“Explain.”
“We have four hundred and fifty seats in Parliament.”
“Yes, I took civics, but thank you for the math lesson. There are seventy-five seats in the House of Lords for the aristocracy and three hundred and seventy-five seats in the House of Commons. Currently, one hundred and seventy-four seats are held by the conservative party, and one hundred and sixty-eight seats are held by the progressives, leaving thirty-three seats held by independents. Am I about right?”
“Exactly right,” he said with a half smile. “In this election, there are roughly ninety-seven seats up for election, fifty-one of which are conservative, and the other forty-six are progressive. There are no independent seats on the ballot.”
“And that’s odd because…” After the slew of independents elected in the election two years ago, it didn’t surprise me that those seats weren’t up yet.
“Because these are the applications for candidates. All two hundred and ninety-one of them.”
“Huh. So we have an equal number of progressives, conservatives, and independents running this time. That’s a new trend.”
He shook his head. “This stack,” he dropped one on the table. “Are your conservatives.”
“This stack,” he dropped another, “are your progressives.”
“And this stack,” he dropped one straight in front of me. “Is full of ninety-seven candidates that each wrote in the name of their party.”
Apprehension slid up my spine, cold and chilling.
“Which would be?”
“Anti-Monarchist.”
Holy. Shit.
“They’re coming for me, and they’re not even hiding,” I said, scanning the names. Was our death-threat maker in this stack?
“There’s more.”
“Oh, good. I’d hate for there not to be an abundance of bad news.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Oliver speak into his headset, then glance up at me. He swiftly left the room, while Ian slid in, taking his place.
“We received notification that at least twelve of the independents in the House of Commons are changing their party affiliation to Anti-Monarchist.”
Well wasn’t this day just getting better and better.
“I’m going to need a list of those names. Immediately.”
“Jameson, there’s a rumor that the rest of the independents are turning as well, but we can’t know for sure until it happens.”
“Thirty-Three of them.”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.” I ran my fingers through my hair and did the math. “If the Anti-monarchists all win the seats, and the independents change over, they’ll have a hundred and thirty-three seats.”
“A possible majority.”
I sucked in my breath. I wasn’t even on the fucking throne yet, and it was possible that I could lose it. My father’s legacy. My family’s dynasty.
There was zero chance in hell I was going to let that happen.
“We need to get every independent in here and figure out what the fuck is going on. Do it in the next two days, Damian. Before the coronation.”
Oliver walked back in. He was pale. Oliver never paled.
“What is it?”
He glanced at Damian.
“As long as you’re not carrying naked pictures of my sister, he can see.”
Oliver opened another envelope.
“These arrived about ten minutes ago.”
“Just after you did,” I said to Damian.
“It’s not a coincidence. Someone wants you to see them, Mr. Prime Minister.”
“Then let’s see them,” Damian answered.
Oliver dropped six pictures and stepped back, swallowing.
Sophie at the Children’s hospital.
Brie at lunch with her friends.
Willa at a signing, Xander by her side.
My mother at a Veteran’s ceremony.
“Damn it.”
Charlotte walking down the beach at her parent’s house. God, by marrying her, I’d put a target on her back. What the hell had I done?
“What the fuck is this?” Damian shouted. The picture he held was of Delaney on the playground at what I guessed was her school.
Every single picture was taken close up, within feet of the girls we loved.
“There was this, as well,” Oliver said, dropping a final card onto the pile and opening it. On one side was the royal appearance schedule that was kept secret. On the other, a message.
Closer still.
Dissolve the Monarchy before the coronation,
Or you’ll be short one attendee,
And all of Elleston will pay for your pride.
“Double the security on the women. Lock them inside the fucking palace walls if you have to. Cancel every royal appearance until the coronation, and send someone to get Damian’s daughter immediately.” I barked orders.
Damian was already on the phone, barking some of his own.
“And Oliver?”
“Sir?”
“Not a word to the women. Not until we nail these bastards to the fucking wall.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Charlotte
“This is a rare treat,” I said, reaching for Jaime’s hand across the small café table.
“I’ve been told marriage is about the little things,” he said, taking a sip of his straight espresso. “Just because we’re about to officially be crowned King and Queen in two days doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy a casual breakfast at my queen’s favorite café.”
I glanced around at the no more than fifteen security guards surrounding the perimeter, and those were just the ones I could actually see. Oliver and Ian sat stationed at a table right next to us, drinking tea. Ian scarfed down a scone like it was any other breakfast. Like there wasn’t a constant threat on our lives whenever we set foot outside the protection of the palace walls.
Oliver never even looked down to take a drink, he’d simply bring the cup to his lips and continue to scan the area with those gorgeous, hawk-like eyes. He was methodical and intelligent and could pass for a freaking stunt double for that green superhero show Brie loved from America—it was little wonder Sophie couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. I sighed, glancing at Ian’s almost aloofness to our outing, and suddenly wished he’d take more cues from Oliver.
“Totally casual,” I said, bringing my focus back to the man who couldn’t help but take my breath away. I was still wondering how I managed to wrangle my entire life into one perfect dream.
Jaime set his cup down, it clinking against its delicate plate setting, and he smoothed his hands over mine. “I will continue to date you no matter how many guards we have to take with us. I will continue to love you and seduce you for as long as I have breath in my lungs, Charlie. It doesn’t matter the setting, the lack of privacy we have…I would never keep you locked in a cage because of the roles we have to play.”
I tensed my muscles to keep from melting on the chair right there in front of him. God, I loved this man.
I shook my head, swallowing back the heart that was in my throat.
“What?” He asked, flashing me that signature smirk as he dropped one hand beneath the table to rest it on my knee.
I shrugged. “I’m just waiting for the shoe to drop,” I admitted.
“There isn’t one,” he said, almost a growl.
“This is all just so perfect,” I said, sighing as his hand made slow circles from my knee to my thigh and back again. I lowered my voice to a whisper, glancing at him. “Am I terrible for being terrified of losing it? This happiness we’ve fallen into?”
He kissed my lips, a gentle, slow-burn kiss that wouldn’t send the paparazzi standing just outside our security detail into a frenzy. “We’ve spent years pushing each other away because of…” he sighed. “I think we’ve done our time, Charlie. We deserve this. You deserve happiness, and I’m going to do everything in my power to give it to you every single day.”
“Same,” I said, grinn
ing and pushing back the pessimist feelings.
“And you know,” he said, eyeing me. “I do have some power.”
I chuckled and flashed him a challenging look. “As do I.”
He laughed, the sound sliding over my skin and wrapping me in a warm blanket. “No one more than you,” he said, taking another drink of espresso while I reached for my peppermint tea.
Oliver bolted out of his seat, the motion so graceful and stealthy I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t seen him move—he was that quiet.
“Stop!”
“Hold it!”
“Get back!”
The other security details were much less stealthy as they held back a young woman with red hair and mascara running down her cheeks. She shoved one of the guards out of the way, pointing at Jaime.
“You let me by, Jameson!” she screamed. “You tell them who I am!”
I snapped my eyes to Jaime, who’d frozen solid watching the scene. He blinked, and a jolt of recognition made that muscle in his jaw tick. A heavy sigh and he waved at the guards.
“Let her by,” he commanded, and though he’d said as much, Oliver kept his hand on the woman’s elbow as she stomped toward our table.
“Jamie,” I hissed under my breath, not daring for anyone else to hear. “Explain?”
He flashed me an apologetic look, and my chest tightened. “Later.”
“You bastard,” the woman said once she and Oliver reached our table. My hackles rose, and I was instantly standing in front of him where he’d stayed seated.
I summoned all the graceful training I’d been raised with, and took a steadying breath even though my fingers shook. “I’m not sure what this business entails,” I said, glancing past her and beyond our guards to see the paparazzi frantic with clicking as if someone had just thrown a bucket of chum into an ocean filled with sharks. “But whatever the matter, we’ll discuss it inside.” One look at Oliver and he nodded, gently ushering her through the café doors. I’d never been so grateful the owner had shut it down for our breakfast.
Jaime stood behind me, his face a mask of calm, but his eyes were confused, and a bit regretful. He buttoned his suit jacket as I eyed him, and walked ahead into the café. Jaime shut the door behind him, and there was a moment of weighted silence while I held my breath.
“Trinity,” Jaime said as if he’d just recalled her name.
She jerked her arm out of Oliver’s grasp, her stilettos clicking against the floor as she shuffled her feet next to the massive guard. “Oh, you do remember me,” she snapped.
I bristled, drawing closer to Jaime’s side. The man had a past. I’d known that. I’d witnessed his playboy ways for years, but this was the first time I’d ever been present for the repercussions.
Poor girl, she likely had hopes of becoming his, even as misguided as that might’ve been. I know Jaime would’ve never implied as much, and I knew he’d always operated under the strict no-relationship rules his entire single life. But…he was an easy man to fall head over heels in love with. Or obsessed with.
The girl likely needed closure. Well, we’d need to get this over with.
“Please,” I said when the two men in the room seemed to have frozen in terror at the sight of the crazed woman. “Tell us what we can do for you.”
Her raccoon eyes darted to me, a look of pure hatred seeping through the thick rims of black. She snorted; the laugh this side of hysterical as she wiped tears off her cheeks. “You can’t do anything,” she snapped, rolling her eyes. “He’s the one. He’s ruined everything. And now he has to pay.” She reached into her jacket pocket, the one that barely covered the tight dress she wore.
One second I could see her, the next the huge wall that was Oliver was standing in front of her, pinning her hands to her sides.
“What the hell?” She screamed. “Get your hands off me.”
“Calm yourself,” Oliver said, his calm demeanor no less demanding than my King.
She stilled as Jaime approached her, reaching into the pocket that she’d almost gotten into. I clenched my hands into fists, unable to prevent the reaction as she flashed her eyes up to him, seductively. There was a familiarity there, and though I’d assumed as much, it was much more painful actually seeing it confirmed before my eyes. She knew Jaime. Well.
“Oliver,” Jaime said, pulling a square piece of paper out of her pocket.
Oliver released the woman but still stayed closer to Jaime’s side than even I had been.
“What the hell is this, Trinity?” Jaime asked, and I tried to be the royal I was and not roll my eyes at her name. I would not judge this woman out of jealousy. I wouldn’t.
“That,” she said, snatching the paper from his hands and smacking it hard against his chest. “Is yours.” Once. “Asshole.” Twice. The third attempted was stopped by Oliver’s hand gripping her wrist again. Jaime retook the paper, shaking his head.
My blood ran cold at the way she’d said yours.
A steel chain pulled me toward the three of them huddled there, the tension so thick I felt like I had to shove my way through it. I plucked the paper from Jaime’s hands, realizing it wasn’t a paper at all.
It was a photograph.
More importantly, it was a sonogram.
“Impossible,” Jaime said, scoffing. “Charlie—”
I raised my finger, stopping him as he turned toward me. I couldn’t make anything out of the swirls of black and gray and white, but somehow the nothing image had the power to make my blood run cold.
“That’s right,” Trinity said, once again jerking her wrist out of Oliver’s grasp. “He married the wrong woman,” she hissed. I cut an ice-cold look to her, and she flinched. A breath and her fear was gone; her chin tipped upward as she surmised me. “Doesn’t look like a prim and proper chick like you could handle a man like Jameson, anyway,” she said, shaking her head. “Bet he married you for the papers, and would come rushing back to me at night to give him what you could never—”
I stepped into her airspace, our noses nearly touching. Jaime’s hands were on my shoulders, Oliver’s at my shaking hands. “Enough,” I said, and the men released me. My entire body trembled with adrenaline, but I never lost her calculating gaze. I didn’t need to say anything, I could tell by the cowering look in her eyes she’d read me clearly.
I took a step back, then another, tugging out of Jaime’s grasp as he continued to try to stop me.
“Charlie, it isn’t true. I swear—”
“Don’t,” I whispered when he’d stopped me at the door. “I will not do this here. She wants a scene, and I will not give that woman the satisfaction.”
“But you need to know—”
“Don’t,” I said again, closing my eyes against the tears that made him glitter. That picture kept flashing in my head, each time breaking my heart just a little bit more. He’d promised me he was always safe with his previous conquests. Promised he took extra precautions so things like this would never happen. And I’d believed him. Believed that I would be the woman to bear his children…our children. And now…now the first real mother of his child was a fucking woman named Trinity.
Not her fault.
No, but she was still a vindictive bitch who’d dared to say you wouldn’t live up to Jaime’s needs.
She’d robbed me of a moment in time, one that I was supposed to own now that I’d become Jaime’s and he’d become mine, and I just couldn’t take the pain. Not here. Not in such a public venue.
I choked back the tears, and I finally glanced up at him. “I won’t do this here, Jameson.” He flinched from the use of his full name.
“Charlie,” he said, his voice a broken whisper as I walked out the door.
Ian jolted out of his relaxed position in his chair, his plate free of even a crumb of scone. I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Take me home. Now.”
Jameson
The door slammed behind me, leaving Trinity and I alone in an empty sitting room in the palace. Her eyes roamed over th
e decor, the priceless art, the carefully maintained antiques, her gaze openly appraising and no doubt ticking up the sticker prices in her head.
That baby wasn’t mine. No fucking way.
The only woman I’d been inside of bare was Charlotte, which meant this conception would have to have been immaculate, and Trinity was no Virgin Mary.
“Explain,” I ordered, leaning back against the closed door and crossing my arms over my chest.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said, running her hand along the back of a settee. “Why didn’t you ever bring me here?”
“Probably because you were a vacation fuck who was never supposed to leave that resort.”
Her smile reminded me of a dog baring its teeth.
“Well, none of that matters now, does it?”
“That baby isn’t mine.”
“Are you so very sure?” She leaned over, giving me an eye-full of the curves I’d already seen multiple times.
“I’m certain.”
“But how certain could you possibly be?”
“Enough to tell you to get the fuck out and never come back.”
“But what if I carry the heir?” Her eyes flew wide in mockery.
“You don’t.” My jaw muscle started to tick.
She crossed the room, her hips swaying, and she dropped her jacket, leaving it to fall haphazardly on the floor. The curve of her belly was apparent, only affirming what I already knew. That kid wasn’t mine.
“You can have it all, you know,” she said, coming so close I was drowning in her overbearing perfume. “An heir already on the way, a centerfold Queen, and a fire in your bed every night. I know exactly how you like it, and I can tell you the frigid ice princess you hitched yourself to isn’t going to get you there.”
Frigid. That’s what I’d called Charlotte once, praying it was true, that the fantasies in my head would stop, that my nightmares—picturing her with Xander—would stop. Much to my delight, she was anything but.
“I’m married. Happily. Ecstatically.”
“Annul it.” She said it so simply as if walking away from the only woman I’d ever loved was something I’d ever be interested in.
The Throne Page 17
