Corina’s expression didn’t change. If she’d figured out why he was asking, it didn’t show. “A bit. I checked him out before I approved him joining the tour.”

  “Why didn’t I get to check him out too?”

  “Because you had other things going on. Why? Is there a problem?”

  “No! No… uh… not at all. I just wondered about him, that’s all.”

  Corina stared at him, a tiny crease crinkling her brow. “Listen, I know I gave you a hard time about this project, but if it’s stressing you out, there’s probably something I can do to get it canned. I’d probably have to use your diabetes as an excuse, but—”

  “Jesus-fucking-Christ.” Shay banged his head on the table. “Just forget it, okay? Forget this entire conversation.”

  He started to stand up. Corina grabbed his arm and yanked him back down. “All right, all right. Calm your tits. You want to know about Ollie? Fine. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  Walk away, walk away. But the temptation was too strong. Shay sat down again. Leaned forwards and dropped his elbows on the table. “I’m listening.”

  Shay stood in the shadows across the road from the library, watching as Ollie approached from the opposite end of the street. He had his hood up, hiding from the drizzly Scottish rain, but Shay saw enough of his face to make his heart stutter. I’ve missed him. How is that even possible?

  But it was true. Ollie’s presence on tour had been unobtrusive and quiet, but since that very first day, Shay had instinctively sought him out. Wherever they were, whatever they were doing, in his peripheral vision he’d always seen Ollie. The last twenty-four hours had been strange, though. To see him properly, he’d had to close his eyes, but he’d stopped doing that once he’d heard what Corina had to say.

  “I already knew his name. Five years ago, he was the hottest young filmmaker out there. He won every independent award going, and word was he was about to make this real hard-hitting documentary about the migrant camps in Calais. He had a rep for pulling no punches, and the world was waiting, but….”

  “But what?” Shay said.

  Corina shrugged. “It never came to light. Something happened to drop him off the map for a couple of years, and the next thing I knew, he was popping up in my inbox as a researcher for Sky. I’m guessing something happened in his personal life, but I didn’t dig too hard. Given that I’ve never heard a bad word about him, it didn’t seem right.”

  Shay couldn’t decide how he felt about what Corina had told him. Part of him was relieved that he knew something about Ollie, but the rest of him was consumed with guilt. Ollie didn’t owe him anything. They hardly knew each other.

  Ollie disappeared into the library. Shay debated letting him go, sacking the whole project off and returning to a life he understood—music and friendship. But his feet had other ideas, and he was halfway across the road before a conscious decision to follow Ollie caught up with him.

  Inside, the library was huge and smelled exactly the same as the library in Belfast had—of dust and paper. Of knowledge and wisdom. It was a scent Shay had come to associate with Ollie, though all he’d smelled on Ollie when he’d been close enough to breathe him in had been beer, fags, and desire.

  Shay shivered. Stop. It was one fucking kiss.

  “Shay?”

  He spun around. As usual, Ollie was right behind him, eyeing him as though he couldn’t decide if Shay was an irritation or an unexploded bomb.

  “I got you a pass,” Ollie said. “We’ll only be here a few hours, but it’s valid until tomorrow.”

  “Uh, thanks?”

  Ollie grinned a little. “What? No plans to ditch the postgig piss-up and chill out with the books?”

  It was as though nothing had changed. As though the mad, frantic kisses they’d shared in Belfast had never happened. As though Ollie hadn’t been MIA for twenty-four hours and Shay hadn’t spent the entire time driving himself fucking insane wondering why.

  Shay searched for words. Found none.

  Ollie shook his head slightly and pointed up. “Come on. We need to go upstairs.”

  They rode the lift to the eighth floor. Shay trailed Ollie while he selected some books; then they climbed the stairs to the highest level. Ollie had the key to a private room. It was smaller than the one in Belfast, with no windows and two chairs packed tightly around a compact table. There was no room for the stack of books Ollie had carried up four flights of stairs.

  He didn’t seem to mind. He set the books on the floor and his laptop on the table, instantly engrossed as it flashed to life.

  Shay hovered in the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again. Ollie was sexy as hell when he let his inner nerd out to play, but Shay was trying not to notice. Stepping closer—claiming a seat at the table—seemed like taking the pin out of the grenade.

  “Are you going to stand there all day?” Ollie glanced up. “Because if you’re in a hurry, it won’t help to get started late.”

  “I’m not in a hurry.”

  “Come and sit down, then. I’ve got something for you to look at while I set the camera up.”

  Shay admitted defeat and crossed the room in one long stride. He sat at the table, holding his breath so Ollie would seem farther away. On the laptop screen was a black-and-white pencil sketch of a woman with long curly hair. It was dated 1694.

  “Who’s that?”

  Ollie adjusted the height of his tripod and pressed a few buttons on the camera. Then he came back to the table and slid into the other chair. “You want to know now or after I count us in?”

  Shay rolled his eyes. “Just get on with it.”

  “Wow. You’re in a mood.”

  “And you’re a dick. Can we just get this done?”

  Ollie blinked. For a moment his slate gaze was wide and confused. Then something settled in it, and he shrugged. “Whatever. Going live in five, four, three, two, one.”

  “Who’s that?” Shay asked again.

  “Her name was Anna,” Ollie said. “She was briefly married to your sixth great-grandfather.”

  “Sixth great-grandfather? What does that even mean?”

  “Exactly what it says. He was three generations before Rudolph, if that helps, but on the other side of your family tree. From your father’s side.”

  Shay sucked in a breath. “So the Danish stuff comes from my mother? I never thought to ask the other day.”

  “It was a lot to take in.” Ollie shifted. In Shay’s imagination he moved closer, but he couldn’t be sure. “But yes. The Danish blood comes from the maternal side. Anna was Lithuanian.”

  “Lithuania? That was part of Prussia, right?”

  “It’s complicated, but the region where I found records for Anna would certainly have been considered Prussian at some point.”

  “Wow. So I had family on both sides of the war?”

  Ollie nodded. “It’s likely.”

  Shay studied the picture again. The woman had an angular face and wore tatty clothes. “She looks wild. Tell me about her?”

  “Wild would probably be a good way to describe her.” Ollie reached for one of his magic books and set it carefully on the small table. “I think you’ll like her, though. After last time, I figured you needed to see something—or someone—that resonated more with your own life.”

  “I felt something for Rudolph.”

  “I know you did.”

  Shay swallowed. How did you know? But he didn’t say it. Couldn’t. Because asking the question would force Ollie to answer, and Shay wasn’t sure he could handle whatever he had to say. “What kind of person was she? She doesn’t come off rich or noble.”

  A beat of silence. Then Ollie dragged his gaze back to the book. “She wasn’t, but she did rub shoulders with Lithuanian nobility, especially when she was younger. She was an accomplished musician—she played all kinds of instruments, like you.”

  “Seriously?”

  Like magic, the weirdness cloaking the room faded away. Ollie spun the book so Shay could see it. “Seriously. At eighteen, she was the principal lutist for the royal court, unheard of for a peasant girl. I haven’t managed to find out how she was able to learn so many instruments as a child, but she had an uncle who had some kind of craft. It might’ve been that he made instruments for the nobility and she spent her childhood around him.”

  “That’s mad,” Shay whispered. “What happened to her?”

  “Lots of things. At some point, she left the royal court, possibly to marry, but there’s a gap after that of around ten years. The next records I found have her roaming the countryside, playing folk music in religious sects on all kinds of instruments.” Ollie flipped a page. “I don’t even know what some of them are called.”

  Shay stared at the series of photographs spread over the double page. “She smoked a pipe?”

  Ollie laughed. “Yes…. Anna was a rebel. A free thinker, I suppose you could call her. Eventually, she broke away from religion too and roamed around on her own, playing in villages she happened across, writing poetry, though I haven’t found any of that. I do have a recording of the style of music she might’ve played, if you want to hear it?”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  Ollie shot Shay a look that made his toes feel strange. “I thought you might say that.”

  Shay’s boots suddenly seemed too tight. He thought he’d steeled himself enough to spend the day with Ollie, but somehow he’d forgotten how intense Ollie was. How a single glance could make it seem as though Ollie could see not only how he felt in that moment, but every emotion that had ever crossed his heart.

  The tingling in Shay’s feet spread. He watched Ollie tap at his phone and then set it close to Shay. On the screen, Shay recognised the Spotify logo, but everything else was in another language. “What’s the song called?”

  “It doesn’t have a name,” Ollie said. “It was recorded by some Lithuanian students in the seventies from some parchments in the National Museum.”

  A deep stringed bass cut off any reply Shay might have made. It throbbed and rose in volume until it was joined by a chanting vocal—layered female voices that left goosebumps on Shay’s skin. It was haunting and beautiful and nothing like he’d imagined.

  When it was over, he let out a long breath. “Wow. I thought it would be more… fuck, I don’t know. Simple, maybe? Rougher? That was so delicate.”

  Ollie nodded. “I know what you mean. Lithuania was Christianised in the thirteen hundreds, so traditional music became heavily influenced by Gregorian chants. There was a lot of opera around the royal court too, but that may have been what Anna ran away from.”

  Shay couldn’t tell if Ollie was joking, but the theory resonated with him. “I quit my classical music degree to play the banjo in workingmen’s clubs.”

  “It’s in the blood, then.”’

  “But how? Anna’s connection to me is through marriage.”

  “Yes, but she had a child when she was married to your sixth great-grandfather. She left the baby in the capital—your fifth great-grandmother, also called Anna—so her blood remained in your family even though they never saw her again.”

  “When did she die?”

  “I don’t know. Her trail went cold, and I’ve tried everything to pick it up over the last few days because I figured you’d want to know more, but all I could find was a folk band in Vilnius who still play music from the region where Anna was most well known.”

  The idea that Ollie had spent the last few days still searching for Anna nearly finished Shay off. He rubbed his chest, trying to ease the knot there. Discovering Anna had left him breathless—awed in a way he couldn’t describe. Was it wrong to wish it had come from someone else? To resent Ollie for having the keys to his past when he had zero interest in Shay’s present?

  He sighed again, avoiding Ollie’s gaze. “Do you have a recording of the folk band?”

  “No, but I have a YouTube link I can send you.”

  “That works.”

  Ollie handed Shay his phone. Shay lifted the link and sent it to himself on WhatsApp without much conscious thought, but a flutter tickled his chest when his own phone buzzed. It’s professional, you goon. But to Shay it meant something, even if it meant nothing.

  Chapter Nine

  “This was Rudolph’s shop?” Shay stood in front of the Italian cafe, staring up at the grand old building. “Where he sold hardware?”

  “That’s right. It was in business until the sixties, when this family took it over.”

  “What happened to Rudolph after that?”

  Ollie panned the camera around Shay in a sweeping shot, grateful these streets weren’t as busy as the ones around the library. “Not much. He died not long after his son took over the shop, and his daughter moved to England. I don’t think he ever got over what happened in the war, though. Lots of Danish people didn’t.”

  Shay was silent, like he had been for long periods since they’d left the library. Ollie’s presence seemed to irritate him, but he’d jumped at the opportunity to take a detour on the way back to the bus, his curiosity about his past apparently too strong to ignore.

  Ollie was trying not to notice how gorgeous he was standing stock-still on the pavement, framed by the afternoon sun. And trying not to admit how awkward their encounter had been so far. He’d left the tour to clear the air—among other reasons—but his vibe with Shay was heavier than ever. Suffocating, and yet too thrilling to push aside. Man, this dude fucks me up.

  And viewing him on the tiny camera screen was pure torture. Ollie shut the camera off. Shay didn’t seem to notice, even when Ollie closed the distance between them, resisting the urge to nudge him like he might’ve done a week ago. “That’s it for the day, unless there’s anything else you want to know?”

  “Know about what?”

  Shay still wasn’t looking at him. Frustration rippled through Ollie, and though he knew he deserved Shay’s indifference, he wanted to shake him all the same. “About… Rudolph, Anna, what we’re gonna do next.”

  “I thought it was a big mystery.”

  “That doesn’t mean I won’t tell you anything.”

  “No?” Shay finally turned. The sun was still behind him, its shadow obscuring his face. “Then why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you so much?”

  “Bothering me?”

  Shay rolled his eyes. “Don’t deflect. Just tell me to fuck off. It’s easier… and quicker.”

  “I don’t want you to fuck off.”

  “Then what do you want?” Shay stepped forwards, breaking free of the sun as he invaded Ollie’s personal space—all milky skin, long limbs, and a gaze so fierce it pinned Ollie in place. “Because this shit between us is fucking weird.”

  Ollie swallowed. He couldn’t deny it. He’d messed around with people on the job before and had always been able to push it aside when it mattered. To put his desire in a box and leave it there. But that had been before… that, and before Shay. Fuck this. “Are you hungry?”

  They got tiny mugs of espresso and an Italian all-day breakfast each. Ollie hadn’t eaten properly in days. He figured he wasn’t hungry, but the sight of the heaping plate proved him wrong.

  He watched Shay check his blood sugar and inject himself with an insulin pen. “Does that hurt?”

  Shay shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s my normal, so I don’t really notice, but I suppose it must do. Getting blood from my fingers bothers me more, though. They get sore from playing guitar anyway.”

  “Did you play guitar at university?”

  “What? For the week I was there?” Shay let his T-shirt drop, robbing Ollie of his pale abdomen. “A bit, but it was the flute that got me into Goldsmiths.”

  “Goldsmiths?”

  “Yup. I scored a scholarship, then ditched it. My parents were so proud… not.”

  “I bet they’re proud now.” Ollie spoke without thinking and winced. “Sorry… I mean, I bet your mum was proud of you.”

  Shay reached for a slice of olive-oil-soaked toasted ciabatta. “She was. Eventually. I broke her heart to begin with, though. Working class Derby boy smashing it in London, prestigious orchestras and all that…. She loved that shit.”

  Ollie tried to picture Shay in smart clothes, toeing the line in a classical orchestra. Couldn’t. It just didn’t fit. “Any regrets?”

  “Never. Life’s too short.”

  Clichéd quotes got on Ollie’s nerves, but there was nothing cliché about Shay. He waited for Shay to start eating, then followed suit, inhaling half his food before he raised his eyes to find Shay watching him. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just never seen you eat before. I was starting to think you ran on coffee and fags alone.”

  He was more right than Ollie cared to admit. “You forgot beer. And rum. I like a bit of that.”

  “I’ve seen you drink.”

  Of course he had. Ollie’s lips burned as though the kisses they’d shared had happened moments ago, not days. His leg shifted instinctively to find Shay’s under the table, and he caught it at the last second.

  He ate more food, but the crispy prosciutto and roasted tomatoes were heavy in his stomach, and his espresso cup was empty. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “About what?”

  “About snogging you when I knew better.”

  “Better than what?” Shay set his elbows on the table and leaned forwards. “We’re both adults.”

  “I know, but this job is important to me. And look how messed-up things already are.”

  “You don’t think they’d be better if we let shit happen?”

  Ollie poked at a chilli-laced fried egg. It did nothing to stop him falling down the vortex of Shay’s molten gaze. “We can’t do that.”

  “Why not? I mean, I’m not trying to persuade you to fancy me, but I don’t want things to be weird between us. I like you, Ollie. Even if you are a bit of a dick.”

  A hysterical chuckle escaped Ollie. “You can’t just tell me you like me and leave it at that.”

  “What can I say? The truth falls out of me—can’t fucking help it.” Shay dropped his gaze and returned to his food.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19