“I’m sorry,” he finally said, barely loud enough to be heard. “Life has given you so many reasons to be careful with your trust, and now I’ve gone and made you think you can’t trust me, because I keep expecting you to be vulnerable when I won’t do it myself.” His gaze rose, to the roof of the building across the street. “And I am so deeply sorry if I’ve ever made you believe I could look at you and not see an equal.”

Rory swallowed and folded his arms.

“But”—Arthur straightened his spine, and looked over at Rory—“I meant every word in New York. As long as you want me, I’ll fight to keep you.”

Rory blinked, his stomach swooping.

“I do trust you, and I am about to ask for your help.” Arthur’s voice was still quiet but steady, his gaze unwavering. “But whether you give it to me or not, I’m right here, and I’m not going to walk away.”

Rory groaned. “Aw hell.”

He strode across the balcony and took Arthur’s face in his hands, pulling him down to his height, so their eyes were locked.

“I’m sorry I snapped; you didn’t deserve that,” Rory said tightly. “And if you come to me for help I’m always gonna give it, because I’m so in love with you.”

Arthur took a breath. His arms went around Rory with crushing strength as Rory tilted his head back, and their lips met, the kiss stretching out for an endless moment above Paris.

Then Arthur suddenly froze. He pulled back, his lips an inch from Rory’s. “Get away from me.”

“What?” A stab of pain went through Rory’s heart. “Ace—”

“Get away.”

But before Rory could move, Arthur shoved him.

Rory stumbled backward from the force, smacking into the railing on the other side of the balcony hard enough to make him grunt. The ground flashed before his eyes, four stories down, and he scrambled for the curved iron, grabbing it like a lifeline.

He looked over at Arthur in shock. Arthur’s arms were still outstretched, muscles flexed like he was in the boxing ring.

And his eyes were full of fear.

Rory gripped the railing more tightly, dread twisting in the pit of his stomach. “Arthur?”

“Teddy,” he whispered. “Run away from me.”

And then Arthur was moving again.

Rory gasped, throwing himself under Arthur’s arm on the tiny balcony in a desperate lunge. He stumbled and fell to his hands and knees, catching the side of his head on the iron rail.

There was a thump behind him, and he jerked his head just in time to see Arthur pass through the balcony doors into the lounge, barely breaking his stride as he scooped up the siphon clock.

A second later, he was out the lounge door.

“Arthur!”