“Are you sure it’s wise to link your name with this scandal?” Shasta dabs at a bead of perspiration on her forehead with a tissue.
“Good gracious, you look like you’re about to faint.” The color has drained from her fair complexion. “Get her a glass of water, would you, Janet?” I relax into my chair. “I could care less. Androvia is a long way from Manhattan.”
Harriet leaps into the conversation, a sly smile on her face. “It won’t be an issue. Not the way I’ll spin it. To the press, Prince Heinrich will be the knight in shining armor, swooping in to rescue a damsel in distress. And Ms. McElroy will be the sweet, honest woman deceived by her evil father. It’s all a matter of perspective.”
“Harriet, you’re a genius.” My praise brings a smile to her face, showing the faint crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. I stand, bringing the other occupants to their feet. “All right then, it’s settled. Everly McElroy is now the number one contender for my consort. Shasta, have the car brought around.”
“Yes, sir.” She taps out a text on her phone while trotting at my side. “Have you thought about your proposal, sir? A woman like her might not find your offer tempting. She has a life and career here in Manhattan.”
“She’ll accept. I’ll make her think she doesn’t have any other choice.” As we board the elevator for the lobby, the pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place. I’m going to marry Everly whether she likes it or not. For the rest of Don McElroy’s short life, he’ll know that I’m fucking his little girl, using her body for my pleasure, and enjoying every minute of it.
15
EVERLY
Through the heavy velvet drapes of my apartment, I stare at the throng of reporters and television cameras on the tree-lined avenue. They’re everywhere—on the sidewalks, across the street, spilling into the park. I should be panicked, but I’m not. The weight of resignation dulls the sheen of rain on the asphalt below. This is my punishment for being an honest person. I grip the parted curtains until my fingers ache. The crowd is thirsty for blood—my blood.
Shrill sirens split the air. The cluster of journalists parts long enough to let the arriving police cars pass. All the heavy-hitters are present: CNN, FOX, MSNBC. I spy familiar faces among them, some I've even considered friends. They stare back at me, waiting, circling like buzzards around a dying rabbit. Meanwhile, I'm locked inside my apartment, a victim of the shitstorm created by my father.
Thanks to me, Don McElroy will be remembered as the Vice President indicted for murder. The stain of his sins will taint the the family name forever. The thought is a steel band around my ribs, growing tighter with each passing breath until spots swim in front of my eyes.
The intercom buzzes. The front desk security guard, booms into the speaker. “Ms. McElroy, your mother is here to see you.”
My stomach twists. The thought of facing her is a knife blade in an open wound. She deserves an explanation; one my father has no intention of providing. I draw in a deep breath, steeling myself for the worst. “Thanks, Ken. Please send her up.”
“No problem, Ms. McElroy.” Annoyance textures his words. We both know it’s a huge problem. The media has been storming the lobby for hours, blocking traffic and annoying the other residents.
I pace the length of the living room, lovingly decorated with French provincial furnishings and antiques gathered in my travels. Yesterday, this apartment was a welcome oasis from the bustle of the city. Today, the pale blue walls feel like a prison, growing closer with each passing second. The more I pace, the more anxious I become. When the doorbell rings, I’m a frazzled bundle of nerves.
“I came straight from the airport.” She brushes past me in a cloud of subtle fragrance: lilies, lavender, and citrus. I trot behind her, the way I used to when I was a child and try to wrap my head around her anger—anger pointed at me. Except, my mother doesn’t do anger. The only sign of her displeasure is the straight line of her mouth. “Your father is livid. I hope you have a good explanation for your behavior.”
“Nice to see you too.”
Her gaze scans the room, picking out the flaws—too many pillows on the sofa, not enough space between the coffee table and the armchairs, and a million other things that no longer seem relevant. “I’m sorry. Good morning.” The cool brush of her lips on my cheek sends a shiver down my back. Her tone is pleasant but doesn’t fool me. “Aren’t you going to offer me something to drink?”
“What can I get you?” Years of etiquette training outweigh the awkwardness of the situation. “Wine or champagne? I also have sparkling water or tea.”
"I'll have a glass of Chardonnay, if you have it. Otherwise nothing. Lord knows I need something to calm my nerves." The skirt of her silk dress rustles as she sinks onto the edge of the sofa.
An outsider would never know we were parent and child by the way we present ourselves. The realization saddens me. What would it be like to have a mother who laughs and teases? Who gives hugs and kisses and comfort? As quickly as the questions arrive, I shove them aside. Speculation on this subject is a waste of time. Apart from my father's recent descent into hell, I can't complain about my upbringing. How many people would give their right arm to grow up in the halls of the White House? I attended the best schools, hobnobbed with the most influential people in the country, and circled the globe more than once. The President of the United States taught me how to tie my shoes, for crying out loud.
“I’m surprised you were able to get through the crowd.” While I speak, I find the bottle of wine in the bottom of the liquor cabinet, the brand I keep for her visits. She watches me wind the corkscrew. My hands shake at the prospect of her disapproval. Judy McElroy knows how to slay a person with one look, her words sharper than any sword. “You could have called instead.”
“My security team brought me through the service entrance.” Her shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath. In a graceful motion, she slants her legs, assuming a demure pose on the edge of the sofa cushions, poised as always in the face of chaos. “Have you spoken to your father?”
“No.” Words can’t describe the devastation in my heart. “I have nothing to say to him.”
“He’s crushed, Everly, and so am I. How could you betray him—us—like that?” Her manicured fingers intertwine on her lap. “I wish you’d come to me with this before you went to the media.”
“You always take his side.” I start to pour a glass of wine for myself, reconsider, and go for a short glass of bourbon on the rocks. Mother frowns at my choice; ladies don’t drink bourbon, especially not during the day. Inside, I shrug. I’m already going to hell. I might as well enjoy the ride. One sip of the amber liquid shores up my courage. “Did it ever occur to you that he’s not the saint he portrays?”
Her deep sigh holds a world of secrets. “I’ve been with your father for thirty years. I know exactly who he is—better than you, I might add.” The way she arranges the hem of her dress around her knees reminds me of my thirteenth birthday, the day my father was sworn into office. She wore a similar outfit, the same pale shade of green, one that complimented her slender figure. As Daddy placed his hand on the Bible and pledged his allegiance to the United States, she winked at me. The random memory is both comforting and disturbing. Ten-plus years of the political spotlight have hardened her, smoothed away the variations of her personality, and honed her into a stranger.
“If that’s true, then you’re an accessory to murder.” My temper begins to simmer. I take another sip of bourbon, this one much bigger, and revel in the burn down my throat. The heat reminds me of who I am, sharpens my focus. “And don’t you dare act like this is my fault. He’s the reason for this—this circus.” I wave a hand toward the street.
“Calm down, sweetheart. He explained everything to me, and I believe him.” Her words hit me like a slap. I recoil. If she believes him, it means she thinks I’m the liar. A faint smile twists her lips, and it’s so cold it makes me shiver. “This is simply a terrible misunderstanding. I’m sure
there’s a reasonable explanation for whatever you think you saw. All this nonsense could’ve been avoided if you’d just consulted with me first.”
“I didn’t tell you because Daddy asked me to keep quiet.” There’s no surprise or hurt or unhappiness in the smooth lines of her face, adding to my confusion. Nothing makes sense anymore. When my husband cheated on me, I was devastated. “You knew he was having an affair, didn’t you?”
The light in her eyes dims the tiniest bit. She holds my accusing stare. “The women come and go, while our marriage survives. Your father’s a virile man. If he needs more than I can give him, I’m willing to look the other way. As long as his dalliances don’t interfere with our political agenda, I have no reason to complain. And this girl, she was different. Important. She had ties to Roman. The value of her information outweighed my jealousy. Whatever your father might’ve done was necessary to further our cause.”
The world tilts. I grip the arm of the chair to steady myself. My life and the people in it have been illusions. “Growing up, you preached honesty and integrity to me, and it’s all been a lie.”
“Where did you get such a fanciful imagination? You certainly didn’t inherit it from me.” She shakes her head. I want to understand where she’s coming from, but I can’t. A line has been drawn between us, one I’m not willing to cross. “When I married Don, we agreed to do anything necessary to get us into the White House. We’re a team, Everly. His successes are my successes. His failures are my failures. I thought you were a part of our team too.”
Her confession knocks the wind out of me. I sink into the nearest chair before my knees give way. The narrow oval of her face, the relaxed slant of her eyebrows, the tilt of her head—nothing suggests the slightest bit of remorse. Rage builds inside me, stoking unfamiliar emotions toward the woman who gave me life. "Daddy threatened Rourke. Are you on board with that too?"
“I don’t condone violence.” Her elegant fingers tighten around the stem of the wine glass. “However, I trust your father to do what’s best for his career. There are bound to be casualties along the way.” A small smile plays on her lips. “And it’s not like Rourke is family. She’s a sweet girl, but she’s not destined for greatness the way we are. Your father and I tolerated your friendship because you had so few friends, and Rourke was easily manipulated. She’s been a delight, but now she’s aligned herself with those Russian mobsters and refuses to stay loyal to us. The sooner you disconnect from her, the better.”
The full meaning of her words settles over me. Acid churns in my stomach. I study her eyes, looking for a glimmer of salvation. “How can you say that?"
“People like us can’t have emotional attachments to outsiders.” The coldness in her gaze turns my despair into anxiety. “This situation is entirely her fault. Take my advice. Sever ties. Do it today.” She rises, crosses the distance between us, and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Go grab your purse. The car is waiting downstairs. Our publicity team has prepared statements for us to read in front of the media. You’ll say you had a problem with your medication and didn’t know what you were doing. Your father’s people are dealing with the photographs. We need to get on top of the situation right away.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I shrink from her touch. Disappointment burrows deep in my soul. My mother—the person who should always have my back—sides with the enemy. “I won’t condone what Father did. I won’t be a part of it.”
“You’ll read the statement. Grovel, if necessary.” Her icy and commanding tone widens the breach between us to an insurmountable distance. “I’m not asking, Everly.”
In the past, I would’ve never disobeyed a direct order from either of my parents. But I’m no longer that girl. The future of my soul lies on the precipice between heaven and hell. “No.”
“I won’t leave without you.”
We glare at each other. Behind the polished veil of civility, I see her composure slipping, and it gives me a tiny sliver of satisfaction. “Get out.” Taking her elbow in my hand, I force her toward the foyer. “You aren’t my mother. You’re a monster.” I open the door front door. My mouth drops open. There, standing in the hall about to ring the doorbell, is Prince Heinrich Von Stratton in all his blond gloriousness.
Deep-set eyes bounce from me to my mother and back again. My heart skips a beat then another. His gaze bores into me until I have to glance away. The sound of his deep voice has never been more welcome. “I was visiting a friend in the building and thought I’d stop by. Is this a bad time?”
16
EVERLY
Any other time, I would’ve been intrigued by a surprise visit from the Crown Prince of Androvia. The muscles low in my belly clench at the memory of his hands on my body.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Everly?” Mother puts on a pleasant smile, the one reserved for heads of state. I’ve seen it a million times, but today is the first time it feels false.
“Prince Henrich, this is my mother, Judy McElroy.”
“Please forgive my daughter’s rudeness, Prince Heinrich.” The fragile links of a gold necklace gleam beneath the chandelier lights as she dips her head in a modified curtsey. “She’s been under serious strain these past few days. I’m afraid she’s not herself.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.” Her comment is designed to rattle my self-confidence. She and my father are masters at deflection. To keep my temper at bay, I shut down my emotions. Numbness settles over me, welcome and liberating, and I smile at the prince.
“Is this a bad time? I can come back later.” His cultured British accent resonates into undiscovered places within me. He sounds so civilized, so controlled, and offers an anchor amid the chaos.
“Mother was just leaving.” The breath hisses out of her as I give her a nudge into the corridor. “Please come in, Your Highness.” Opening the door wider, I step into the foyer and invite him inside with a sweep of my arm. As long as he’s here, I’m safe from my mother’s bullying. She won’t make a scene in front of royalty. Threats are for privacy and never for external ears, a lesson I learned before I could walk.
“Everly, we need to go.” The straightness of her shoulders dares me to defy her. Her voice lowers to a venomous whisper. “If you don’t do this, I won’t be able to protect you.”
Protect me? From whom? A frisson of fear ices my blood. From my father? Until now, I never considered the possibility of danger from the one person in the world who should be my protector. Despite my misgivings, I can’t give in. If I do, I’ll become an accomplice to Father’s treachery. “My decision is made. I’m not leaving with you. Not today. Not ever.”
“Don’t be stupid. You have a chance to neutralize this situation. I’m not going anywhere until you come to your senses.” Her tone is softer and carries a hint of desperation. She gives Henry a sideways glance, followed by a polite smile. “We’re having a bit of a family crisis.”
"I understand." The sunlight streaming through the window catches the chestnut and auburn strands in his golden hair. Despite his admission, he doesn't leave my side. His presence is reassuring.
I lift my chin higher. “My senses are better than ever. You’re the one with a malfunctioning moral compass.” With each word, my boldness grows stronger. None of this is my fault. I’m the only person in my family who’s done the right thing. Weariness tempers the rising tide of my rage. Unless I take a stand, my life will never change, and I can’t go back to the way things were. “Mother, I’m asking you nicely. Please go, before I call security.”
The three of us stare at each other. Prince Henry seems unbothered by the suffocating animosity in the air. I expect to see pity or annoyance in his gaze. Instead, I find compassion in the somber lines of his face. His footsteps tap softly on the marble floor as he enters the foyer. The chandelier reflects off the shiny surface of his black shoes. Once inside, he turns to face my mother, blocking the entrance, shielding me with his broad shoulders. "I believe you're no longer welcome here, Mrs. M
cElroy.”
A shocked giggle clots in my throat. No one has ever spoken to my mother that way, especially not someone of his power and influence. I clear my throat, daring her to rebel.
After an uncomfortable pause, she nods. “Fine. Everly, you can consider yourself removed from our family.”
“With pleasure.” I slam the door in her face and lean my forehead against the cool wood. The enormity of what I’ve done hits me hard. Tremors wrack my body from crown to heel until my teeth chatter. My mother chose my murderous father over her only daughter. Never in my life have I felt so alone. Tears prickle behind my eyelids. I will not cry. I will not cry. I. Will. Not. Cry.
“Everly?” Prince Henry’s deep voice reminds me of his presence. “Are you okay?” He must think I’m a complete train wreck. Then again, I just released a statement to the world admitting my hero father is an adulterous, homicidal maniac, and I had a verbal altercation with my mother in front of him. Why wouldn’t he?
"No. I'm not." I'll never be okay again. Hiding the truth will only make me look dumber than I already feel.
“Come here.” He turns my body to face him. Strong arms wrap around my shoulders. I close my eyes and let him hold me, desperate for comfort. The notch of his collarbone is exposed through the open collar of his dress shirt. My nose nestles there, a perfect fit. In my heels, I’m almost six feet tall, but he towers above me. The scent of clean linen and his aftershave remind me of quiet evenings in the Hamptons. His grasp is firm and soothing but not carnal. Still, a tingle of sexual awareness zings into my lower belly. Beneath the lapels of his navy suit jacket, his torso is solid. The warmth of his body seeps into mine. For the first time in months, I feel safe and protected.
The Royal Arrangement: Prequel to The Rebel Queen Page 10
