by Vivian Wood
Hand on my lower back, Rex steers me out of the ballroom. In my peripheral vision, I can see that people are already starting to follow me into the hall.
Like people watching the princess run barefoot from the ball, all the bystanders are drawn to my tragedy like a moth to a flame.
“Katherine! Katherine, wait! Don’t—” Charles says, somewhere behind me. He goes quiet, but I can’t see what’s happening back there. Too busy putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to cry.
I suck in a breath and it hitches in my chest. I am genuinely about to go to pieces. Rex’s hand is warm and firm against my back, which somehow makes me feel even worse.
“Here, Kit,” Rex says, pulling me over to a door. He’s all steel command right now. Something he learned in military service, perhaps?
He opens the door and ushers me in, then closes it behind me. It’s some kind of storage room, filled with chairs and empty flower vases.
“Sit.” Rex pulls out a chair and puts me in it.
I drop the tablet onto my lap and press my hands to my eyes.
“Jesus, why is this happening to me?” I ask, my voice cracking.
I try to take deep breaths, try to calm down. The last thing I want in my life right now is to cry in front of Rex.
Rex blows out a breath of his own and sits down in the chair beside mine. We’re crushed together in the tiny closet, and he’s far too close to me. He produces a cigar and proceeds to light it, puffing thoughtfully.
“Rex, you can’t smoke in here,” I say, wrinkling my nose.
“I think I can,” he says with a shrug. “I am, in any case.”
Spoiled, privileged brat.
I roll my eyes, trying not to look at the tablet in my lap. Some part of me already knows what’s on it, and I’m not quite ready to confirm my fears yet.
“Take a deep breath. You need to collect yourself,” he says.
I glare at him.
“Why are you here? Why are you… helping me, or whatever?” I ask.
He hesitates a beat, then shrugs.
“We’re family now, aren’t we?”
I can’t hold back the shudder that accompanies that word, family.
I’ve done things with Rex that family members should not do together.
I get a flash of our time in upper forms. Me straddling Rex in a chair, my Cotillion gown pushed up around my hips, my hands gripping his shaggy hair as I cry out his name.
Yeah, stuff like that. I need to get my mind out of the damn gutter.
“This isn’t quite the reunion I imagined we’d have,” he says, kicking his feet up and sucking on the cigar, before blowing a series of smoke rings.
“What other kind could there be,” I say, shaking my head. “Flowers and champagne?”
Rex’s brows rise.
“You’re awfully bitter for having been the one to run away,” he says.
His tone and expression are utterly casual, like he couldn’t give less of a shit what we’re talking about, but he’s tense. Angry.
I’m not the only one who regrets the whole affair, then.
Good. I hope he suffered, even a little bit.
“So, your American,” Rex says. “Is he worth keeping around?”
I frown.
“What do you mean?”
“Like… is he giving you something worth the embarrassment he’s causing you now? Is he fucking you properly, at least?”
I’m pretty sure I couldn’t look more shocked and scandalized at once if I tried.
“Shut up,” I say, looking away to hide the heat in my cheeks.
“Seriously, though. You’re… you know, royal blood and not bad looking and all,” he says, waving his hand to indicate my whole person. “Is he giving you the right and proper fucking you deserve? You know, wild and crazy, up against a wall in the garden? Cum so hard you can’t see for a minute?”
“Jesus! No, we don’t even…” I start, flustered, then catch myself.
“Oh my god,” Rex says, a grin bursting across his face. “Oh my god, you don’t fuck him? Oh, Kitten.”
“Don’t fucking call me that. And I literally just found out that my… well, almost my fiancé, is cheating on me… Don’t you have any sense of propriety?” I hiss.
“Nope.” Rex leans back and blows more smoke rings.
“Stop, for god’s sake,” I say. “You’re going to ruin this dress.”
Rex huffs a laugh and leans back, putting the cigar out in one of the empty flower vases.
“Someone’s going to have to clean that, you know,” I snap.
“Yeah, but not you. I think you’ve enough to worry about,” he says, leaning forward. He reaches over and taps the tablet’s screen with a finger, his hand brushing mine as he moves.
I wish I could say that electric tingles didn’t slide up my arm at the mere touch of his skin against mine…
“Fuck,” I say, shaking my head.
“Just turn the screen on,” he says, sitting back again, looking bored.
I know he’s right, although he’s being quite an asshole about it.
Silence lapses, heavy and awkward. Someone knocks on the door, making me jump.
“Fuck off!” Rex shouts, briefly snapping into his commanding voice once more, and whoever it is obeys him.
When Rex wants to be obeyed, he makes people listen. He leaves behind Rex and takes of the mantle of HRH Alasdair Magnum Augustus Rex Westwood.
When we were younger, I used to tease him about going into Prince Mode. Eighteen year old Rex’s Prince Mode was a weak imitation of the man he’s become, though.
Now when he gives an order, he has authority written all over his face, stitched in his proud posture, the way he takes up all the space around him. And his voice. Deep and somber, his voice is nothing short of commanding.
I shiver.
“Are you going to look at it, Kitty?” he asks after a full minute.
“Don’t call me that,” I warn him.
I glance at him. I think he’s going to be amused, mocking me, but he’s deadly serious.
“This is bad,” I tell him.
He hesitates, then shrugs.
“Maybe Dianah’s lying, maybe she’s not. Either way, you have to know.”
Dianah, that’s it. I couldn’t quite remember, but I knew that she was a familiar face.
I press my lips into a thin line and nod, picking up the tablet. I press a button on the front to wake it up, and a freeze frame of a video comes up with a big blinking button in the middle.
Play? it prompts.
Heart in my throat, I tap the arrow.
There’s Dianah, in her full and naked glory. She’s sprawled on a bed, beckoning. After a second Charles steps into the shot, also naked. He kneels and crawls on top of her.
“Shit,” I say.
The camera angle changes, and I gasp.
“They’re in my bed,” I choke out, pointing at the screen. “Oh god, I just bought those sheets for our new apartment a week ago.”
We both watch in horrified silence for a second, then Rex takes the tablet from me.
“Kit, look at me,” he says.
When I don’t obey, he reaches out and lifts my chin with gentle fingers, until I’m staring up into those big blue eyes, unable to escape.
“I will deal with this,” he promises.
I laugh, a pathetic sound.
“How? What’s to be done?” I ask.
“Don’t worry about it,” he tells me.
The way he’s watching me, his eyes dark and intense, it’s too much. He’s too much, making things too intimate. This isn’t the easygoing, cocky Rex I know.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask, pulling away from him.
He has the nerve to look offended.
“I’m always nice to you, Kit,” he says.
I scoff, turning away to wipe at my eyes again. “That’s not true.”
Rex shrugs, looking impatient.
“Stay her
e,” he says. “I’ll have him put out, discreetly.”
“No reason to be discreet at this point,” I sigh.
Rex gives me a look, then stands and moves to the door.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he tells me. “We should talk about… well, we should talk.”
I stare at him, confounded by everything that’s happening.
Then he’s gone, the door closing behind him with a definitive click.
I fidget. I wait. I try to calm myself. This closet is protecting me from everything outside, but damn if it isn’t making me claustrophobic.
Where else would I go, though?
After an age, a knock sounds at the door.
“Kitty? It’s Marj.”
I drag myself to my feet and open the door. Marj takes one look at me and clicks her tongue.
“Come on, you. Alasdair is making a huge scene in the ballroom, so it’s time for you to make your exit out the back.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Where to?” I ask. “I live with that cheating asshole.”
“Not for long, judging by the tenor of the conversation in the ballroom,” Marj says. “I think Alasdair might have killed him if Prince Archie hadn’t stepped in.”
“Rex is taking this surprisingly to heart. Says it’s because we’re family now.” I wrinkle my nose. “Sounds like I missed some juicy drama. Too bad it’s surrounding me now.”
“Actually, almost everyone is gone. I think your mum and Archie sent people packing.”
“Well, that’s a relief, I guess.”
“Can you come out of the closet now?” Marj asks.
I sigh and nod. Marj takes my hand, and I smile at how easy the friendship between us can be, like slipping on a comfortable and beloved old sweater.
“Marj, where am I going to go? I’ll have to get a hotel,” I say, already daunted by the prospect of finding a change of clothes before I crash for the night.
“Are you mad? You’re staying with us, of course,” Marj says. “Jesus, Kit, you act like we’re perfect strangers.”
I flush.
“Sorry, Marj. I’m a little turned on my head,” I sigh.
“Don’t worry about it, we’ll get you fixed up. Right you are, down the back stairs with me,” Marj says.
As she leads me down to the back drive, I realize how glad I am to have Marj here. She’s got that classic Courtland attitude, grin and bear it, you’ll get through it, sort of vibe. It’s pushy and loud and maybe too practical for my situation, but it’s comforting in the extreme.
I guess that’s one more thing I’ve missed, living in the States.
“Lady Katherine,” Darian says, pulling the door open for me.
“This isn’t your side of the palace,” I say, my lips pulling up into a smile when I see him at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for us. “I assume you’ve already heard that I’m snared in scandal. Again.”
“Rules are meant to be broken, eh?” Darian says. “If you’d like, I can make sure your former flame meets a grisly end.”
He says it calmly, almost like it’s a joke, but I get the feeling that Darian is perfectly serious. Darian does have that ex-military thing about him; I wonder if he couldn’t just make Charles disappear without another word.
“Alas, I don’t think he’s worth a jail sentence. Thanks, though.”
Darian winks at me. A Bentley pulls up before us and Darian rushes to open the car door, ushering Marj and me inside.
“See you soon, ladies.”
We both wave goodbye, and then the door is shut and we’re pulling off.
“What a night,” I sigh.
“Right?” Marj says. “Bloody American chap, I’d string him up if I could.”
I reserve my judgement. Instead, I slink down in my seat and rest my head on Marjorie’s shoulder with a sigh.
“Will there be ice cream?” I ask, and she laughs.
“Anything you want, Kitty.”
Marj is always so easygoing, she makes my life better just for being in it.
If only I could say that of everyone in my life…
4
Rex
The King and Queen of Courtland are staring me down as I sit across the table from them, stuffed in an uncomfortably short chair. To most people, their twin scowls of disapproval would be enough to inspire terror, or at least awe.
To me, it’s just the same old lecture that my grandparents have been giving me half my life by now. As a fucking twenty-five year old man, I’ve long since given up on being able to please them; now I’ll settle for living through the long list of admonishments they are going to heap on me.
I recall some of the better scoldings, and their results:
Alasdair, you must attend university before you may serve in the military.
I did both, at the same time, and singularly excelled at each.
Alasdair, you must achieve higher goals in the Royal Air Force’s Elite Guard. You must be the best of the best, they all look up to you.
I did all that, left with the top honors, and continue to serve a month each year.
Alasdair, you need a career.
I became a Formula One driver, which of course they loathed.
Alasdair, you must have a real career and let people know you’re serious, that you’re repentant after… that unpleasant business.
So I founded the Asher Charity, which again my grandparents utterly despise, because it reminds them of my mistakes. It reminds me, too, but I think that can only be a good thing.
Alasdair, you need to settle down, find a respectable girl.
All right, I admit I’ve never even tried on that account. Desired heir aside, I’ve given them everything they ever asked for, jumped through every hoop.
After the accident, I finally grew up a little bit, came into my own as a man, and realized that I needed to start doing things for myself. Living my life, experiencing everything I could — while making a positive contribution to the world, instead of wasting my days getting high and wishing that Asher was still alive.
Grandmother straightens in her seat and clears her throat. She’s going to try to play good cop, I can tell.
My grandfather is going to be the bad cop; he’s always the bad cop. Even with his hair gone to silver, when he’s scolding me he still looks just the same as he did when I was a little kid.
It’s nothing short of funny now, since I tower over him by several inches and at least fifty pounds; I’m always given the lowest seat in the room, to make sure everyone knows that my grandfather has all the power.
My grandmother clears her throat, brushing off the skirt of her tasteful pink dress suit. Even this evening, when they’re only receiving close family, she’s coiffed and dressed like a portrait of herself.
“Alasdair, darling. Your grandfather is quite upset about the amount of attention you’ve received in the press recently,” she says.
No fucking shit.
My grandmother beckons to the footman hovering by the door, who produces a pile of glossy tabloid papers. She takes them and lays them down one by one on the table in front of me, letting me get a good look at each.
For my convenience, someone has thought to put them in fucking order of publication date, so it’s like she’s replaying the last few years of my life for me:
Prince ‘Magnum’ Westwood Hits the Club Scene Harder Than Most
Zoom! Magnum Risks Life in the Formula One Fast Lane
ORGY?? Prince Magnum Leaves Club with A Dozen Pretty Ladies
On Again? Prince Magnum and Model Alessia Pearson
Bad Prince!! Magnum Caught Smoking More Than Just Tobacco
Breakup Blues: Prince Magnum Dumps Model GF… Or Does He??
Princess Camille to Prince Magnum: You’re Partying Too Hard!!
Fiery Crash, Magnum Walks Away Unscathed, Tells Family to ‘Stuff It’
Royal Intervention: King Tells Magnum ‘Slow Down!’
Magnum in Fatal Car Crash — Best Friend Foun
d Dead At Scene
‘I Won’t Quit’: Magnum Unrepentant, Plans To Continue Racing
There are more, but I put up a hand to stop her.
“I get the idea,” I say.
“Don’t be disrespectful,” my grandfather growls, shoving to his feet. “We’ve had quite enough of your attitude and behavior.”
“I’ve changed since that night. Hugely,” I say, keeping my voice calm.
“Not in any ways that matter,” the King tells me. “You know what we expect from you, Alasdair.”
“He means a grandchild, darling,” my grandmother says, though I had no doubt what he meant. “An heir. You can’t just dash around, putting yourself in danger, when you don’t have an heir!”
“Which means,” my grandfather cuts in, “No more running around, flaunting yourself in the press. If I see another photo of you on a yacht with some foreign supermodel, I will cut off your stipend.”
I try not to sigh. I have no wish to be cut off, of course, but I also have quite a bit of my own money by now. I invested my Royal Air Force pay well, and banked everything I made from racing Formula One.
Not that I’m going to point that out just now. Just like I won’t point out that I haven’t been in the tabloids in nearly half a year. Or that I’ve let most of my shitty friends slide, or that I’m doing real and meaningful work now.
They don’t care about any of that, and I know it well enough.
Grandfather is two seconds from frothing at the mouth, and I don’t want to be the one who gives him an aneurysm. Especially not before he can achieve his ultimate dream of finding a good reason to disinherit me.
“You’re fourth in line to the throne, Alasdair,” my grandmother says.
“I couldn’t possibly forget, ma’am,” I say, keeping my tone light.
Her eyes narrow; now I’ve annoyed her, as well.
Excellent work, asshole, I chide myself.
“I am going to have my secretary send you a list of names,” she said.
“Names?” I ask.
“Appropriate single women of noble birth,” she says. “You’re too high up in the line of inheritance to just marry… whomever.”
