Time (Laws of Physics #3)(73)

Epilogue





The Continuous Spectrum of Light





Abram





Waiting for Mona’s plane to land at Heathrow, I paced back and forth in front of the arrivals exit, tapping my fingers against my leg while I pretended to be on the phone. I’d cut my hair short and shaved my beard the day after the tour ended last week, and I’d been careful to avoid being photographed since.

I also wore a suit, hoping it would aid in my quest for anonymity, and because tonight was Marie’s rehearsal dinner. I likely wouldn’t have much of a chance to change by the time Mona and I made it to the castle.

So far, while I paced, I’d received a few interested double takes, but no requests for an autograph. Nowadays, this felt miraculous.

Mona was flying in for my sister’s destination wedding. Years ago, Marie organized and planned her friend Janie’s wedding. Now, Janie Sullivan had decided to return the favor. She’d called me with the idea a few months ago and I’d immediately offered to pay the hotel and food bill for all guests. Janie covered the air travel (she owned a private jet, long story) and flew everyone over to London. She also organized the Harry Potter themed bachelorette party last weekend that Mona attended, but for which I was—happily—absent.

Don’t get me wrong. I liked Marie’s friends, but all together in a group, they could be overwhelming. Especially her friend Sandra.

Matt, my soon-to-be brother-in-law, picked up the bill for everything else. Except the dress. My parents bought Marie’s dress, mostly because it was the only thing we’d let them pay for.

When my sister had discovered what we’d done, she called me up crying. “You’re crazy. Why did you do this?”

“Because I can,” I said. “And because I love you. Don’t make a big deal out of it, Hufflepuff.” All the planning had been worth it, to make Marie happy.

I checked my watch and glanced at the arrivals board. According to the sign, the flight from Geneva had landed twenty minutes ago, and I knew she had no checked baggage. Since she’d flown over last weekend, her bags were still at the hotel. Assuming no holdups at customs, she should’ve been exiting the arrivals door, any minute.

Any minute now.

My phone buzzed in my hand, catching me off guard. Lowering it to check the incoming number, Mona’s face filled the screen.

I answered immediately. “Hello?”

“Hey! How are you? How is Marie? Is she excited? Where are you? Are you here?”

I grinned, the sound of her voice taking the edge off the cold, granite block of missing her I carried whenever we weren’t together, and wherever I went. After almost a year of mostly separation with short windows of meeting in random cities, I’d grown accustomed to the ache. What I hadn’t grown accustomed to was the loss of breath each time we met again.

Or, as Mona would say, each time we met for a rendezvous.

The last six months had been full of highs and lows, with the worst weeks coming right after we went public with our relationship. I hated many of Redburn’s fans’ reactions to the news, how they talked about Mona on social media, how they picked apart her appearance, interviews she’d given in the past, making memes out of her pictures, and how they felt entitled to message me with their “thoughts.”

But a few months ago, my producer, seeing that I was struggling not to feel betrayed by my fans’ vitriol, said to me, “Be consumed by your art, Abram. Not the people who consume it.” That had made all the difference. Like Leo’s words about softness, it was one of the truest things I’d ever heard.

“Abram? Are you there?”

“Sorry.” I was still looking for her in the sea of faces. “I’m here. Are you past customs?”

“Yes. And I’m past the arrivals exit. Did you get the bag I left at the hotel?”

“Yes, I have the bag you left last week. It’s still at the hotel.”

Mona had flown out last weekend, two days before I’d arrived, but hadn’t been able to stay for the entire week. She was so close to the end of her tenure at CERN and couldn’t spare the time. I couldn’t leave the States until after several New York meetings about the new contract and album.

“Great! Glad you have the bag. Did you pick up the car?”

Frowning at a woman with long dark hair who was not Mona, I turned toward the elevators, searching for her there. “Yep. I have the car.”

“I don’t see you yet.” She sounded distracted. “Should I wait on one of the benches?”

My forehead wrinkled as I twisted my neck, hunting for her. “Wait, are you in terminal three?”

“Yes. Terminal three,” she confirmed just as an announcement sounded over the loudspeaker. I heard it echo on her side. Mona was definitely nearby.

“You don’t see me?” I scanned the mass of people. The crowds in every direction would’ve made it difficult for a shorter person to see, but I was easily the tallest person in the arrivals area.

“Wait, you’re here? I don’t—ah! I see you!”

Turning in a slow circle, I shook my head. “I still don’t see you.”

“Now I’m hiding because I’m drooling. Good Lord, that suit.”