by Vivian Wood
Good enough.
Maybe it’s just being here, having pretty young girls pushed into my arms at the beginning of each set of songs. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re only days away from the anniversary of Asher’s death. Maybe it’s the fact that Asher’s fiancée is here, and I’ve watched her being coerced into flirting and dancing… just as I am.
Watching her is like seeing a strange, sad mirror of myself.
It’s all just so fucking forced and fake, and I’m so sick of it. But I’ve painted myself into this corner, made my own bed, and there seems to be no way to return. No path to redemption that also leaves me… whole. Human. Happy.
My regret is as bitter as bile in the back of my throat.
Mostly I’m here to meet women that my family deems appropriate, but also to impress the relatives. My grandparents aren’t in attendance, but every other member of the royal bloodline has turned up, and suddenly they are all intensely curious about my life.
To see if I’m still a fuck-up, I suppose. If I’m a worthless waste of space, it would make everyone else feel better about their own children. Spoiled junkies turned art gallery owners, twenty-something trust fund yachting enthusiasts, simpering faceless girls who can’t seem to be interesting for long enough to please mum and dad by getting married and knocked up.
And these are my peers, for god’s sake. A depressing thought.
I see Kit here and there throughout the night, always in someone else’s arms. Notably I see Bram twirling her around for several songs, a stupid grin on his face the whole time.
Though I’m sure it’s perfectly innocent, I tense as I fill with rage.
How dare he even dance with her? I’ll have his head for this.
Bram’s the only one who knows about what Kit was to me back then. He’s the only one with absolutely no excuse for being anything but cordial toward her.
“I always thought you’d be more… suave.”
“Sorry?” I arch a brow and look down at the girl standing next to me, sipping punch.
“My mum keeps saying you’re the most eligible bachelor in Courtland,” she says with a sigh. “You and Bramford, that is. Can’t say that either of you lives up to her esteem, in my opinion.”
“Sorry, what’s your name?” I ask.
Her mouth pulls down at the corners.
“Isobel.”
“Got a last name?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“Mercier.”
I look her up and down. Her mask is hanging around her neck, showing her heart-shaped face. She has huge blue eyes, almost startling in their azure clarity.
She’s actually very beautiful, with her long dark hair and modest white gown. Young, though; she can’t be a day over nineteen.
Her surname rings a bell, though I can’t say quite why. I have a feeling it’s from the gossip mill, which means the tidbit of info floating around in the back of my brain probably isn’t very nice… or interesting to me.
“Well, Isobel Mercier. I’m not exactly looking to couple up, and I very much doubt that Bram is either.”
There’s a flash of something in her eyes, and I realize she’s got it bad for Bram. I’m just the bloke she’s stuck talking to at a party.
“Stick to guys your own age,” I sigh. “Bram’s a bad bet all around, I’m afraid.”
Her chin comes up and she sniffs.
“You don’t seem like the right one to be giving advice,” she huffs, turning on her heel and fleeing.
I watch her for a moment, then shake my head. I have enough difficult women in my life right now, all things considered. Lady Isobel will have to find someone else to worry about her.
A fast-moving song ends. People applaud the band, and the dance floor clears for a few moments while they take a quick break. Across the room, I spot Kit.
She’s forcing a smile that’s turning to grimace as she sips a glass of champagne, trying to politely ignore her companion. Lord Jareck Rushton is standing so close to her that he’s stepping on the hem of her gown, which she keeps trying to pull from under his shiny dress shoes.
I scowl at Jareck, a school chum of ours. Under that custom-made tux is the same gawky, nerdy ginger we knew back then. Except now he’s come into a barony, and he’s conceited to the point of being insufferable.
And now he’s practically breathing down the low-cut front of Kit’s ball gown, he’s eyeballing her cleavage so hard.
Suddenly, my patience with the night’s festivities is simply gone. I down the last sip of brandy in my glass and ditch it, then stalk across the room toward Kit. Her eyes widen when she sees me approaching, as well they should.
I have just enough liquor warming my blood to make me forget to be cautious, to care what all these people think of me. And Kit? If I’m a rising tsunami, she’s about to get pulled into the dark depths of my undertow.
I’m not worried what song is on as the band begins to play again. I’m not worried who’s watching us. I’m not worried about my dad or Kit’s mum, or my grandparents and their endless list of biddable, eligible girls.
All I can see right now is the blood red tint of Kit’s lipstick, the curve of her hip, the arch of her foot in those towering heels. The way her eyes go dark when I slip my arm around her waist, pressing my hand dangerously low on her back as I guide her out onto the dance floor.
“Rex, this is a bad idea,” she whispers.
I don’t listen, of course.
I turn and pull her against me, pressing us hip to hip. Or nearly; even in her heels, Kit is impossibly tiny in my arms; tiny and fragile.
I can’t explain why that turns me on so much. Then again, everything about her turns me on.
We begin to move to the beat of the song. Thankfully, this is a nice slow one, so we sway together as we stare into each other’s eyes. I’m holding her too close, really. I can smell her shampoo, floral and sweet. I can feel the heat of her body through my tux, the brush of her full breasts against my chest.
I’m thinking about the other night, of how fucking gorgeous she was in my bed. Chest heaving, face flushed, gripping the sheets. Hips rocking in time with the swirl of my tongue as I fucked her the only way she’d let me.
And then, when she came…
“Quit,” she whispers, blushing as I press my thick erection against her belly. “You’re being so bad right now. I can see your dirty thoughts, they’re written all over your face.”
“Just wondering what I’d have to do to get you to let me fuck you properly,” I say.
She goes from pink to red, and she scowls at me.
“Stop.”
“No, really. What do I have to do? Should I get tested and bring you the results, or something?” I ask, keeping my tone conversational. “Or does it need to be more romantic, I wonder? Roses and the whole lot?”
Her gaze narrows.
“We can’t do that.”
“Why not?” I ask. “How is that any different from me making you come with my mouth, my fingers?”
She glances around like she’s scandalized. “Keep your voice down.”
“Answer my question, Kitten. What is it, precisely, that is keeping you from doing what you’ve done dozens of times before?”
She glances at me, then glances away.
“Our parents are getting married, in case you didn’t remember.”
“Don’t play that card. You don’t care about that.”
“Maybe I do!” she argues.
“It’s a waste of time, you trying to lie to me. I can read you like a fucking comic book, Kitten.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“See,” I say, like she hasn’t interrupted, “I seem to remember you quite enjoying yourself in my bed before. In fact, you enjoyed yourself multiple times in one go, every time you were with me.”
“Jesus, Rex,” she says, shaking her head. “Not everything is about sex, you know?”
“Isn’t it, though?”
“So… it’s not our parents. It’s not me,
because you know I’m clean. RAF tests every few months.” I pause. “It’s not romance you want, apparently. What is it? I’m really quite desperate to know, Kitty.”
She shoves me back a few inches, bringing our dance to an end. She leans in and hisses, “There are consequences to our actions, Rex. You just jump around from one thing to the next, no fucking regard to the wreckage you leave all around you. It must be nice to live that kind of charmed life, Prince Magnum.”
I reach for her, but she whirls and flees the ballroom.
It’s only then I realize that dozens of pairs of eyes are watching my every move, have probably watched me tease and grind on my stepsister-to-be.
Is that what she means by consequences?
I admit, I’m completely baffled. There’s this dark side to Kit, some old wound that’s never healed, and I wish like hell that she’d just tell me…
I don’t even know what it could possibly be, but it’s starting to make waves in the pond. Those waves are growing and growing, and if we don’t figure something out, our little rowboat is going to capsize.
Unless we stick together, I have the feeling that we’re both going to drown.
I don’t see Kit again at the ball, or back at my flat. I stay up late, half-waiting for her, but she doesn’t show. Eventually I collapse in my bed, conscious of the stench of whiskey on my breath.
I open my eyes as dawn is about to break.
Why am I awake? I’m not exactly the lightest of sleepers.
That’s when I hear the voices, Kit and a man. They’re arguing, and they’re not being very quiet about it either.
I pull on a shirt and some sweatpants and head into the living room. In the foyer, Kit and Charles are absolutely having it out. So loudly and intensely that they don’t even notice me.
I press the security button just outside my bedroom, anticipating the need to get this asshole off my damn property. I move toward them slowly, shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation. I stop and stand behind the wall that separates the foyer from the living room. I can see and hear them, they can’t see me unless they really look for me.
“I don’t care what you have to do, Katherine,” Charles warns. “I want what you promised me, or I’m telling Rex and your parents everything. Is it worth throwing your life away?”
“I told you, I can’t just casually call them up and start demanding things,” Kit snaps. “Someone’s going to wonder where it’s going. The lawyers will ask questions.”
“Then you’d better come up with a good lie. Otherwise, everyone is going to know about—”
Just when I’m about to step out into their line of sight and roust Charles from the flat, Kit actually slaps him. Hard, right across the mouth.
“Shut the fuck up,” she cries. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me, you fucking traitor! If you’d just kept it in your pants—”
“I’ve done that for five years, Katherine,” Charles growls. “It’s not my fault that Prince Charming made you a frigid bitch, is it?”
Kit raises her hand, ready to slap him again, and Charles raises his fist.
Before I realize it, I’ve got Charles up against the wall, my arm across his throat.
“Don’t you ever raise your hand to her, you stupid fuck,” I grit out. “I don’t know what you’re holding over her head, but I would be happy to kill you and solve all her problems.”
Charles struggles weakly against me, his expression wild and furious.
“You… don’t… even… know…” he tries.
The elevator dings, and three dark-suited security agents step into the flat.
“Your highness, is there a problem?” one of them asks.
“You’re god damned right,” I say.
I step back, releasing Charles. Then I grab him by the collar and drag him toward the guards.
“You can’t do this!” he says as two of them grab him by the arms. “I’ll ruin her, I swear I will!”
“Stop,” I tell the guards. I move to stand squarely before Charles. “Don’t threaten her, asshole. If I asked them to, these three would take you downstairs and make sure you’re never seen again. Is that what you want?”
Charles just glares at me.
“Fucking thought not. I don’t know what you’re holding over her, but I don’t want to hear from you again. If I find out you contacted her—”
“She’s not the only one whose reputation is on the line here. You think your hands are clean?” Charles hisses. “You’re in bigger shit than she is, your highness.”
I can’t resist. I punch him, right in the fucking jaw, and he topples like a rag doll. He’s out like a fucking light, from just the one punch. Predictable.
“Get him out of here,” I say, shaking my hand out.
The security guards drag him off, and I turn to find Kit standing behind me. She trembling and crying now, her eyes wide with something close to terror.
“Shit, come here,” I say. I reach for her, but she just shakes her head and backs away.
“Stay away. Don’t touch me,” she says.
What? What the hell is that about?
But she’s already half-sprinting for her bedroom. I hear the door slam, and then I’m left alone, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.
There’s a secret, and it seems it’s not just Kit’s…
Tomorrow, Lady Katherine and I are going to have one hell of a conversation.
11
Rex
“There you are,” I say when Kit finally emerges from her room the next day, moving like a woman on a mission. “We need to talk.”
I set aside the sheaf of investment documents that I’ve been poring over and turn my full attention to Kit instead.
She pauses, halfway to the front door. Then she turns and looks at me, and I’m taken aback. Her eyes are nose are red and swollen. Her cheeks are flushed. It’s obvious that she’s been crying.
On top of that, her usual pulled-together grace is gone. She’s wearing an oversized striped sweater and leggings, her hair in a bedraggled ponytail. Personally, she can walk about in a paper bag if she wants, but Kit’s usually so hyper-conscious about that kind of thing.
“I need you to drive me somewhere,” she says, her voice hoarse.
She’s clutching her purse for dear life, and I can see the edge of a white envelope sticking out of it.
“Yeah, all right,” I say. “Where?”
“Allsley’s End,” she says. A slummy part of town, all strip clubs and sailor bars. Somewhere a girl like Kit certainly has no business going.
“What? Why?” I ask, standing.
She looks so exhausted and miserable, I almost walk over and put my arms around her. Except I think about her reaction last night, about her cryptic accusations, and I hold myself back instead.
“Is there any chance we can do this without you asking me any questions?” she says, pressing her fingertips to her temple. “If not, I’ll take a cab instead. I just don’t want to involve an outsider if I can help it.”
I blow out a breath and tuck my dress shirt back into my slacks. I’ve already been to the office today, while Kit was hiding out in her room.
“Fine,” I agree. “But only because you seem like you’re about to fall apart or something.”
She doesn’t say anything.
I grab my keys and get my shoes on, then lead her downstairs to the car. Kit’s just silent, unyielding. I can feel her hurting, but she doesn’t seem interested in divulging her secrets.
Has that ever stopped me, though?
“I wish you’d talk to me,” I say when we’re halfway to Allsley’s End and she still hasn’t uttered a peep.
Kit looks at me.
“I can’t,” she says, then looks away.
“What do you mean, you can’t?” I ask.
I can see a flash of ugly humor on her face.
“Because. I’m selfish. I don’t want anyone to know. And…” she pauses, shaking her head. “Becaus
e I like the way we’ve been getting along, lately.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I ask, baffled.
“It means, Prince Alasdair, that if I tell you, you won’t feel the same way about me. I know that there can’t be anything real between us, but I’ve enjoyed… whatever has been. This secret…” She sucks in a breath and blows it out. “If it comes out, I’ll have to go back to the States or something. My reputation will be so ruined that I’ll be radioactive. No one will stand with me.”
“I will.”
She looks at me, then shakes her head.
“You won’t. You don’t understand.”
“So make me understand,” I say, growing frustrated.
“I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
“Fine, then. I won’t. It’s my burden, so it’s my secret to keep. Take this right,” she says, pointing.
I follow her directions for a couple minutes, irritation roiling in my gut. We pull onto a block that’s dominated by a squat gray brick building, no windows and just one door that I can see. A flickering neon sign hangs over that lone door, and I start to get a bad feeling about it all.
“Here. Stop here,” she says. “I’m going right in and out, less than five minutes. Wait for me here.”
“The Pink Pony?” I ask, staring at the sign of the building she’s about to enter. “What kind of low rent fucking strip club are you going into, and why?”
Before she can answer, the drab aluminum door opens. And what do you know, out steps Charles, his collar turned up against the cooling evening weather.
“Jesus, Kit. Are you kidding with this?” I ask.
“Please, Rex. Please, please. Just stay here.”
She stares at me for a long moment until I sigh and lean back in my seat, the only sign of assent she’s going to get. Kit opens the door and jumps out of the car. I watch her go, curiosity eating at me.
She pulls the plain white envelope from her purse and hands it to Charles. He rips it open, gives her a skeptical look, then shoves it into an inner pocket of his coat.
Then he says something that makes Kit’s face crumple. He points a finger in her face, and she shakes her head and throws her hands up.
