by R. S. Lively
“Help me sit up.” She holds out her arms, and I put my arms around her to lift her up.
I close my eyes to hold back the tears with how small she feels. I can feel her bones. When did she start losing so much weight? Even through all the blankets, all the clothes, and the huge fire roaring in the fireplace, she is cold. Once she’s up, I pull the fur blanket around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she says, holding the blanket in place. She looks older. I have a feeling what she is about to tell me is going to change my life.
“Mother.” My voice catches in my chest from the emotion taking over. I know. She doesn’t even need to tell me. She is sick, and it isn’t the flu.
“How are our guests?” she asks, staring into the fire. The orange hues from the flames dance over her face, shadowing the new wrinkles in her skin while brightening the frown on gracing her lips.
“It’s actually why I snuck in here while Dad is out. I wanted to talk to you. I want that to wait now though.”
“Why? Keep me updated. I want to know everything that is going on with your life. Tell me.”
“I will after you tell me what is going on with you, Mother.” I take one her of hers and rub over the protruding vein. She looks so delicate. So fragile. “Please.” I beg. The room is heavy with her sickness, turning my stomach.
“I want you to know this has been going on for months; it recently only got to the point where I couldn’t beat it anymore.”
“What do you mean, anymore? What the hell does that mean?” I snap when she makes it sound like she is dying.
I’ve never seen her look so defeated. “I have a brain tumor, Luca. It’s big. They can’t remove it.”
I stare at her for a minute. I’m not comprehending what she is saying. I blink a few times to help clear the fog. “What?”
“A brain tumor. It’s big. It’s too risky to remove. It will kill me.”
“What you’re saying is that you’re dying?” There is no way she can’t hear the sound of my heart shattering in my voice.
“Luca, I want you to know that everything is going to be okay.” She reaches for my hand, but I pull it away and stand, running my hands through my hair as reality sets in.
“Tell me. Are you dying?” I can barely say the words as they get strangled by fear. The thought of not having my best friend around… What kind of world is that?
“Yes.”
“Oh, god…” I place my hands on either side of my head and fall to my knees, trying to remember to breathe. “What… how… You said months?” I stare at her with a watery gaze, full of betrayal and mistrust.
“Six months now.” She can’t meet my eyes from the shame.
So many feelings are rushing through me right now. I hate that I feel anger. I hate it because she is sick. I don’t want to be mad at her, since I don’t know how much time she’ll have left, but I’m so fucking mad at them, my dad included. “How could you have kept something like this from me? I’m your son! Doesn’t that mean anything?” I pound my chest with my fist, showing that I’m right here. Her son. Her best friend. I’m right fucking here, and she looked over me with this. Both of them did and forgiveness should be on my list because my mom is fucking dying, but I don’t have it in me right now.
“It means everything. You’re everything. Your father didn’t want to tell you. He wanted to see if the tumor would shrink or get better, but it kept getting bigger, no matter the kind of treatment we did.”
Everything starts to fall into place. I’ve been going on a lot of trips, filling in for the king. I’ve been going to meetings that he usually handles and giving speeches. Everything makes sense now. All those times, he was with my mom for treatment. He sent me away. He hid this from me. “So, what? You weren’t going to tell me until… what? At your funeral? When were you guys going to tell me this?”
“We wanted to see if things would get better before worrying you.”
“That has to be the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. I deserved to know. I deserved to go through this with you. Now, you’re dying and all that time I could have had with you is gone. You and Dad took that from me.”
“Don’t blame your father. Blame me. I asked him to keep it from you.”
“Why?”
“None of the reasons I have are good enough now,” she admits, tears falling off her face as she sits there and contemplates all of her choices over the last few months.
I sit on the edge of the bed again and take her hands, bringing them to my face as I cry. Sure, I’m a prince. I’m dominant, but this is a feeling I’ve never had to deal with before. Complete fear, loss, and grief. She isn’t dead yet, but I feel like I’ve already lost her.
I love my father, but my mother raised me. As the king, he didn’t have time for much other than to eat dinner with us. My mother taught me how to ride a bike, how to cook and clean, how to love every living thing, and she taught me it is okay to cry. She gave me strength and wisdom. My life lessons aren’t supposed to be over yet.
I have no idea what I’m going to do.
Chapter Eighteen
Rosie
I look at my watch. Graham is late. Figures.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink while you wait for your guest, Ms. Caldwell?” Marcel asks, standing in the sun’s light, blocking it from blinding me.
“I know it’s early, but can I have a glass of wine?” I’ll be needing it to deal with Graham.
He gives me a cheeky smile, “Of course. It is five o’clock somewhere, am I right? I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you, Marcel.” I tap the table with my fingers, getting impatient waiting for this meeting to start, but thankful I have such a wonderful view. The land the castle is on is gorgeous. The hills and pastures never seem to end, just disappearing to the edge of the earth, blending in with the sky. The afternoon sun is warm, heating my skin. I tilt my head back, enjoying the hot rays as I wait for my boss.
The warmth nearly put me to sleep until I heard a knowing clink of a glass being placed on the table. I open my eyes to see Marcel striding away and a big glass of white wine in front of me with a plate of grapes. Marcel seems like he is more than just an assistant. He is a little bit of everything I think, and I don’t know what the castle would do without him. “Thank you!” I yell, hoping he hears me as he retreats.
I pop a grape in my mouth, and the sweet juice sprays across my taste buds as I bite down. I take a few and drop them into the wine. I’m going to let them soak, and then when the glass is empty, I’m going to have wine-filled grapes. Delicious.
I sigh, glancing at my watch again. He is twenty minutes late. If he doesn’t show, great. It’s just one less thing I have to worry about. Throwing my head back again, I let the sun warm my face. It melts me into a deep, relaxing state. My eyes grow heavy, my body limp. I feel weightless. Right as I’m about to fall asleep into a peaceful slumber, a hand lands on my shoulder, rubbing across the skin and over my chest. “I’m sorry I’m late. I had to take a business call.” Graham’s voice slides over me like a bucket of slime.
I twist away from him to get his hands off me. Alarm bells ring in my head, telling me to get as far away from him as possible. “It’s fine.” It isn’t, but right now, I still need a job and roof over my head. Unfortunately, he holds all of that in his predatory hands. I take my drink and down half of it, forgetting to let the grapes marinate in it. I should have told Marcel to leave the bottle.
And when a man like Graham drives a woman to drink, it’s how you know that man is no good.
He sits down in his cream suit; the shirt unbuttons around the neck, showing the sparse hairs of his chest. He spreads his arms over the railing behind him, blocking my beautiful view of the country. “You look stunning, as always, Rosie.”
I take another sip of my wine, deciding now is the time to tell him how those comments bother me. “Mr. Kimmel, thank you for the compliments, but I want you to know that they make me uncomfortable. I don’t think they ar
e professional, and I’m hoping me saying this doesn’t affect our business relationship.”
“Oh, don’t lie to yourself. You love it.” He deepens his voice, trying to turn me on or change my mind—either way, it’s failing.
“No, Mr. Kimmel. I don’t.”
“Learn to.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, completely disgusted that he would say something like that to an employee. I don’t know where all this confidence is coming from, but a week ago, I never would have told him to stop saying those sexual comments. I would have just taken it but being with Luca has shifted something inside. I feel braver, even if it means I might get killed in the process with how Mr. Kimmel is glaring at me.
“I’m not stopping. Here is what you need to know, Rosie”—he gets up, places his hands in front of me as he leans over, whispering his lips across the shell of my ear—“I don’t care how many times you spread your legs for that prince. You will be mine.” He runs his knuckles down my shoulder, and I topple out of the chair, putting as much distance between us as possible.
“I will never be yours.” My heart thumps with fear as he prowls toward me, and my back hits the castle wall, caging me in with his arms. I turn my head, getting my lips as far away from him as possible.
“I brought you here thinking you’d understand why. I want you, Rosie. Isn’t that obvious?”
A whimper escapes my throat when his breath tickles my skin. My body trembles and quakes as he draws nearer. “If you can fuck him, you can fuck me, can’t you?” His hand slides down my body until his paw lands on my leg and starts to ride up my dress. “So soft. I’ve been dreaming of you ever since you came into my office with that slutty little skirt on.”
That skirt passed my knees. There was nothing slutty about it. I’m not about to make an argument though. I push my hands against his chest and close my legs, rubbing my hands over his flat, unimpressive pecs. I tease him. I want to make him think I want him.
“That’s better. I know you’re a shy little thing, all timid and coy. It doesn’t fool me.”
His words scare the hell out of me, but not enough to deter me from my plan. I lift my leg and knee him in his pathetic excuse of a dick, smashing it with all my strength.
“Motherfucker!” he yells, stumbling back, and cupping his cock from any more abuse. “You bitch.” He charges at me, but I take the slow movement as a chance to escape. I dash to the side and run back inside, down the corridor, until I’m at the kitchen to see Marcel making lunch.
“Marcel.” My voice shakes as I whisper. Tears fall down my cheeks as I plead his name.
He turns his head to me; his eyes widening with surprise, and then shift to worry. “Ms. Caldwell, what is it?”
I peek down the hall to see if Graham is coming, but all I hear is his moans, groans, and threats still audible, echoing through the tunnel. “Hide me. I don’t know where to go. My room is too obvious.” I bounce on the pads on my feet, anxiety pushing under my skin.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“No time to explain. Please.” I choke on a sob, glancing over my shoulder. He yells and throws the glass of wine, the glass shattering.
“Come here,” he ushers me to the cabinet under the island in the middle of the kitchen. There’s nothing in it, and the question is on my tongue to ask why, but the sound of him barreling down the hall makes me forget and crawl into the small space. “I’m truly sorry, Rosie.” He looks like he doesn’t want to shut the door and leave me in the dark.
I cover my mouth with my hand, muffling my ragged breaths. Tears continue to fall; I don’t bother sniffling. It will give away my location, hidden in plain sight.
“Where is she?” Graham demands.
“Who, Mr. Kimmel?” Marcel asks, calm, stirring lunch in the pan.
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
“I would have to know the game to play with you, sir. I truly believe I have no idea who you are talking about.”
“Rosie,” Kimmel growls, taking a step in front of the cabinet that I’m hiding behind. I place my other hand on my mouth, doing everything I can to mute the noise of my cries.
“Oh, she ran to her room, I believe. Is everything okay?” Marcel asks.
“Just a misunderstanding. Call me if you see her.” Graham’s footsteps disappear and pound on the floor as he goes up the stairs.
The metal clanking lets me know that Marcel put down the stirrer, and I hear his quiet shoes tiptoeing on the floor. The light peeking through the cracks of the cabinets vanishes as he stands in front of where I’m hiding. He opens the door and squats, turning his head over his shoulder to make sure we are okay.
“I’m going to have you stay in here. I’m going to get Prince Addington. He is visiting with his mother right now.”
“I don’t want you to bother him.” My teeth chatter as the adrenaline starts to make my system crash.
His green gaze softens as he cups my face, but not intimately, like a father does a child. “I believe he would want to know your every move, Ms. Caldwell. Stay put.” He jerks his head when he hears someone coming down the stairs again. “I apologize.” He shuts the door on me again, leaving me in the dark.
I’m starting to really hate it in the dark.
“Oh, good. It’s you, Sire.”
I don’t waste another second being in the small cabinet. I burst open the doors and fall on the floor, skidding across the hardwood so rough that it cuts my knee open, but it doesn’t stop me from getting on my feet and throwing my arms around his neck. I sob, clutching onto his suit with all my might, soaking the expensive material stretching across his chest.
“Rosie? What’s wrong?” He nestles his chin in the crook of my neck. “Marcel, what happened?”
“Mr. Kimmel, Sire.”
He pulls away from me and wipes the tears cascading down my face with his thumbs. “What happened? Tell me everything.”
“I… he… I don’t… I can’t…” I shake my head, unable to speak.
“He isn’t going to hurt you again. Marcel, get her some tea. I’ll be right back.” Luca kisses my forehead, and as he steps away, I reach for him.
“What are you doing? Where are you going?” I grab at the air left in his wake.
“I’m taking care of a problem I should have taken care of a long time go.”
“No, Luca! Luca!” I scream, watching him stomp up the spiraling staircase with anger. The promise of murder is etched in his face. He’s on the hunt for death. “What’s he going to do? Marcel. Stop him!”
“I cannot, Ms. Caldwell. He is doing what needs to be done.”
Turning around from Marcel, since he is useless right now, I watch as Luca disappears down the hall to the left. This castle is like a maze with twists and turns and never-ending corridors. I have no idea where Graham’s room is, but it’s enough for me never to go down the hall he lives in.
I wait with bated breath to see him emerge again, but it’s still. Nothing is happening. I don’t know what’s taking so long.
“Rosie.” Marcel touches the base of my elbow with his fingers, gaining my attention. The movement from my head turning makes a few tears fall down my cheeks. I reach out with shaky hands to grab the teacup he’s holding out for me to take. The steam permeates the air, and I breathe in the scent of mint. It tickles the back of my throat, but it isn’t enough for me to sneeze. Taking a sip, the hot brew scalds the back of my throat, and I wince as it burns the spots that are raw from crying and yelling. I had no idea I was being so loud, but I can feel the aftereffects now.
“What’s taking so long?” I dart my eyes to the top of the staircase and, Luca still isn’t there.
“It’s a long walk to revenge, Ms. Caldwell.”
I place the cup down on the counter, unable to finish the drink he made me. I place my head on the counter, letting the cold copper top ease the heat saturating my skin.
“You son of a bitch!” Luca’s guttural voice bounces off the stones that built the cast
le.
I look up in time to see Luca holding Graham by the nape of the neck, controlling all of his movements with the strength of his fingers digging into his neck. Graham gives me a bloody smile. His teeth are red, and his cheeks bruised. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened.
“You won’t ever touch her again. You won’t speak to her again. You won’t look at her again.” Luca sneers.
“I’ll have her. Plus, last time I checked; she’s coming home with me.” Graham says, spitting a glob of red onto the rock floors.
Luca whispers something in his ear, and the cocky façade slips off Graham’s face. He lasers his ink-colored eyes on me, and that familiar predatory smile teases his lips.
“No one hurts her. Not while I’m here.” Luca throws Graham from the top of the staircase. His body rolls down each hard step.
My hands cover my mouth as I gasp, watching in horror as my boss falls down the hard, unforgiving steps. His head hits one stair while his ribs hit another. A loud crunch fills the air. My vision blurs as he stops at the bottom, lying lifeless as blood trickles from his head. Luca doesn’t seem fazed that he could have just killed somebody as he struts down the staircase. He pulls on the sleeves of his suit as he casually descends.
Graham groans, and a breath whooshes out of my lungs in relief. “Oh, thank god.” My hands shake as I pull them away from my face. This situation is getting out of hand.
Luca squats and yanks Graham’s head up by the thick of his hair. “You’re banned from this country, do you understand?”
“You can’t”—he wheezes as he breathes—“do that.”
“I’m royalty. I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
A few guards rush in, their armor clanking with their movements to come to their prince’s side. “Get this guy out of my sight. He is no longer allowed on the kingdom’s premises. If you see him”—Luca slips his gaze from Graham’s prone body to me, solidifying his thoughts—“Kill him.”
“Oh!” I gasp from the harsh words. The guard’s bow, bending over to pick up my boss. He groans when they lift him and carry him away, out of sight, but nowhere near out of my mind.
