And now that dream was coming true again. Every dream I’d had—the ones I talked about and the ones I didn’t, the ones I lifted up and the ones I’d buried, too scared to give them a name—was coming true.
My eyes prickled. It was all so wonderful it was making me weepy.
“You’re going to cry again? Aw, muffin, come here.” Aly slipped an arm around my shoulders, glancing up at a loud groan that moved through the ceiling. “You’re that excited for the velvet, huh?”
I laughed, wiping at my eyes with the pads of my fingers. “Sorry. I’m just a little…overwhelmed, I guess. Good overwhelmed. But still overwhelmed.”
“That’s fair.” Aly grinned. “I mean, you’re only banging a prince and taking your business to the next level all at once. No big deal.”
“Thank God I have you with me,” I said, leaning my head on her shoulder. “I really appreciate you being here, Aly. I couldn’t do this without you.”
She looked me in the eye. “Em, we’re designing castles again. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. I mean, of course I’m excited about you opening up to the guy of your dreams and finding genuine happiness and orgasms with him. But really, I’m here for the castles.”
I checked my watch. “I should get going. Traffic shouldn’t be too bad, but I want to give myself plenty of time to get back, just in case.”
“Go—I’ve got everything handled here,” Aly replied.
I was stuffing my notebooks into my bag when I heard a voice echo in the front hallway.
“Hulloooo?” a man called in the most British way possible.
Lord Pearce appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in what appeared to be very posh hunting gear. He held an enormous shotgun in one arm. The barrel was bent open over the crook of his elbow.
I stepped forward and offered him my hand. “Lord Pearce, it’s so great to see you.”
“I hope you don’t mind me popping in,” he said. “I was on the estate doing a bit of hunting, yes, I’m sure you heard the dogs.”
Aly looked at Lord Pearce in confusion. “You have more than one dog?”
“Oh, yes, dear, I’ve got loads of them. Enough to employ two kennel keepers. Might hire a third come spring.” He looked up at the banging upstairs. “And how are the renovations progressing?”
I grinned, my chest bursting with pride. “So far, so good. It’s truly going to be unbeliev—”
A loud shudder moved through the house, making the floor vibrate underneath our feet. My eyes flicked to the ceiling; my stomach clenched.
That couldn’t be good.
I turned to look at Aly at the same moment a large crack opened in the ceiling.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
It all happened in slow motion. There was a moment of breathless silence. Then the crack widened, chunks of plaster raining down onto the floor.
A heartbeat later, the entire ceiling caved in. The sound was enormous, so loud it made my ears ring with pain.
I covered my head with my arms and closed my eyes. I fell into a crouch. Beside me Aly yelped. Lord Pearce shouted something about Jesus Bloody Christ and all the bloody angels, too.
An edge of plaster caught on my bicep. I felt a stinging tear. Dust, putrid and medieval smelling, burned in my nostrils as it filled my lungs. Close by on the floor, a man—one of the plumbers, if I had to guess—was groaning. Glass shattered. The odor of sewage filled the air.
When it seemed like the collapse was over, I blinked the dust from my eyes and shook it out of my hair.
“Is everyone okay?” I called.
Aly waved to me from a corner. “I think I’m all right.” Lord Pearce and the poor plumber answered much the same, thank God.
I stood and surveyed the damage. There was a gaping hole where the ceiling had been ten seconds ago. Dirty water coursed from broken pipes above us onto the seventeenth-century wood floor. A beam had crashed through the priceless bay window on the far wall.
Panic gripped me by the throat. I’d done enough renovations to know this wasn’t just bad.
This was catastrophic. Like, end-my-design-dreams-before-they-even-started catastrophic.
I caught Lord Pearce’s eye from across the room. He was wiping the dust from his pants while staring me down. His face was bright red.
“Fix this,” he spat. “I want to see you bloody fix this now, Emily, or you’ll be replaced directly!”
My eyes stung. I couldn’t tell if it was the dust or if it was tears. Probably both. Lord Pearce had already expressed some reservations about me being too busy with royal duties to complete his project on time. I’d confidently assured him that we’d make it happen. But now…
Well. Now I wasn’t so confident.
“Of course,” I managed to say. “We’ll, um, get this cleaned up in no time.”
I looked at Aly. She was crying.
“Em,” she said, her voice low. “Please don’t leave. I can’t do this on my own.”
I glanced wildly at the disaster that surrounded me. I needed to go now if I wanted to make it back in time for the gala; London was an hour’s drive from the castle. But I couldn’t leave. This was a crisis, no two ways about it. Aly most definitely could not do this on her own. No one could. There was raw sewage literally gushing from the ceiling. And if Lord Pearce saw me leave—even on behalf of Prince Christopher—he’d fire me on the spot. I wouldn’t blame him if he did.
I could not get fired. We could not lose this project. I’d worked too hard to get EP Designs back on its feet only to walk away now.
The thought of being late to Kit’s gala, or missing it altogether, killed me. He was relying on me to make this speech. He had a lot riding on the gala going well.
But I had a lot riding on this project, too. What the fuck was I supposed to do?
Panic erupted inside my chest. The muscles in my neck and shoulders pinched. I felt like I was going to be sick. This was bad.
Really, really bad.
I took a deep breath, coughing as the dust hit my lungs.
Maybe I could get the clean up here started. Maybe, if we got the water turned off and the flooding under control, I could still make it back to London in time. It would be tight, but I had to try.
Digging through the debris, I found my bag and pulled out my phone. I shot Kit a text. Incident here at Stallings Castle. Everyone is ok. But I am going to be later than I thought. Will be back for gala, I promise.
Then I threw the phone back into my bag and got to work.
Chapter Thirty-One
Kit
The ballroom was filling up. I managed to paste a smile on my face as I shook hands and made polite small talk, all the while keeping my eyes on the door. I hadn’t heard from Emily since she’d sent me a text a few hours ago about some incident that happened at her site. I’d tried calling her several times, but she hadn’t picked up.
I was starting to panic.
I needed Emily here tonight. Not only was she giving the speech that I knew would turn reluctant donors into enthusiastic ones. A speech I did not have a copy of, should push come to shove and I had to give it myself. But I was lost without her. I felt like a tosser for even admitting that. But there it was. I was jittery, uncentered. Awkward.
I hoped she was all right. Maybe her mobile had gotten damaged somehow in the incident. It could’ve run out of battery, too. Maybe she was pulling up to Buckingham right now. I imagined her running through the back entrance, up the stairs, darting through the maze of halls.
She’d be walking through that door at any minute. I just knew it. She wouldn’t leave me hanging like this. It wasn’t like her. She knew how important tonight was to me, to my family. She knew how important my family was to me, and how I wanted to honor my parents by building on their legacy. We’d managed to successfully juggle our lives so far. Tonight would be no different. She was just running late, that’s all.
“You all right, old man?” Rob murmured, clapping me on the shoulder. “Where’s E
mily?”
I glanced again at the door. “She’s coming. You haven’t heard from her, have you?”
He furrowed his brow. “I haven’t. Why? Is something wrong?”
“No.” I shook my head. No use in making Rob panic, too. “Nope, everything is fine. She just got caught up at one of her projects. She’ll be here soon.”
He clapped me on the shoulder again. “Glad to hear it. No offense, Kit, but I think she’ll be a much more engaging speaker than you. Doesn’t hurt that she’s got these perfect, juicy—”
“Rob?”
“Yes?”
“Do me a favor and don’t finish that thought. Look, there’s Henry Spencer. Make yourself useful and go talk to him.”
“On it,” he said, and disappeared into the throng.
I checked my watch. Emily was due to make her speech in an hour.
Where was she?
* * *
Emily
Several Hours Later
I charged up the stairs and sprinted down the hall, holding my gown in one hand and my clutch in the other. My heart hammered inside my chest. My throat was so tight I could hardly breathe. Sweat had broken out under my arms and along my scalp.
“Shit,” I panted as I ran. “Shit!”
The back hallways of Buckingham Palace seemed to go on forever. I kept running, the muscles in my legs burning.
I finally reached the door I was looking for. It was still open. For a moment, the knot of dread in my chest loosened. Maybe I wasn’t too late. Maybe I hadn’t missed the whole thing—
The knot tightened right back up when I moved into the ballroom and saw that it was empty. The clink and clatter of china filled the room as footmen cleared the tables. The enormous windows on the far wall were black with night, the hand-blown panes reflecting the glow of the chandeliers.
Tears blurred my vision.
“Shit,” I said again.
I’d missed it. The fundraiser. The speech.
Everything. I’d missed everything.
Oh my God, I missed it.
I hoped—Jesus, I really hoped—I hadn’t fucked up Kit’s plans for the school by missing the fundraiser.
It had taken us hours just to get the flooding under control at Stallings Castle. The fire department—charmingly called the “fire brigade” here in England—had to come. An ambulance was called to treat a nasty gash on the plumber’s leg. We filled the only dumpster we had with half the debris. Then we’d had to wait for another to be brought in so we could dispose of the rest. I’d spent hours on the phone with architects, engineers, and preservationists in an effort to figure out what had happened and how we could fix it.
The whole thing had been absolute chaos. Even now, the dank taste of dust and sewage lingered in my mouth, making my stomach turn. I’d had to pull over twice on the drive home to throw up. I couldn’t tell if it’d been the stress or the smell that had made me sick. And of course I hit traffic. It took me twice as long as it usually did to get back to London.
Then I’d rushed to get ready. But the dust and grime had stuck to my hair like glue, and the poor hairstylist had to wash it twice just to get it all out.
With trembling fingers, I wiped away a tear. That’s when I saw Kit. He was sitting in a chair by the bar, his elbows on his thighs, a drink hanging between his knees. His bowtie was undone. His hair was a mess, like he’d been tugging at it all night.
As if he knew I was looking at him, he glanced up. I sucked in a breath. It hit me just how tired he looked. Dark circles ringed his eyes, the whites of which were bloodshot. The lines of his face were hard. His shoulders were sloped.
He looked defeated. Worn out. I knew right then that the fundraiser had not gone well. And I had a feeling it was all because of me.
A moon of regret rose in my throat, choking me.
“Kit,” I breathed. “I’m so, so sorry. I tried—”
“Don’t.” He shook his head. “Please don’t, Emily.”
I moved across the ballroom, slowing my stride as I approached him. Even from several steps away, I could feel the cold emanating off him.
“How did it go?” I asked carefully.
He shook his head. My heart collapsed.
“It was a bloody disaster,” he said. “I tried to improvise a speech, but I was so worried about you—I was so angry…”
I looked down at my hands. “I feel horrible.”
“It was embarrassing, Em. I felt like I was up at that podium with my dick in my hand. People laughed, even though it wasn’t supposed to be funny.” He scoffed. I met his eyes. They glittered, sharp and icy. “You knew how important this was to me, Emily. You know how the foundation is the only connection I have left to my parents.”
I swallowed. “Please, Kit, let me explain.”
His brows jumped. “Explain what? We were relying on you, Em!” His voice rose. “What could’ve possibly been more important than being here tonight? You blew me off. Nothing can explain that.”
The breath caught in my throat as an unwelcome pulse of anger moved through me. Egged on by exhaustion, that anger grew and grew. Did he really think a collapsed ceiling was nothing? That my work was nothing?
“You think I wanted to miss this? You think I chose to have a ceiling literally collapse on me today?” I took a step forward. “I didn’t blow you off. I was taking care of a very serious emergency at one of my projects. My reputation is on the line here, Kit. If I screw this project up…”
He straightened, setting his drink on the bar beside him. “That’s just the thing though. It wasn’t that you couldn’t walk away. You chose not to walk away. You chose your project over the fundraiser. You chose your project over me.”
“That’s not fair,” I shot back, the anger rising up my spine. “You know how important my work is to me. And yet here you are, expecting me to just drop everything—even during an emergency!—to give a little speech at your fundraiser.”
Kit’s face darkened. “A ‘little’ speech? Are you fucking serious?”
Somewhere nearby, a footman dropped a plate. Kit glanced over my head.
“Leave us,” he barked. “All of you, leave the room. Now!”
There was a quiet rush of footsteps on carpet as the footmen did as they were told. Then Kit and I were alone, the silence surrounding us enormous and hard.
* * *
Kit
Emily looked as exhausted as I felt. But that didn’t mean I forgave her for what she’d done.
That didn’t mean her betrayal didn’t hurt.
Because that’s what this was. A betrayal. She’d made a promise, and she hadn’t come through on it. How was that fair, considering I’d come through on every promise I’d ever made her?
It had been careless of me to trust her like this.
She’d made me reckless all over again. Just like I feared she would.
And now I was paying the price.
My family and my foundation were paying the fucking price.
Up until a couple hours ago, I genuinely believed that Emily and I could have our cake and eat it too. I believed Emily could keep her job and be my right hand man—woman—whatever. But maybe the Queen had been right. Maybe I was naive to think we could have it both ways. Being my consort was a full time job. It was too important to treat as a side gig.
I never wanted to force Em to choose between her career and our relationship. I wanted her to have both. I wanted the world for her. But there had to be a balance, right? There had to be an understanding that we’d always choose each other over everything and everyone else. I had to know she’d be by my side. Always.
Right now, Emily was not choosing me. And that cut me more deeply than I ever thought possible.
“So you’re saying you can’t screw up your precious project, but you can screw up your obligations to me,” I said.
My heart contracted at the pain I saw in her eyes. The anger.
We were both being torn apart. Torn by our obligations. Torn fro
m each other.
Fuck, this hurt.
“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” she replied. “I could not walk out when the whole house was flooding! I wanted to be with you, Kit, I did. But there was nothing I could do.”
“Are you serious? Em, you could have called.”
“Kit, I was literally knee deep in sewage. How was I supposed to call you?”
I pushed off the chair and stalked to where she stood. Clenching and unclenching my hands, I said, “What about putting your very capable assistant in charge so you could come back to London and help me fund the School for the Arts?”
“There was no way Aly could’ve handled a mess like that on her own. No one could.”
I shook my head, defeat overtaking rage inside my chest. “You don’t get it, do you? People are going to suffer because you weren’t here. People are depending on us—the kids attending that school are depending on us, Em. We let them down tonight.”
She looked away, blinking. “Well, I’m here now. I can help. I’m ready to help you guys, Kit.”
“It’s too late.” I offered her a tight smile.
Emily studied my face for a long moment. She began to nod, slowly, rolling her lips between her teeth. “Right. And it’s all my fault.”
“You being holed up at Stallings Castle certainly didn’t help.”
Her eyes went wide as she ducked to get in my face. “I’m sorry. But I already told you there was nothing I could do.”
From the way she said it, she wasn’t sorry at all.
“I don’t accept your apology,” I snapped.
“Yeah, well, I don’t accept what a dickhead you’re being right now.” She shoved a finger into my chest. “You know how much I love what I do. You said we’d try to make this work. But here you are, forcing me to choose between you and my work. And I kind of hate you for it.”
* * *
Emily
Royal Ruin: A Flings With Kings Novel Page 19
