The biting of her lip became downright gnawing. “I know.”
“Do you, though? I will have to marry at some point, Perry. If we do this and you’re publicly George’s partner, then there is an end date. If you become mine, George doesn’t have the pressure to wed that I do… there’s no end date.” When she made to respond, he murmured, “But this is a decision that you need to come to by yourself. It’s not now or never, Perry. It hasn’t reached that point yet, but it’s getting there. And the sooner you tell me, us, what you want, the sooner we can make that happen.”
Even as he dropped the ultimatum, he prayed she’d say yes. It was like a switch had flipped in his head and the notion of her saying no to this was more than he could stand.
George trusted Perry, and Edward hadn’t trusted someone outside of the family for a long time. He was trusting her with so much here, and though he didn’t like it, he knew they were both as vulnerable as the other when it boiled down to it. Both equals in their hesitancy and their uncertainty. Although, he’d managed to overcome his in this short conversation. George was right. There was something about Perry that just fit.
She was smart and beautiful. Witty and acerbic. Unafraid to be opinionated, strong and self-assured when it mattered. As a consort, she was also a nightmare waiting to happen, but he wasn’t thinking about her in a formal setting.
The formal didn’t matter. It had mattered for so long, all the way before he’d proposed to Arabella, and what had that got him?
A placid wife, more broodmare than woman. Except, that broodmare had liked sex with him about as much as he’d enjoyed it with her—hence their lack of an heir.
Perry stared at him, and he sensed her panic. He hated that he’d caused it, but he was relieved to see the turbulence of her response. It made him believe George was right to have seen this in her. She wanted him, but was fighting it. Was fighting it because society said she should, not for any other reason.
The silence had fallen thickly between them, and he decided to break it; not with another ultimatum but with, “Why does George think you’d want this?”
She blinked, apparently surprised he’d backtracked. Licking her lips, she whispered, “I don’t know.”
He tilted his head to the side. “You’re lying.” He wasn’t angry, if anything, he was amused enough to smirk.
“I am not,” she said on a huff.
“You are. Why?” It came to him then, and he quickly dampened down his amusement. “There’s no need to be embarrassed.”
Her jaw clenched and she stared down at her lap. He watched her fingers pleat her trousers and wondered if she knew how telling that was. Wondered if she was also aware of how telling it was she hadn’t immediately discounted the notion of her being embarrassed.
“What does George know about you, Perry?” he asked softly, quietly. Gently. He didn’t want to scare her or get her back up. He wanted her to share.
“I don’t know… because, I didn’t think he knew.”
That cryptic comment had Edward cocking a brow. “About what?”
“I like to read,” she said on a huff.
“As do I.”
She glowered at him. “Romance?”
A snort escaped him at her irritation. “No. As you can imagine, that’s not my genre of choice.”
“Yeah, well, it’s mine.” She wriggled her shoulders and stuck her neck out. Agitation rippled from each pore. “Erotic stuff, okay?”
“Okay.” He kept his tone bland and made sure there wasn’t a hint of a smile curving his lips—he didn’t feel like being eviscerated.
“I didn’t realize George knew but I guess he must have seen my Kindle.” She wriggled her shoulders again, as though trying to slough off the unease. “I read at his place so I guess I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am.”
“What do you read, Perry?” he asked, his voice calm.
“Ménage stories,” she said on a squeak. “I-I just found them last year. They’re quite good.”
Triumph roared through him at the admission; but her prim tone had him biting his cheek to withhold a grin. “I see.”
“I doubt it,” she snapped.
“No. It’s something you enjoy. So why do you fight this?”
“Because this isn’t a ménage romance, Edward,” she snarled. “This is life. And you’re not two rich playboys or a CEO and a bodyguard. You’re princes. You live in the public eye, and you have different rules to live by. As you’ve already told me. This is real life, not a wet dream.”
“But you’re curious about it…”
She gulped. “Yes.”
“Then, why don’t we let you sample exactly what it means to be shared by two men who care about you… and you can make a more informed decision about what your next steps will be. We have two weeks until you’re scheduled to leave, no?”
She bit her lip, nodded. “No strings?”
It surprised him that her question stuck in his craw. “No strings,” he confirmed, his voice rough with distaste at the notion.
He very much wanted strings, he realized. And then, asked himself how George had known Perry for so long and had managed to hold back. Had somehow stopped himself from diving into this headfirst…
He nodded again. “No strings,” he confirmed.
She stared at him, bug-eyed and yet glorious in her beauty too. Then, she smiled, and even the non-sensical suddenly made a whole hell of a lot of sense.
Chapter Fourteen
Xavier frowned when Philippe appeared in the private suites’ hallway.
Not that the King didn’t have a right to be there; hell, more of a right than even Xavier himself—it was his uncle’s castle after all! But the scowl on his face had Xavier wondering what was wrong.
Philippe was one of those men who could be at war, and he’d still look placid. He just had that kind of face. A face he’d passed on to his sons, too.
Xavier figured it made a difference when the men were leaders… added an air of confidence he hadn’t inherited from his mother’s side of the family. People followed where the reigning DeSauviers led because they were cool, competent, and collected. At all times. Even when life was chaotic and stressful as hell.
“Father?”
George appeared as surprised by Philippe’s worried façade too.
“Where’s your brother?”
George paused. “I don’t know. He was in meetings all morning as far as I’m aware.”
“He didn’t go out with you?”
“No. Haven’t you spoken with Marcel?”
If anyone knew Edward’s schedule, it was his PA.
“Of course, but he doesn’t know where he is either.” A shallow breath slipped from Philippe’s lips, one that had Xavier tilting his head in surprise as he noticed it. Followed swiftly by another, then another, he realized his Uncle was breathing like he’d been running.
“What’s going on?” Xavier demanded, when a frantic light appeared in his perennially calm uncle’s eyes.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice thick. Lifting a shaky hand, he ran it through his neatly styled hair. “He was due to meet with me twenty minutes ago, and he isn’t picking up his phone.”
“Has he gone riding?” George asked, seeming to pick up on his father’s concern and adopting it himself.
Xavier, completely in the dark, just murmured, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
When neither man appeared reassured by that statement, he sighed. “What’s going on? It’s not like Edward hasn’t done this a hundred times before.”
“Not for years! Not since he married Arabella,” Philippe snapped. “He calmed down, started handling his duties with the seriousness required.”
Xavier shrugged. “So he’s having an off day.”
George cut him a look, and his unease transmitted itself to Xavier. “The UnReals are at it again.”
That statement alone had his stomach tightening. “What?”
George clenched his teeth. “Th
ere are two newly formed branches in Saxe and Heldafort,” he explained, detailing two of Veronia’s upper most provinces where anti-royalist sentiment had always been a problem. The UnReals were so called because real, pronounced ray-al, was the word for royal in Veronian. Anti-Royalist sentiment had decreased of late; the royal family had gone to great lengths to be more open and in touch with the ‘common’ folk.
One of the major turning points had been when George and Edward had been kidnapped as children. Marianne’s sobbing on national TV had done what nothing else could—bridged her to every other mother across the nation.
The families of the country had cried with her, sobbed at the lack of updates on the princes’ whereabouts, and shouted with relief and joy when the boys had been returned to the castle. The people knew of the kidnapping, but their strict media laws had prevented the story from leaking outside the borders in any way but word of mouth, which was why Perry hadn’t known about the abduction.
It wasn’t common knowledge.
In the subsequent years, the UnReals had been quiet. With no dissent to sow in a country content with its leaders, they’d fallen out of favor. Until Arabella happened, that is.
She’d been a clothes’ horse, nothing more, nothing less. Had about as much personality as a mannequin too, Xavier had always thought.
“They’re violent again?”
Some groups of the UnReals were more violent than others; it tended to depend on the leaders.
“Of the two, one is definitely more militant.”
Xavier rubbed his chin. “The guards are searching for Edward, correct?”
“Of course,” Philippe snarled.
“Then they’ll find him, Papa,” George said softly, reaching up to grab his father’s shoulder and to squeeze it. “All will be well.”
Philippe choked, “If they’ve taken him… it will kill your mother.”
“Why would they take him, Papa?”
Xavier shook his head. “He’ll be somewhere in the palace.” He cut George a look. “Where’s Perry?”
Unfortunately, George was still scared too because terror flashed in his gaze. “You think she could have been taken too?”
Xavier boomed, “No! Of course not. He might be with her. You know how close they’ve been of late.”
Philippe reared back, then stared at George. “I thought you and she…?”
George shuttered his eyes. “It’s complicated.” To Xavier, he murmured, “She should be in her office.”
“Have you checked in there?”
“Why wouldn’t he answer if he’s in the castle?” Philippe demanded, but Xavier and George knew why.
“Let’s see if he’s there before we worry further,” Xavier tried to soothe his uncle, hating how jittery the man looked.
He’d never seen him this panicked. Even when George and Edward had been taken as boys, he’d held it together. He remembered hearing his own mother whisper at her brother’s fortitude in the face of what he was dealing with; declaring to Xavier’s father that she wouldn’t be so brave in the same circumstances…
Now?
It seemed the façade of old was crumbling, and who could blame Philippe for it?
He’d been on the throne for thirty-eight years. That was a long time to live with constant threats, and Veronia, more than most nations with royal families, had dealt with the repercussions of those threats.
No other royals in Europe had been abducted successfully by extremists. It was why, after the kidnapping, Veronian security had been overhauled to such an extent that they’d had to fill in a lot of positions with foreign workers.
“Where’s her office?” he asked George.
“It’s close to the private area but near Mother’s sitting room.”
“The Chinese suite?”
George nodded, and as a trio, they stormed out of the private area, down a set of stairs that were lined with some of the best pre-Raphaelite works of art outside of a museum and toward the administrative area where Marianne dealt with matters of state.
That Perry had been given the Chinese suite spoke of how well George’s opinion was respected. He’d suggested Perry for the job, and his parents had concurred that she could be of some use to the nation. By putting her in an office close to the Queen, it was another nod of respect to the woman who was probably clueless about how she’d been honored.
He liked that about her though.
She wasn’t used to dealing with all the BS of protocol, and it didn’t bother her.
When they reached the suite, he knocked on the door to warn her they were coming in—just in case—and opened up without waiting for a reply.
His delay wasn’t necessary; the couple in the office weren’t doing anything dirty, but the three of them had definitely interrupted something major.
The intensity in the air was almost palpable… he just wasn’t certain if Uncle Philippe noticed in his relief at seeing his son, safe and sound.
“Thank God!” he whispered in Veronian, then strode deeper into the room. When he approached Edward, he hesitated, and Xavier sensed his uncle’s uncertainty.
Undoubtedly, he wanted to hug his son like there was no tomorrow. But Edward was in the dark and didn’t understand.
His cousin frowned up at his father. “What’s wrong?”
Philippe closed his eyes, and his relief was almost as palpable as whatever they’d disturbed in the office. “I thought you’d been kidnapped.”
Edward jolted, his reaction so intense he jumped to his feet. “What?”
Perry sat upright, and Xavier caught her eye and shook his head, silently asking her to stay quiet.
If she made so much as another move to grab his uncle’s attention, they’d take this elsewhere, and Perry needed to know exactly what was happening if she was to make an informed decision about her future.
Whatever they’d broken up in here, Xavier was no dummy… it had been pertinent to their relationship. The way they wanted it to manifest, or not to as the case may be. She nodded slightly, telling him she’d received his barely there message.
“Why would you think I’d been kidnapped?” Edward demanded hoarsely.
“Do you remember I told you about the two groups of UnReals?”
Edward nodded, but he looked dazed, and Xavier couldn’t blame him.
That time, after the abduction, was long ago. But worse than that, the distress had made his memories hazy.
All he could truthfully remember about that period was his terror at the prospect of never seeing his cousins again, but also, his horror at being the next in line to the throne.
He’d been a child, not ready for such responsibility and it shamed the adult in him to admit that he’d probably been more relieved for himself than his cousins when they’d been returned alive, shaken, but otherwise healthy.
“Yes,” Edward was saying, breaking into Xavier’s thoughts. “I remember. A militant faction and a more peaceful one.”
Philippe nodded. “The militant faction divided a month ago. I just received intel on this update. Our police found a site where they’re training recruits and also planning some kind of terror attack at Parliament.”
Edward raised a hand and wiped at his mouth. Rather than drop his hand, he tugged at his lips as he fell back against the sofa.
“On the opening ceremony?” he questioned, mentioning the event that saw Parliament start up again after summer break, then hissed when Philippe nodded. “Bastards.”
The King grimaced. “Understatement. But it makes sense. That’s when Parliament House is at its most full.” He grunted. “There were also plans of…”
Edward gritted his teeth. “I can imagine. Another abduction plot.”
Philippe nodded. “And it was as we suspected… there is a mole in the castle. They have information that could be from no other source than a guard or someone in security who works here.”
George hissed. “We have a leak?”
“There can be no other reason as
to why they’d have the codes they do, the intel they have on our exit strategies and safe rooms.” The King’s hands curled into fists. “That is why I was so scared. Some UnReals escaped the raid; they’d been spotted in the capital. I feared…”
Edward reached over and clapped his father on the arm. But Philippe grabbed him, hauled him upright, and held him in an embrace that made even Xavier’s throat thick.
He’d always known his uncle loved his family; truly loved. Not an ounce of duty marring that affection—why else would he have let George have free reign in the US? But to see his horror and relief mingling as he embraced his son warmed Xavier’s heart, and when he looked over at Perry, knew she felt the same.
The fear was there. The news the King had imparted couldn’t be more divisive—they’d caught some UnReals in the raid, but more were missing and they were desperate.
Desperate men were willing to go to lengths others weren’t. That meant they were all in danger. And by association, Perry would be too.
Especially if she agreed to become Edward’s girlfriend.
Chapter Fifteen
When Philippe appeared in her office, he looked shaken and frail.
Perry was stunned to note the difference between the usually vital man and the one who’d entered her office looking scared. The brothers were no different, nor was Xavier. They were all affected by the news, and all of them turned to look at her save for Edward who was staring at the floor.
He seemed as frozen as Philippe, and who could blame him?
He was in danger. Again.
Her fingers curled in on themselves, her nails biting into the fleshy pads of her palms as outrage swept through her at his despondency.
Xavier had told her about the brothers’ abduction. Had told her how it had changed both boys forever.
“Were the UnReals the guys who…”
Xavier caught her glance. “Yeah.” His voice was rough with remembered misery, and she hated herself for having stirred that to life with her question.
The UnReals? What kind of fucking name was that anyway?
Perry and Her Princes Page 17
