“Robin. It’s your last full day in London,” the reporter from the London Entertainer calls out. “Will you be doing anything special?”

With still no word about her father, or if the cash drop the mercenary team did execute a couple of days ago worked or not, we’ve settled into this strange zombie routine of press interviews, interspersed with…plain old…waiting.

Combined with more waiting, all while smiling and remaining positive, which has, in fact…sucked.

Like she can read my mind, Robin leans into my shoulder as though she’s looking for a little strength to help hold up her spine. I’m happy to tighten my arm around her because her gentle warmth next to me, and the way she’s places her hand on my leg makes me calm, feeds my own depleted strength reserves.

Robin answers the reporter, “I think our sneak-away trip to Hever Castle was as special as it gets and, since the news of my father, we’ve all been in a blur, so…I don’t know.”

She tosses me a glance as a different reporter calls out, “Can you tell us about who made the outfits you wore on the trip to the castle? Instagram has gone insane with posts of people trying to replicate your looks.”

“Everything we had was vintage. I love vintage floral dresses, and it turns out Royce has a thing for old shirts with shell buttons. But I actually don’t know if any of what we wore had designer labels. It may have been hand made.”

I’m so proud of the confidence in Robin’s voice as she deals with these reporters that it makes me smile as I fill in some of the conversation. “We got them at a London flea market stall on the way to the castle. Greenwich Market, I think all of the ones I picked seemed completely hand sewn. Probably tailor made.”

We’re sitting on a love seat back in the London Orb’s lobby for our final UK interview. It’s a spot I chose on purpose, because I knew it would be tight quarters and, better, I knew that Robin and I would have to be sitting so close we’d be literally tumbling onto each other’s laps.

And we are.

With Sage wanting to sleep in our room these last nights, I’ve had to sacrifice most of my sleepy-Robin-snuggling and settle for hugging her briefly at sunrise, then bolting out of the bed like none of that really happened should either she or Sage start to stir.

To make up for the lost body-contact hours, I’ve had one arm around Robin’s shoulders for this entire interview. I’ve also had one hand deadlocked on hers with our fingers intertwined. She’s holding on so tightly to me that I decide then and there, that I don’t want our fingers to have to let go of each other for the rest of the whole day…

“And today?” The same woman asks Robin another question, jolting me out of my thoughts. “Who are you wearing.”

“Today my shirt is Prada and…I forget who made these beautiful pants.” She glances at me looking worried like somehow not knowing what pants she’s wearing has failed me.

“The pants were Valentino, I think,” I cover.

“I do know who made the shoes.” She holds her sneakers out in front of here. “These are my oldest pair of Vans.” She grins over at me because she’s rebelled against the toe-pinching stilettos Clara keeps sending up for her, even though I did hear Robin tell Clara straight-up she would not be wearing heels again—ever.

Impulsively, I interject again, “If it’s okay with my wife, I did make some surprise tour plans for her last day.”

“You did?” She blinks up at me.

“Yes. Because there are sights on your bucket list that must be seen.” I grin at the reporters asking them, “Would you all like to come along? Document the day?”

“Hell yes! I’m in,” a man shouts out, popping his camera off of his tri-pod so his assistant can pack it up.

Robin’s shaking her head, ‘no’ so quickly I add, “Hear me out, love.” I like how her cheeks go pink whenever I call her that, and sure enough—it’s happened. “Ever since we returned from the castle and received the news that your father might be alive we’ve been holed up in this hotel. It’s all been a lot like that analogy of watching a pot of water and waiting for it to boil. It’s something everyone knows they shouldn’t do, yet we wind up doing it, even though it’s out of our control, right?”

Robin nods and clasps her arms across her stomach, while I’ve paused dramatically to remind the reporters to focus the story of Robin’s dad. We want to gain publicity and public sympathy combined. Two things that will keep the story on the nightly news feeds. This kind of exposure will remind the animal murdering ivory poachers and kidnappers—whatever the hell they are— this will maybe hint to them that they can have more money if they want it. Hell they can have whatever it is they can come up with, as long as it serves to bring news of her father back. All I want is to end the utter torture Robin and Sage have been going through this week.

I toss Robin another small smile. “This summer is supposed to be one ongoing romantic honeymoon holiday, only now, with good reason, my wife and her little brother have been pacing holes in the Persian rug up in our suite while we all wait for the phone to ring.”

“Can you blame her?” A man calls out. “It’s got to be intense and nerve wracking waiting for news.”

Robin nods as I add, “I agree, which is why I also thought it might be time to go out and have some major distractions. It’s a beautiful, summer-sunny-day.” I grin. “Let’s get some fresh air. Make everyone’s day and give the paparazzi some fun?” I motion to the press. “Make some fans smile, and make ourselves smile, too? What do you say, Robin?”

Not as convinced as the reporters who are now holding their breath—hoping and wishing this is going to happen—Robin raises one brow at me and as if to call my bluff. “What do you have in mind?”

“We kiss on top of that famous Ferris wheel? The London Eye?”

The pink in her cheeks deepens. “But…you’re afraid of heights, and each car, or round riding-in…er…thing…they’re mostly made of glass, right?”

“They’re called capsules, mum,” the concierge calls out, obviously charmed by Robin. “They’re rather oval shaped, and it is Europe’s tallest Ferris wheel, and yes, it’s mostly made of glass and steel.”

I grit my teeth and my smile turns from real to half-fake at that information, because damn-me, but, I am afraid of heights. “If you kiss me a ton while we’re riding, I will close my eyes and not notice the height situation. Besides, I need to desensitize myself on heights. After London, I mean to take my wife up the Eiffel Tower for a kiss up there, too. I’ve promised her.”

“Aww.” The press crowd sighs and snaps a ton more photos, a few quickly typing notes into tablets and phones.

“Come on, what do you say. A kiss on the London Eye.” Like a dork, I point at my eye.

She laughs. “Okay. But you get the kiss only if we’re alone in that capsule.” She ducks her head away from the reporters. “You know I’m shy about PDA.”

“So that’s a yes?” I wiggle my brows and wave my hand to signal one of my assistants to come over to me. “Oh, we will be alone. I’m working that out next.”

I’m acting all confident like I’m some professional, romantic date planner, but I’m making our outing up on the fly. I step away from her to whisper in the assistant’s ear, telling him I want them to try book up the entire London Eye, or at least part of it, so Robin and I can be alone in a capsule. He’s whispered back that he doesn’t know if he can pull this off, because we’ve never done anything like this, and I beg him to simply…try. Try hard. No matter what it costs.

My publicist and the bodyguards became agitated the minute I invited the press to come along, (I never done anything like that, either). Their faces nearly cracked off as they were motioning me to take it all back— and when I announced we were going on the Ferris wheel, because that’s a very high profile and crowd-heavy attraction, I could swear some of them looked queasy.

My whole team, as well as my bandmates, and my grandmother and uncle, have started zooming around, acting like bees who’ve had their hive kicked—hard. I try not to feel bad for the bodyguards and our assistants, they’re paid well, after all, to do this job. And I, more than the other guys, too often keep things easy on the entourage by choosing safety first—choosing to stay inside and to hide.

Smiling with the confidence I don’t quite feel yet, I return to Robin’s side, recapture her hand in mine, and keep my grip tight while tugging her off the love seat so she has to stand up next to me.

“We also never got to see Big Ben. Can we see that too, maybe?” I blink at her innocently, then turn back to the concierge who’s been taking notes and trying to help my staff pull this off. “Do you know the best, no, fastest way we could get to those two tourist attractions without causing a mob-like traffic jam?”

“Because we’re so close to the docks, sir.” The concierge points out toward the street. “I suggest a quick cab-ride down to the piers, then find a company that has speed boats who tour people up and down Thames. There’s tons of those. Many of them pass Big Ben, even go under the bridge and then stop at the Eye. It’s a classic tour. I quite recommend it.”

I widen my eyes and pretend I don’t notice my team shaking their heads even more at me. “I’m up for paying for a few extra speedboats to follow us along if anyone would like to film our last date in London. It could be a really romantic memory for Robin and I to have footage of us on Robin’s first trip here.”

The concierge takes in the group of about twenty reporters and camera men plus the entourage that are now shouting-out how much they’d love to tag along.

“All of this group will go?” The concierge asks, Royce. His eyes go double wide at the mob of thrilled reporters who now are all packing up their things.

I nod. “Looks like they’re down for it! Will you text up to Hunter, Vere, and Sage to see if they want to go, as well?” My heart thrums with anticipation, and I feel myself grinning wider than I’ve grinned in a long time. “I know Hunter will love speedboats and Sage is going to love this. Hell, yeah. How do we get to the boats?” I blink at the concierge and add, “Hell. Dude. Do you want to go, too? I’ll tell them I need you.” I glance over at the grey-haired guy who appears to be this kid’s boss.”

“I’d be honored, sir. If they’ll allow that, yes.”

“Ask them, and see. I can be very persuasive.”

“Yes, sir.” The concierge colors a little and he smiles at me like he can’t believe that he’s now included. “I’ll make a couple of quick phone calls to ready enough taxis and I will return straight-away to get us on our way.”

Now Robin’s grinning, too. “Can our taxi be one of those famous black cabs? Riding in one was on my bucket list.”

“We can arrange that, too, Miss—I mean, ma’am.” He dashes away to make phone calls and warn his staff what is about to happen.

Robin looks up at me with a little frown saying, “The only part I hate about being married to you, Royce is when people call me ma’am. It’s the worst.”

I laugh, as a reporter calls out, “The London cabbies will also appreciate this publicity. Right kind of you to think of them.”

“I’ve been thinking about those cool, black cabs and London cabbies, and red phone booths, and Big Ben, and going to London for half of my life.” Robin’s eyes twinkle as the reporters laugh. I can tell she’s pleased that she may have actually just done something right to charm the press, something that doesn’t involve her personally messing up something for once. “I’ll appreciate riding around in a piece of real history, as for the boat ride and the chance to get on the London Eye? I can’t wait.” She breathes out, her expression open, happy and nearly free of the worries and fears she’s been carrying around with her for days.

As the reporters take notes and shout out a few more praises, I pass the concierge fifty euro for his suggestions, and when the man whispers our cab is ready, I signal our bodyguards to follow, then squeeze Robin’s hand to signal her we’re on the move. I urge her toward the spinning bronze doors at the center of the Lobby, and in seconds we’re out, and into the waiting cab before anyone out on the street caught on to who we were.

As I look behind me, waiting for the bodyguards, the press and the happy concierge who was allowed to come along after all, to load up behind us, I also have to grin at how happy everyone (everyone besides my personal entourage) seems about this.

This is going to be fun, but our feeling of anonymity is instantly lost as Hunter and Vere exit the hotel with Sage in tow. The sounds of screaming and feet running creeps up around our cab, as the public realizes Guarderobe is filling up all of the cabs that are pulling into the parking area at the front of the hotel.

I try to share a glance with our cab driver, but he’s now fumbling with his cell phone. His mouth is so agape, and his smile has gone so wide to have found me and Robin sitting in his cab, that I don’t even wait for him to ask me. I smile back, and I motion to Robin so we can scoot up right behind the driver as we each lean to the side and ask the man, “Do you want to take some selfies with us?”

Then, because I know Robin will want this memory for herself, I pull out my phone and we ask the cabbie to turn in his seat so we can also have our own selfies with him.