brand-new rooms. There was a palpable air of excitement.
All the way up in the eaves, everything was quiet, the rooms empty. Isla remembered the very first morning she had come here, how shocking she had found him. Well, now it all made sense, she supposed. She hadn’t liked him then. She shouldn’t like him now.
But even so. She remembered his face as the statue went up, the boyish enthusiasm he’d allowed to run riot. Even how nifty he’d gotten with a knife. The look of concentration when his too-long hair flopped over his face. The way his hand had felt in hers . . .
She almost let out a groan. The room was empty. Of course it was. He had gone.
And she was alone, but it was worse than before. Because before, she hadn’t known what she was missing, hadn’t realized there was something bigger out there, hadn’t ever—she hated to admit it to herself—hadn’t ever fallen in love, even if it was with a cad.
Almost out of habit, she glanced at her social media, even though she was terrified of seeing anything about herself in it. Konstantin was in loads of papers, but she ignored it all.
Then she saw one thing, on Eilidh’s Facebook account. It looked impossible, but it was true. A picture of two blonds: Konstantin holding Agot’s hand as they . . . Were they skating? The clear winter light was hitting their hair; it was beautiful.
Underneath Eilidh had written, The prince built us an ice rink!
Isla stared at it for a long time. He had really gone and made an ice rink. He had really gone and done something for someone else, no thought to himself, just so that Agot would be happy on Christmas Day. This wasn’t something she would ever have thought him capable of before. She blinked, stared at the photograph for a long time.
As she finally turned away from his door, suddenly she heard boots. It couldn’t be. She steeled herself. He was coming back to pick up his stuff, that was all.
He walked slowly: after the excitement of seeing Agot, all his miseries were back. His face was sad, his back stooped, as he got to the top of the stairs. Even Bjårk looked disconsolate next to him. Then he glanced up and saw her, and his face changed completely.
“Were you . . . looking for me?” he asked.
There was a long pause.
“Gaspard was—was wondering where you are,” stuttered Isla.
“But not you.”
Isla shrugged. “I thought you’d be heading back.”
“Where?” said Konstantin instantly. “Where? You know the truth about me. I got thrown out of my own country. Thrown out. And I have heard nothing. Not from my dad, not from anyone. They were more than happy to see the back of me. And now everybody here thinks the same. You’ll all be happy to see the back of me too. So it hardly matters where I go, does it?”
He walked straight past her.
“But you have loads of friends! Everyone knows you,” Isla found herself saying.
“Everyone knows me,” came the voice heading into the room, “and nobody gives a damn.”
And he pushed the door shut behind him.
“I do,” said Isla in a very small voice. “I give a damn.”
There was a squeak as the door pulled open again.
“What?” said Konstantin. “What did you just say?”
Isla was flushed.
“Tell me!”
“I said I give a damn,” she said very quietly.
“You didn’t when you stormed off.”
“I didn’t say I don’t think you’re a jerk.”
He looked deep into her eyes. “But you make me not want to be a jerk,” he said.
“Well, I’m not sure it’s working.”
In response he took her face in his hands.
“I need to ask you,” he said gently, as the mood instantly changed. “I need to check and I need to tell you that my intentions with you . . . are not exactly pure. But. Can I say good? Or at least better. But you make me want to be—”
Before he got to the end of the sentence, she grabbed him and kissed him, hard.
Chapter 70
Of course Gaspard was yelling for them before thirty seconds were up, and no, it couldn’t possibly be, but—was that a smile? A tiny hint of a smile on his face as they catapulted down the back stairs. Surely not.
Isla pulled Konstantin back just as they were preparing to enter the kitchen, flushed.
“I—I just wanted to say I don’t care. If you’re here forever or if you’re just passing through or . . . well. I’ve