The Explorers Part 3 | A Romantic Short Story
Tempers flare on a journey to find a mysterious text for a driven professor aiming to protect history and an overzealous archaeologist with uncertain alliances. A LVNDR Romantic Short Story. 18+
Margaret followed the museum vehicles’ tracks back to Cairo, navigating the fine, unknown line of catching up to them and losing the signs of their journey to the windswept sands.
As she approached the city’s skyline, stocky and hazy from heat, Margaret began to tackle the anxieties she’d tucked underneath each other.
She didn’t know how she’d find Henry, nor did she know if the best-case scenario was that he was with the Curator or had fled somewhere far away.
Her scattered thoughts were pushed back down when the barely visible tire marks veered onto a main road where the last remnants of their trail — a light path of sand on stone — dissipated.
The Professor parked in the back of the hotel. She hid the book within the Archaeologist’s leather tote, littered with loose paper notes and sand. She scanned the lobby from underneath her wide-brimmed hat, no sign of the Curator among the bustling room.
She’d grown pessimistic that Henry had somehow outrun the Curator’s team for the entire hours long trek. She frowned as she readjusted the next steps in her head from those she’d need to return to London and how to rescue the Archaeologist. Margaret frowned as she placed the heavy bronze key into her hotel room lock.
“Why so blue?” Despite a bruise blooming on his eye, Henry seemed in oddly good spirits.
Margaret who was more surprised as she pulled him in for a hug, only stopping at the sound of a soft grunt of pain.
“Sorry.” The word felt foreign, but sincere, coming from Henry. As if he truly didn’t want to interrupt the moment. “My ankle’s seen better days.”
Margaret pulled back, holding onto his biceps as she scanned the length of his body as if she had x-ray vision and could diagnose each wound by visual alone. “You look like hell.”
“Ah, there you are.” Henry’s laugh was followed by a wince. “You should see the other guy.”
“Did you…” The Professor didn’t know how to ask, so she just ran finger across her throat.
To his credit, Henry looked surprised at the ask. “Kill them?!”
“I don’t know what you’re capable of!” Margaret threw her hands up before turning back around to begin packing. “Are we safe?”
“Not really.” Henry’s tone was still light, more interested in continuing to tease Margaret. “Unless you want to take care of it.”
“Let it go.” The Professor whirled on him, tossing the Archaeologist his leather tote as she threw her own bag over her shoulder. “We’re leaving now.”
The glossy mahogany of the counter warmed under Margaret’s palms as if her rage was generating fire. The man on the other side of it simply stared back at her as she fumed.
“There has to be something going out.”
“No, ma’am.” The man’s eyes diverted from her to the papers he arranged in a false display of being too busy for their conversation. “Tomorrow at dawn is the best we can do.”
The Professor peeled her hands from where they had begun melting into the desk’s surface. As Margaret opened her mouth to ask where she could find a flight to London that day, a deep voice at her back interrupted.
“No need to give this nice gentleman a hard time.”
The Professor turned to glare up at Henry as he leaned down beside her. Shifting her body towards him, she lowered her voice. “You sure are patient for a man who is, himself, in need of a one-way ticket.”
“Less in need.” Henry gently tugged Margaret’s hands from the counter to hold them in his. Whether to comfort her or keep her from leaping across it to attack the much-too-blase airport employee, she wasn’t sure. “You’re the wanted woman trying to smuggle a mysterious artifact out of the country, not me.”
The Professor whipped her head around to see if anyone was paying attention. To her horror, the entire room was listening to their conversation with mixed reactions.
Henry placed Margaret’s hands at her side before, brimming with the joy of having an unplayed card. “I’m flying private.”
“Of course you are.” The Professor turned back towards the desk agent, to avoid the flush of betrayal that she knew was visible. “Well, fly safe. Or don’t. I don’t care.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Henry placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her to face him. “The book is coming with me. It’s too dangerous to stay here.”
Margaret’s cheeks flared a angry shade of rouge.
“The deal was that I take it back to the university,” the Professor reiterated the conversation they had on the ride there, “as long as I gave you my contact information.”
“That was before I realized you didn’t have reliable transportation.” Henry’s nose wrinkled as if he were annoyed with the predicament, but the slight upward tilt of his lip gave his true feelings away. “I guess you’ll just have to go with us.”
“I don’t need or want your help.” Margaret walked toward the front doors of the small building, readjusting the bag over her shoulder. Without hesitation, Henry took it from her arm and strolled off in the opposite direction.
“I don’t need or want you wasting my time,” Henry tossed over his shoulder without stopping.
Margaret rushed to follow him out of the small building and onto where he was striding across the hot tarmac. “You can’t just walk across an active runway.”
“You heard the man. No flights out today.” Henry argued while keeping a pace that forced Margaret to jog to keep up to. “The flights in, well… we won’t worry about that.”
“You don’t seem to worry about much,” Margaret huffed, finally close enough to pull her bag from Henry’s shoulders. She was surprised when he handed it over. The action catching her off guard just long enough for him to wrap an arm around her waist and spin her around to create enough momentum to hoist her over his shoulder.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” The Professor screeched, placing one of her hands on his back to stabilize herself.
“Is your plan to really stay here and let our rich, morally bankrupt friends find you.” The Archaeologist responded with a light slap to her where he held onto her hips. “What do you think they will do then? Invite you to a quiet dinner and let you ride back to London with them?”
Margaret only responded with silence.
“Buckle up.” It was the only warning he gave before dropping the Archaeologist onto the passenger seat of the plane. The Professor caught her breath as she looked up at him, hair wild and face flushed.
“For safety.” Henry grinned down at Margaret as he ran the belt across the seat, tightening it across her body. “It’s going to be a bumpy flight.”