Don't Tell

by Violet Paige

  I slapped Ash on the shoulder. “Have a good night. Hope your tender goes well.”

  “You’re not staying?” he whispered.

  “What’s the point?”

  I pushed to stand when seven-seven-seven walked on stage.

  My eyes followed the spotlight by fucking accident. I had every intention of leaving. Of taking my security detail, grabbing the last of the bottle of bourbon from behind the bar, and sleeping alone tonight.

  But then she walked on stage.

  Fuck.

  No one had looked so out of place up there before.

  Wide frightened eyes. Pink lips that quivered slightly. She pressed her palms into her sides. It wasn’t what the other girls did. No woman had stood on the stage and acted as if she’d rather jump off and run to closet.

  The women who came here wanted to be here. They wanted this room and everything it stood for. Titles. Money. And fucking power. Gold digger was one name for it. Opportunist might have been kinder.

  They didn’t get more than one night. It was a mutual agreement. One protected by a legal document. No phones or photography were allowed. The Titan had locked down any potential problems. Tallies were vetted. And membership was exclusive. The women who took their one shot had an angle. One night to convince themselves they were worthy of a prince or a Hollywood star.

  But seven-seven-seven wasn’t that kind of woman.

  Malcom cleared his throat. “Shall we begin?”

  I slid into my seat and picked up the baton with my crest on it. Every man here was identified by his family crest. That’s how dated Galona was. Crests. Family trees that could be traced for centuries. Old money. Ancient money.

  “You’re staying?” Ash whispered.

  “Shut up.”

  The bidding started at twenty-thousand.

  I waited for the fifth bid before I raised the crest in the air. “One hundred thousand,” I shouted.

  “Accepted tender is one hundred thousand,” Malcom stated. “Any other propositions?”

  It was dark, but I stared at my competition. I dared any other man here to make another offer.

  “One-fifty.”

  I turned to see the House of Roux’s crest illuminated. Fuck. Sebastian Roux.

  “You might have a problem.” Ash leaned over.

  “He’ll let it go. He’s just trying to raise the tender. He likes to make things interesting. Gives the bastard something to do.”

  “One seventy-five.” My baton flickered in my hand.

  Sebastian jumped in after me. “One ninety-five.”

  Malcom’s eyebrows arched. “The House of Roux has submitted a tender for one ninety-five.”

  I gritted my teeth together. “Take her. She’s yours,” Ash baited me. “Don’t let Sebastian win.”

  “Two hundred.” My hand shot in the air again.

  From here I wasn’t sure if her eyes were blue or green. They were light and airy. She looked less afraid, and more bewildered about what was happening.

  “Two twenty,” Roux barked.

  “Mother fucker,” I groaned. How high was he going to let this go? There was a point where I could annihilate him. Rub his face in my wealth. Make him regret his decision to steal my first tender in months.

  “Come on, Damon. You aren’t afraid of a little proposition war, are you?” he taunted.

  “Never am.” I grinned in the dark. I could end this now. I would.

  “Five hundred thousand.”

  The room was shocked into silence.

  I waited for Sebastian to say something, but he didn’t have the balls to challenge me again.

  “The tender is complete for seven-seven-seven and has been awarded to the House of Sauvage.”

  I rose from the table, straightening my jacket. “Congrats.” Ashford shook my hand.

  “Thank you. I think I’ll collect my tally and get out of here.” I slammed my empty glass on the table. “Gentlemen, enjoy your evening. Good luck with your prospects.” I nodded to the nearby tables. I stopped as I passed by Sebastian.

  I leaned toward his shoulder. “Don’t fuck with me like that again.”

  “In here, you’re like everyone else.”

  I patted him as I began to stroll away. “You’re mistaken. I’m not like anyone else.”

  4

  Molly

  Brooklyn squealed when I walked backstage in a trance.

  “Who was it? Was it fun?” She shook me. My head rattled. “I just heard the numbers going up and up and up.”

  “I have no idea. It was a blur. There were two houses at the end. I couldn’t figure out the accents.” I reached for my forehead.

  The stage manager appeared beside us. “Cherie, Cherie, you must come. Come, with me. Quickly.”

  I looked at Brooklyn. I wasn’t leaving without knowing exactly where I was going. I wanted to stay for her moment on stage as well.

  “No. I need details.” I stuck my chin forward.

  “Cherie, your sponsor. Come now,” he urged.

  “Just tell us who it is,” Brooklyn pleaded. “I’m dying to know. I thought this was going in numerical order, but apparently, that’s not Galonaian. I have no idea when I’m going out there. I’m dying back here.”

  He sighed. “Cher, he is waiting. You must be quickly.”

  I didn’t correct his English. “Who is he?”

  “Yeah, who is it? The director? Please tell me it’s an actor. I will die if you end up with Chris Fox tonight. Although, totally ironic that you’d land an American when we’re in Europe, but it’s still super sexy and—”

  “The tenders are sealed,” he interrupted Brooklyn’s chatter.

  “I’m not moving unless you tell me who is waiting for me.”

  “Americans,” he grumbled.

  I frowned. I hated when that happened. I wasn’t being American. I was being safe and cautious. Following the girl code. Brooklyn should know who I was with and I should know where she was. It was practical and logical. American, my ass.

  He pushed the microphone from his lips and motioned for me to lean in.

  “Yes?”

  “His Royal Highness,” he whispered, cupping my ear with his hand.

  I straightened my back. “Which one?” The royal family was huge. There were distant cousins and uncles. The family tree was a twisted spider web. He could be talking about a count or a duke.

  “His Royal Highness,” he restated.

  “Are you talking about the king?” Brooklyn blurted out.

  “Shh.” He pinched her elbow. “Tenders are sealed.”

  “The king? The king was in the audience? And he bid on me?” I whispered quickly.

  Two girls walked past us when the MC called another set of numbers. I didn’t notice if they heard our discussion.

  “He has placed a formal tender which has been accepted and recorded. There are no bids,” he scolded. “Now we must go.”

  I bit my lip. I was ill-prepared for this entire night, but facing the king had never occurred to me. That wasn’t supposed to be an option, was it? That was all Brooklyn’s fantasy. That we’d end up meeting a couple of the royal princes or maybe a couple of dukes. Really, she would have been happy with a B-list actor. The process thrilled her. The secrecy. The exclusivity of being a part of a fabled tradition. She was caught up in fairy tales and stories I hadn’t believed in until I was smack in the middle of it.

  I was stuck in a chapter I couldn’t crawl out of.

  Brooklyn hugged me. “Have fun. Be good.” She giggled. “I can’t believe you. And you didn’t even want to do this.”

  “But I didn’t,” I whispered.

  “Come now. You must.”

  I waved at Brooklyn, trying to steady my erratic pulse.

  I was escorted through a dark passage. Luc’s headset crackled and sputtered the farther we walked.

  “Careful, cher.” He guided me to a door.

  My heart beat wildly. I felt frantic. Nervous.

  “Do not
forget your contract.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t remember what was in it. Something about no pictures. No social media posts. I didn’t know the rest. My phone was at the apartment. I wasn’t allowed to bring it to the club.

  “But what if—” I looked down to ask a question, but the funny man was gone. The hallway was black. I could hear my

  A green light flashed on the wall. Did that mean I was supposed to go through the door? I waited until finally it seemed ludicrous to stand in the hall any longer.

  I twisted the knob in my palm. With a gentle push, the door swung open.

  I expected a room. Maybe something with red velvety drapes and blue elephant paintings like in the Moulin Rouge. But there was nothing exotic or seductive about what was on the other side. The door was an exit to the back of the parking lot. I was met with dim street lights.

  A long black car was parked a few feet in front of me. A driver stood, holding the rear door.

  “Mademoiselle,” he greeted me quietly.

  I stepped forward.

  “This way.”

  I eyed him. There was nothing distinguishable about his face. Brown hair. Brown eyes. A round chin. He wore a cap. Was I doing this? Getting into a car behind The Titan?

  “His Majesty waits,” he urged me.

  “Yes, I know.” I stopped just shy of the door.

  From where I stood I could see his arm. I followed the lines of a crisp white shirt to the cuff at his wrist. I couldn’t make out the letters monogrammed on his cufflinks. His watch caught the small bit of light coming off the building. He had large hands. I also noticed his legs were long and muscular in a pair of fitted dark pants.

  He strummed his fingers. He was waiting.

  “Mademoiselle,” the driver urged.

  “Right. Yes.”

  I ducked, climbing into the backseat. The door closed behind me. And I came face to face with His Royal Highness.

  5

  Damon

  I had waited longer than I should have. I checked my watch again. I had paid out the highest tender of my life. I wasn’t leaving here without her. I reminded myself she wasn’t a regular tally. There had never been another woman like her at The Titan before. I wouldn’t have paid half a million otherwise.

  Georgon closed the car door as she slid into the leather seat next to me. Finally.

  “Good evening.”

  “Hi.” Her voice was soft, filling the silent recesses of the backseat.

  Fuck. Her lips were even more edible up close. Her cheeks were bright. I knew she wasn’t drunk. It was against the rules. She was either nervous or excited. I considered there was nothing wrong with a combination.

  The car lurched forward.

  “Where are we going?” she eked. She watched the club fade out of view as Georgon drove toward the coastal highway.

  “Does our night extend by the minutes you kept me waiting?”

  “Excuse me?” I watched the curve of her neck as she swallowed.

  “You’re American?” I questioned. Most of them were. They kept the pipeline running.

  “Is that a problem?”

  The car careened as we exited, tipping her off balance. She leaned into me, her hair brushing against my shoulder as she pushed away to right her body.

  “A defensive American.” I rubbed my chin with my thumb. “Tell me your name.”

  “Seven-seven-seven,” she whispered. She didn’t make eye contact. “But Sapphire is the other one they gave me.”

  “Your real name,” I corrected her.

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to do that.”

  I reached for a bottle of water in the bar and grabbed a second one for her. I twisted the lid from the top and put it in her hands.

  “Do you know who I am?” I asked blankly.

  She nodded. “I was told you’re one of the royals.” She took a sip.

  “One of the royals?” I scoffed. “I must be losing my reputation around here.” I turned to face her squarely. “I’m the royal.”

  She fidgeted with the bottle cap. “I know. I was just trying not to make a big deal about it. Maybe I’m not supposed to acknowledge you’re the king of Galona. I-I’m not sure.”

  “At least you know my title. You know I have certain exemptions. One of those specifically deals with the name clause. What’s your name?”

  “Molly. Molly Washington.”

  I chuckled. “It doesn’t get any more American than that.”

  Her long lashes lowered a second time. The gesture did something to me. I raised her chin until she lifted her eyes to mine. Her gaze cut right through me. I knew now why they called her Sapphire.

  “Tell me. Are you scared of me Molly Washington?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “And why not?” My hand circled over the creaminess of her skin, my fingers pressing into the softness of the back of her neck.

  Her chest rose, sending her breasts forward. God, they were unbelievable. Ripe and soft. My eyes trailed upward again, making heated eye contact.

  We drove farther up the hillside. The lights of Freychon blanketed the ground below us.

  The shield between our seat and where Georgan sat was sealed. My mouth grew hungry for her. Her eyes darted back and forth.

  “Because you’re the king,” she whispered. “You’re not scary.”

  I pressed my lips in a straight line. “And tonight? Why did you sign up for something like this? The Titan?”

  I ran my fingertips to the top of her spine, making my own road map to her shoulder. The back of my fingers slid along her arm.

  “My friend thought it was an urban legend,” she explained. “And when we were approached it seemed like something we couldn’t turn down.”

  “And do you still feel that way?” I asked. “Like you can’t turn it down?”

  “I signed the contract.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” My voice was cool and dark. “Do you want to be here, Molly Washington?”

  We turned into the back of the compound. The palace gates folded open.

  I looked at her.

  “It’s one night. Your night. To be with the king. It won’t happen again. The Titan does not seek return tallies. So you must decide, here and now what you want. Georgan will drive you home. Or you can walk inside the palace with me.” I pointed to the top floor where a row of lights illuminated a set of windows. “See that block of rooms?”

  “Yes.”

  “Those are the kings rooms. My rooms. That’s where I plan to take you to bed.”

  I heard her inhale quickly.

  The car slowed as we entered the tunnel to the private entrance.

  “What is your decision. Are you going home, or do you want one night with the king?”

  6

  Molly

  I had never known the silence inside a car could be so deafening. My ears rang. My heart pounded irregularly. I could practically hear the blood rush between my ears.

  This morning I was working on my dissertation. I used notecards to sort the broader topics. They were scattered on the floor. I wore pajama pants and a tank top. My hair was twirled in a bun with a pencil crammed in the middle to hold the heaviest pieces in place.

  Brooklyn walked in, carrying a carton of lo mein noodles. “You have destroyed our living room.”

  “I know.” I sighed. “I’ll clean it up after I get the rest of this nailed down.”

  “Let’s go get coffee,” she suggested.

  “I can’t. I don’t have time. Look at this.” I covered my eyes with my palms.

  She tugged on my arm. “The notecards will be here when we get back. You need some fresh air. And preferably a change of clothes that isn’t pajamas or yoga pants.” She looked over my wardrobe disapprovingly.

  “Again. I don’t have time for real clothes. I’m in the middle of the most critical paper of my life.”

  I stumbled to my feet and stepped over the circle of index cards.

  “I know.
I know. But caffeine will put some of that in perspective.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulder and shuttled me to my room where I shrugged off the pjs and changed into a cute mini skirt.

  I pulled the pencil from the bun and let my hair fall around my shoulders.

  I met Brooklyn at the door. “Better?”

  “God, yes. You look like a human girl,” she teased.

  I rolled my eyes. “One quick coffee. That’s it.”

  “Got it.”

  I had moved to Galona almost a year ago. The country was beautiful. An island the size of Connecticut floated off the western coast of France and just to the north of Spain. It was quintessential Europe. The food was amazing. The art. The music. The fashion. And my God, the wine was amazing. Only, I didn’t get to see much of it. I spent most of my time in the library at Freychon’s Literary Conservatory.

  Brooklyn, on the other hand, had dropped out of the program.

  We sat outside under the shade of a café umbrella and sipped espressos.

  “How’s the job hunt going?” I prodded.

  She shrugged. “I don’t think my skill set converts here.”

  “You could wait tables if you had to. Anyone can do that.”

  Her cup clinked against the saucer. “I’d rather not. I’m looking for something exciting. Something more challenging then taking cappuccino orders.”

  We had discussed this a few times. At some point, she was going to run out of money. “If you take a part-time job you might hear about another job. You could try it.”

  The sun that had been blaring, was blocked. I looked up to see a man in a suit standing inches from our table.

  “Hi.” Brooklyn and I smiled. I waited for him to continue his walk, but he pulled his sunglasses to the brim of his nose and pushed them firmly in place again.

  He nodded. “Are you two here alone?” he spoke with a clipped French accent.

  “Yes.” Brooklyn grinned.

  I kicked her under the table.

  “I have an invitation for you.”

  “What sort of invitation?” I asked.