thing.
“But what about the reporters?” I look at the faces of the people passing through baggage claim—mostly dour-looking Europeans my parents’ age juggling their suitcases, trying to figure out how to find
the taxi stand or the parking garage. “Didn’t your parents freak when you told them you were coming to the airport?”
“I promised to keep a low profile. But I had to see you. And what can reporters possibly say or photograph if your father is with us?”
“Or if you’re in that baseball hat,” I tease him. “You know you’ve gotta lose that. You’re not the baseball hat type.”
“Great. But you’re not answering my question,” he says.
“Which one?”
“Do you still want to be with me?”
I try to give him a serious look, like I have to think it over, but I just can’t. I’m giddy-happy-scary in love with the guy— even more than before spin control happened-and every second I wait to tell him is killing me.
Who knew going out with David would actually strengthen what I feel for Georg?
I tilt my head so I can see into his eyes despite the silly baseball hat. “What if I told you I really want to kiss you like you’ve never been kissed before? Right here, right now, in the middle of the
Lufthansa Airlines baggage claim?”
“Please don’t.”
I spin at the hissed words coming from behind me in a way-too-familiar voice. “Um, Dad. Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” He has a welcoming sort of smile on his face, so I hope that means I haven’t made him mad by wanting to jump Georg—especially given the fact I’m supposed to be controlling spin. “I have a car waiting at the curb, if you can hold off on your plans for about two minutes. This is a public area, you realize.”
I can feel myself turning bright red all the way to my ears. There are certain things a father is just not supposed to hear.
“Thank you, Mr. Winslow,” Georg says, sounding all princely and polite despite his casual clothes.
When we get to the car—a black Mercedes with tinted windows that, believe it or not, doesn’t stick out in Schwerinborg, since everyone here drives high-end European cars—I realize that Dad is driving. No one else from the palace came.
“You guys really are trying to be discreet,” I say to Georg as I look around for
reporters lurking curbside, but see none.
“Just get in,” Dad says, so I do.
I cannot freaking believe it. Dad and Georg have McDonald’s for me. And a huge bouquet of flowers. All of it’s in the middle of the backseat.
“I figured you’ve been eating Gabrielle’s vegan food all week,” Georg explains.
“You’re bribing me?”
“Whatever it takes.”
As we pull out into traffic, heading away from the airport, he leans across the seat (well, as far as his seat belt will allow, since Dad’s a stickler for seat belts), puts his hands on my cheeks, and pulls me toward him for a major mind-blowing kiss.
“Ahem. This isn’t a limo. There’s no privacy panel.”
“Sorry, Mr. Winslow,” Georg says. He leans back in his seat and winks at me, making me feel completely warm inside despite the drizzle hitting the windshield and the gray Schwerinborg skies. Then, just so I’m completely happy, he opens the Mickey D’s bag and hands me the fries, which smell absolutely decadent.
“Fortification against Steffi,” he says. “Though I think we’ll be able to deal with her better now. Ulrike’s on our side, too, since you left.”
I see my dad grin to himself in the rearview mirror.
“That’s something.” Though I couldn’t care less about the girls at school right now. All I can think about is Georg. I offer him a few of my fries, but he waves them off. Instead, he reaches back into the bag and offers me my favorite—a McChicken. And it’s fixed just the way I like it.
“True love,” Georg mouths to me.
I think I’m going to cry, but I manage to hold it in long enough to smile and mouth back, “I love you, too.”
Because I do. I just know.
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