Royal Escape: The Complete Series

by Peak, Renna

  But my anger is mixed with humiliation. I can’t blame him for wanting me to leave after my former fiancé showed up and tried to beat the crap out of him. I come with a lot of baggage, and I’m not surprised that Nick doesn’t want to deal with it. Hell, I could have ended it all right now—driven into town, talked to Adam, and settled everything between us immediately—but instead I just went out and sat in my car for fifteen minutes, too much of a coward to even start the engine. Can I really be upset with Nick for wanting to wash his hands of me once and for all?

  As I grab the bread from the shelf, though, determination sinks in. I need this job. I need a purpose, a place to live, something to do with myself until I sort everything out. I have nowhere else to go. And it’s no exaggeration that Nick needs me, too—and not just because of his ankle. He needs a companion out here, someone to make sure he takes care of himself. Someone to teach him how to lighten up a little. I can only imagine the sort of man he’d become if he was left on his own—a solitary hermit, too stubborn to even visit a doctor, too stubborn to make any friends. I can’t leave him to that fate.

  You need me, weirdo. Even if you haven’t figured that out yet.

  I walk over to the fridge and grab some cheese and butter, then take the frying pan down from its hook on the wall. Nick just keeps watching me as I set the pan up on the stove and get the butter melting.

  “Grilled cheese is even better with a slice or two of tomato in there,” I say without looking at him. “I’ll pick some up the next time I’m in town.”

  “Clara…”

  I stiffen at the sound of his voice, readying another defense, but at least he’s using my first name this time. That’s progress.

  “Clara, I really think—”

  “I know what you think,” I say, assembling the sandwiches. “It’s been duly noted. But I disagree with you. I’m staying. And if you want me out of your house, you’re going to have to carry me out yourself.”

  I hear the scrape of his chair against the floor, and my heart nearly stops. Does he actually mean to try carrying me out? I wouldn’t put it past the stubborn idiot, not even considering his ankle.

  I can’t take the chance. So before he can reach me, I try a different tactic.

  “I’m going to go talk to Adam tonight,” I tell him. “I’m sorry again for all the fuss he caused. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  That gives him pause. Or at least it makes him hesitate for a few long, awkward seconds before moving or speaking.

  “What happened between the two of you?” he asks me finally.

  I plop the first of the sandwiches into the pan. The butter crackles. I consider reminding Nick of our bargain not to talk about our pasts, but I suspect he doesn’t care about that anymore. Not when he’s prepared to throw me out of his house.

  But I’m not ready to talk about it, either. Not to Nick.

  “Lots of things happened,” I tell him. “Nothing as bad as what you’re thinking, I’m sure. He didn’t abuse me or cheat on me or anything like that. But I’d throw myself off a bridge before I went back to New York with him.” I press the sandwich down into the sizzling butter with a spatula. “I was thinking a couple of nights ago that it’s probably not a coincidence that I ended up out here, out in the middle of all this wilderness. Most people spend their entire lives trapped in a little box. Some people have no choice—circumstances have kept them there, or society. But some of us just trap ourselves. Because it’s easy, because it’s comfortable, because we’re too afraid to see what lies outside the little prison we’ve made in our heads. I think most people in that situation never even realize they’re in a prison at all, let alone that it’s of their own making. But others of us…we wake up one day and we’re suffocating. We can feel the walls closing in around us.” I’ve started babbling, so I stop and flip the sandwich in the pan, a bit of heat reaching my cheeks. “I’m not leaving, Nick.”

  He’s silent for so long that I start to get worried, and I twist around, finally daring to look back at him.

  He’s staring at me, but his eyes aren’t really focused on me at all. His jaw is set, his shoulders rigid, and his left hand is clamped firmly on the back of the kitchen chair, his knuckles white.

  It takes him a moment to realize I’m looking at him. When he does, a bit of the tension leaves his body, but his jaw is still tight as he clear his throat.

  “I have no intention of forcing you out against your will,” he says finally. “And I certainly won’t physically carry you out.”

  “Good,” I say with a smile, relief rushing through me. “Because once you taste my grilled cheese, you’ll never get enough.”

  He doesn’t find that funny at all. But he resumes his seat at the table. “You’re speaking with your fiancé tonight?”

  “Ex-fiancé.” I slide the first sandwich out of the pan and begin to cook the second one. “And yeah, that’s the plan.” Assuming I can work up the balls to start my car this time.

  “Then I’ll come with you.”

  I nearly fall into the pan in front of me. “What? No, you don’t need to do that.”

  “That man has a temper,” Nick says. “And it’s clear from this morning’s scene that he lacks the self-control to speak with you rationally. It’s not safe for you to go alone.”

  “I can handle Adam. Even when he’s upset. He won’t attack me the way he attacked you.”

  “Can you be certain of that?”

  “I… Yes, I think I can. I mean it, Nick. I’ll be fine.”

  “And what about the other danger?”

  I glance back at him again. “What other danger?”

  His steady gaze meets mine. “What if he convinces you that going back to New York is the right thing to do? That this was all some foolish flight of fancy and that you need to return to your real life? What if he claims you’re just running away from your problems when you should be facing them?”

  I quickly turn around again so he can’t seem my expression. “That won’t happen. Trust me.”

  “I don’t trust that man at all. And I don’t know if I can trust you around him.” He pauses, then continues. “On the surface you strike me as a determined, resolute woman. One who won’t be easily persuaded to change her mind, once she’s made it.” There’s a subtle wryness to his tone, and I know he’s hinting at the argument we’ve just had. “But anyone who wakes up one day and decides to abandon their life—their family, their friends, their home, their position… A person who does that must have a certain amount of flightiness in them, mustn’t they?”

  I spin around on him, ready to rip him a new one for being so judgmental, but though he’s frowning, his expression isn’t focused on me at all. Instead he’s staring at his hand, curling and flexing his fingers while gazing at them as if they hold all the answers in the universe.

  With a jerk, he seems to remember where he is. He clears his throat again.

  “I’m coming with you tonight,” he says.

  I know if I argue long and hard, that I can talk my way out of this. But to my surprise, I don’t want to. Because he’s right about where the real danger lies.

  “Okay,” I tell him softly. “But on one condition.”

  “What?”

  I carry one of the sandwiches over to him. “You don’t ask me to leave over something stupid and frivolous again. If you do, I swear I’ll kick your bad ankle right out from under you. Don’t think I won’t.”

  To my surprise, his shock at my threat turns almost immediately into humor. For a minute, I think he might actually laugh.

  “Fine,” he says, picking up his sandwich. “You have a deal.”

  Nicholas

  We’re alike in so many ways, I’m not certain how I didn’t see it before. Perhaps that’s why I can’t seem to let her go, even though doing so would make my life infinitely less complicated.

  And she’s right, you know. You couldn’t manage this place without her. I take a bite of my sandwich, chewing sl
owly as I contemplate that thought. It should be simple, really. At least, that was what I told myself when I purchased my ranch. How difficult could it possibly be?

  None of this matters now, of course. All that matters now is helping Clara to rid herself of her distasteful fiancé.

  Former fiancé. Not that the terminology matters in the least. Clara has made it clear that she is unavailable—emotionally and physically. And I should follow suit. It’s only proper, for many reasons.

  “How is it?”

  I jolt in my chair, blinking a few times at the woman sitting across from me. “How is what?”

  “Your sandwich?” She cocks her head, grinning at me. “You inhaled the first half, but now you’re just sitting there staring off into space.” She motions at the leftover sandwich still on my plate. “If you don’t want it…”

  “I want it.” I grab the sandwich, taking a large bite. “Delicious,” I say as I chew.

  “You don’t have to pretend to like my cooking, you know. My cooking skills are sort of like my ranch managing skills—a work in progress.” Her smile falls, but only by a little. “You’ll never find a harder worker than me, Nick.”

  “I never suggested you weren’t a hard worker.”

  “I know. I just…” Her voice trails off, and she stares at me for a few moments. “You know, you know a lot more about me now than I do about you.”

  I shift uncomfortably in my chair, taking another bite of my sandwich as I avert my gaze. She may think she knows nothing about me, but she already knows far more than I ever wanted to reveal to anyone in America.

  “You know I’m from New York. I don’t know where you’re from.”

  I say nothing, just take another bite of my sandwich.

  “And you know I came here to get away from my ex-fiancé. I have no idea why you came here.”

  I shrug. “Same as you.”

  She lifts a brow. “You ran away from your ex? I somehow doubt that.”

  “I came here for a new start. That is all.”

  Her smile falls, and she seems to ponder my words for a moment. “You come from a wealthy family.”

  “I never said that—”

  “You didn’t have to. You have a lot of money. That isn’t really a secret.” She tilts her head, staring at me for another long moment.

  I’m not sure what it is about the way she’s looking at me, but I have to tear my gaze from hers. My face burns, and I can’t even say why. It’s as though she’s trying to stare into my soul, and it all feels a bit too…intimate.

  “So is your family from here? In America? Or did they send you to boarding school in Europe and that’s how you got your accent?”

  “I’ve no accent,” I say, returning my gaze to hers. “It’s merely—”

  “No cowboy says ‘I’ve no’ anything, Nick.” Her smile returns. “Or ‘merely,’ for that matter. You’re doing an okay job with the drawl—speaking purposely slow and all that. But your word choices give you away.”

  “Hm.” I frown, looking away again. She’s likely correct, though it’s quite difficult to change one’s vocabulary. I’d honestly hoped that I would speak to so few people that it wouldn’t matter.

  “So why’d you leave?”

  “I thought we had a deal, Clara.” I glance back at her. “I certainly don’t know why you left—”

  “The box. I already told you—”

  “You told me people find themselves trapped in a prison of their own making. You’re saying that’s why you chose to run?”

  “I didn’t…run. Not exactly.” Her smile falls, and she chews her bottom lip for a moment. “Okay, I ran. But it wasn’t like I just woke up one morning and grabbed a pile of laundry from the floor and hopped in the car and drove west.” She pauses for a moment. “Okay, maybe it was a little like that, but I had a very good reason for leaving.”

  “Which was?”

  “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

  I shake my head. “I had no reason.”

  “So you admit that you ran?” Her smile returns. “That’s something.”

  “I didn’t realize this conversation had devolved into trying to uncover the other’s deepest secrets.”

  “Well, if you want to play that game…” She laughs, and I swear, it might be the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. I can’t actually remember if I’ve heard her laugh before—at least not like this. This is something far more genuine, something…I don’t know. But hearing her happy, at least in the moment, seems almost a gift.

  “I’m not sure what game you’re speaking of.” I study her face for a moment, wanting to memorize every detail, every line that forms when she’s truly happy. I’m not sure what’s come over me, but it seems important to know when she’s genuinely happy.

  “Truth or dare? You’ve never played?”

  “I’m certain I’ve played some form of the game with my siblings. And I assure you, I’ve no intention of playing it with you.”

  “Siblings?” Her smile turns to more of a teasing grin. “Tell me about them.”

  “I…no.” I shake my head. “It’s of no importance.”

  “You’re the oldest.” She nods, almost to herself. “I can tell. You take everything so seriously.”

  “No. I’m not the oldest.”

  “Really? Then there must be a huge age gap between you and whoever is. Because you definitely act like an oldest child. All worried about everything and everyone—”

  “Well, I’m not. And there isn’t a large age gap.”

  “Hm.” She leans forward, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands. “Tell me about them, then. Where are you in line?”

  Something about the way she says “in line” makes me think about what I’ve left behind. I’m not in line any longer, not that I ever really was. Not that a royal lineage matters, anyway. If I ever were to have a family, they would only be royal by association, never in line to actually rule.

  I stand suddenly, knocking my chair over. And I must forget about my leg for a moment, because I stand on it fully, sending a sharp pain up my leg that nearly topples me onto the fallen chair.

  I stare at Clara for a moment, my mouth hanging open much like a fish out of water. “It’s…I’m…” I frown at her. “I’ll be in my room. Let me know when you’re ready to face your fiancé.”

  Clara

  Well, a man doesn’t change overnight. And Nick is so stubborn it’ll probably take a few tries before I manage to get around the walls he’s built up, especially where his past is concerned. But I know how to pick my battles.

  Nick spends most of the afternoon in his room, and I’m not inclined to bother him—he needs to rest that leg as much as possible, whether or not he actually admits it. I keep myself busy, not wanting to think about my impending visit with Adam. After tending to the horses and mucking out the stables, I shower and then find things to do around the house. When Nick finally ventures downstairs around six o’clock, he finds me cooking spaghetti for dinner.

  I sense him in the doorway as I pour the noodles into the pot of boiling water, but I don’t let on. I wait for him to speak. Which he does, after a couple of minutes.

  “I thought you might have attempted to go see your fiancé without me,” he says.

  “No,” I tell him without turning. “We have a deal, and I don’t break deals.”

  I hear him limp his way over to the table, his boot coming down heavily on the creaky wood floor. “It’s getting late, you know.”

  “I know.” I glance around for a pot I can use to heat up the sauce. “I won’t sneak out without you, I promise.”

  “That’s not what I mean. When exactly were you planning to go speak with him? Or have you decided to put it off until another day?” He sinks into a chair.

  “I’m not putting it off,” I snap. It takes a bit of effort to calm myself again, but I do. Then I turn around to face him. “I told you we’d go tonight, and we will. But after dinner. I’d hate to ha
ve that conversation on an empty stomach.” The truth is, I’ve been dreading this confrontation with Adam all day. No amount of stable mucking or kitchen cleaning could distract me from the twisted, nauseated feeling in my stomach. Nothing could stop me from playing through what I might say, how I might respond to his inevitable objections. I’ve mentally practiced my conversation with him dozens of times, a hundred, but I know that most likely it will end up going in a way I can’t even foresee, and that makes me all the more nervous.

  For the first time, though, I find myself simply relieved that Nick will be with me. He’ll keep my head on straight. Make sure I don’t do anything rash.

  At least I hope he will.

  I open the jar of marinara sauce and pour it into the heating pan. “I couldn’t find any parmesan in your fridge, but we should be okay without it.”

  He grunts in response, obviously thinking I’m avoiding the subject at hand. “I’ve been thinking,” I go on, “that maybe you should wait outside the room while Adam and I talk. If you march in there at my side, it’ll just get his hackles up. I want to have an adult conversation with him, not start a fight.”

  I hear his boot scrape across the floor, but he seems to be readjusting himself, not rising. “Are you sure that’s wise? Seeing him alone?”

  “Better than another fight.” I stir the sauce. “And if your main concern is that I’ll give in and run home with him, you’ll be right outside to stop me. We can’t leave the bed and breakfast without going past you.”

  He considers this a moment. “If you need my help at any point during the conversation, you’ll call to me?”

  “Of course. But I doubt that will happen.” It’ll be enough just to know Nick is there, that I’ll have to walk right by him in shame if I actually cave in to Adam. One more security measure in place, one more motivator to help me stay strong.

  “If you think that’s best, I’ll do it.”

  His easy acceptance of my plan surprises me. He’s normally so stubborn, so insistent that he knows best, that I’m instantly suspicious.