“Try me,” I said.
She huffed a quiet laugh that said I did, and you ran... then tattled on me like a little bitch. She was right. Even though I might have paraphrased her thoughts a bit.
Katie cleared her throat and without looking back at the book, continued. “If a hand is touched by a hand, which is moved as though fingers touch a girl’s breast lightly… Do you believe in always?”
She stopped before the end, leaving me to finish. “I am too busy with my flowers to believe, the rain answered.”
“And here I was thinking you didn’t like the library,” Katie replied.
I smirked. “That book didn’t come from our library.”
“Well then…” She slid off the countertop, her sandals slapping the floor when she landed. Her breasts bounced, and I mentally cursed my hands for wanting to reach out and grab them. “I guess you’re just full of surprises.”
“You have no idea,” I called after her as she walked out of the kitchen.
I hadn’t been in the East Wing since I helped Mama set up her office. The East Wing was for the royals, which meant I stayed away. Right now, the only royal I wanted distance from was downstairs in the kitchen. The fact that I had a gift for my mama was even more reason to put as much space between me and Sutton Thorne as possible.
After last night, I had no idea what to expect from him. When the guard at the gate called Sutton to let me in, it was like watching Dr. Jekyll arm wrestle Mr. Hyde. His tone was so light at first, almost teasing. For a split second I thought he might even have been trying to joke. Then he turned ice cold. His clipped words made me feel like a chore he didn’t want to be bothered with, but his gaze told another story. The heat of it burned right through me. Then in the kitchen he managed to act semi-normal. And he knew Cummings. I gave him points for that at least. I hated the twisted confusion that churned in my gut every time I heard his voice or saw his face. He shouldn’t affect me. I couldn’t let him affect me.
Mama stood at the window behind her desk, deeply focused on the world outside the castle walls. The door to her office was open, but I still knocked.
“Katarina,” she said when she spotted me in the doorway.
My mother was the only person who ever called me by my given name. As far back as I could remember, Dad had always called me Katie. Mama would say, “If I’d wanted her to be called Katie, I would’ve named her Katie.” Dad just laughed. She’d get so flustered with him, and he’d always just laugh.
I missed that laugh.
“Hey, Mama.”
Her eyes were glossed over and her nose red as though she’d been about to cry. I felt an instant pang in my gut for coming here. Timing was never my friend.
“I brought you something.” I held a plastic container full of strawberries in front of me. “They’re from the farm.”
“Katarina—”
“I know. It’s not our farm anymore. I just…” I cleared my throat and regrouped. “I just thought it would be nice to have them.” I set the container on her desk then met her at the window and took her hand in mine. “I talked to the new owner. He has a produce stand at the farmer’s market. He says the farm is doing well and that he’d love for me to come by sometime. He wants me to see it.” I paused. “I’m happy for him. Dad would be happy too. Don’t you think?”
Mama squeezed my hand. “Of course.”
There was so much weight in those two words, so many things left unspoken. Of course the farm is doing well. Of course you should go see it. Of course your father would be happy. Of course I think it’s time to let it go.
Maybe that’s what she was doing when I walked in—letting it go—but I couldn’t. I had too many questions.
We stared out the window in silence, hand in hand. I laid my head on her shoulder. Her window overlooked the East Garden, as I supposed all the windows in this wing did. The South Garden, my garden, was beautiful by all rights, but the East Garden took my breath away. There was color everywhere. From the manicured hedges to the perfectly displayed beds of peonies and lilacs, no detail was left unattended. There were statues and fountains. And ducks—beautiful gray ducks with bright green heads.
“Why?” I lifted my head and met Mama’s eyes. “Why didn’t you fight?”
It was one question—one of a million. Surely that wasn’t too much.
She closed her eyes and sighed. Then she dropped my hand and walked toward her desk. Mama’s office was immaculate, just like her. In the middle of the room, a wool rug full of jewel-toned colors covered the hardwood floor. One wall was lined with bookshelves while another displayed timeless artwork. Her desk looked like it had been sculpted from wood by Michelangelo himself. There was so much detail carved into each one of the legs. If this were Mama’s office, I could only imagine what the queen’s must have looked like.
Mama took a seat in the large leather chair behind her desk. Her blonde hair was pinned in a neat chignon. Her makeup was understated yet flawless, and her beige sheath dress didn’t have a single wrinkle, even after working all day. She looked regal. “Not now, Katarina.” She dusted her hand across the top of the strawberry container. “One day. I promise you. One day we will have lunch and I will tell you everything.” She swallowed hard. Her eyes glossed over again, filling me with guilt for even bringing it up. “Just not right now.”
So many secrets, and everyone seemed to know them all but me. I wasn’t ready for this to be over. There was so much more left to say. But I wasn’t cruel, at least not to Mama, not in this way.
Her phone rang. “Hello, this is Katherine Bellizzi…” A pause. “Yes, Your Majesty… Of course… I’m always here if you need me… You too.” When she hung up, the tears that had glossed her eyes began to fall. I wanted to hug her, to comfort whatever ache her heart felt in that moment. She didn’t give me time. Mama swiped her fingers under her eyes, removing the evidence of her sadness. “I need to find Prince Sutton. Do you have any idea where he might be?”
Why would she think I knew that?
“Probably in the dungeon torturing innocent prisoners.”
“Katarina, that’s enough.”
I shrugged. “What? I wouldn’t put it past him.”
She straightened her pencil skirt when she stood. “The prince is a good man. He’s just young and he carries the weight of an entire kingdom on his shoulders.”
“He’s horrible. And I’m fairly sure the king can carry the weight just fine.”
Her eyes closed again for a split second. If I’d blinked, I’d have missed the way she flinched. “Can you stop hating them all for a moment? Just this once?”
I didn’t hate them all. Queen Amelia was good to my mother. Mama cared for her. Whatever happened during that last phone call was evidence of that.
“No, Mama. I don’t know where he is. But if it’s important to you, I’ll help you find him.”
Then, maybe you’ll tell me all your secrets.
Ten
Too much time had gone by since I left Sutton in the kitchen, so looking there first was pointless. Unless he wanted to hang out with Madeline…
Why did that make my stomach turn?
Two-story windows that overlooked the East Garden covered one side of the hall while grand archways and oversized doors were on the other. Most of the doors were open, one after another of collection rooms, drawing rooms, antechambers—only in a castle would there be big rooms that led into even bigger rooms. There was more to the castle than the library and the kitchen, so much more, like painted ceilings, marble columns, and massive fireplaces. And I hadn’t even made it to the West Wing yet. One of these rooms belonged to Sutton. Every time I passed an open door and peered inside, my heart hammered at the thought I might see him there. What would he say if he knew I were looking for him? What would I say if I found him? I walked past a large door made of wood and trimmed in iron, the kind of door that kept secrets and mysteries locked safely behind it. I wondered if I stopped to knock, would I find Sutton and his se
crets on the other side?
He grew up here. He ran in this hallway and played games in those rooms. His laughter bounced off crystal chandeliers onto hand-painted tiles. He probably skinned his knee on the marble floor. I tried to imagine Sutton as a child, and a sharp pang of longing to know that little boy rippled in my stomach. Was he playful and sweet? Was his childhood like mine, filled with warm holiday memories and funny stories by the fire? If so, what happened to make him so cold?
Sometimes he seemed so far away, untouchable, and other times he was almost… human. Flaws and all.
Human or not, the prince was nowhere to be found in the East Wing. At least not any of the places where I had looked. Surely, Mama had found him by now. It wasn’t like I was rushing through the halls.
I ran my hand along the wall on my way to the West Wing, admiring the artwork and wondering about the history of the castle. What were the king’s ancestors like? Where did they come from? Maybe I should have paid more attention in history class.
A rich burgundy and gold stripe covered the walls, broken up by a large section of plain white wall trimmed in gold. Then the stripe continued down the rest of the hall. It was almost as though a painting—or three—had gone missing. Like this section of wall had been set aside to display something spectacular. I ran my fingers along the gold trim.
“Why is this part different?” I asked a woman who carefully dusted the paintings. Probably originals if I had to guess, and so well preserved I could still smell the turpentine and linseed.
The woman moved the soft-bristled dusting brush away from the painting, pointing it at the white wall. “Oh, that used to be a door, ma’am. Her Majesty, the Queen, remodeled many years ago. Closed it up.”
Why was she calling me ma’am? I wasn’t royalty, or even a guest of the royals. This woman and I were the same. I was no better than she was.
Only she wore the navy-blue uniform and dusted the halls while I wore what I pleased and read books all day.
Chelsea was right. I was a brat for complaining.
“A door? To where? And please, call me Katie.”
“You’re a long way from the library, don’t you think?”
I sucked in a sharp, startled breath at the sound of a masculine voice behind me. The deep timbre was unmistakably Sutton’s. His question stopped the woman before she could answer. She quickly curtsied then brought the brush back to dust the canvas.
“Sorry. Guess I missed the memo that said I needed a tour guide to walk around the castle.”
He stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, his broad shoulders squared and his sea-blue eyes ripping right through me. He was every father’s worst nightmare. Clean cut and refined with an immaculate resume. Excellent parents… on paper anyway. But just like the smooth, innocent-looking surface of the ocean, darkness and danger lurked underneath.
Sunlight glimmered into the hallway through the windows and cast a radiant glow all around him as though in that moment, God himself had plucked Sutton from humanity and chosen him for something magnificent.
“Were you looking for something? Or someone?” he asked as the weight of his gaze traveled over me.
I never walked around the castle. I never left my perfect little trifecta of tucked-away places. Of course he would be curious as to why I was suddenly slinging on a backpack and acting like Dora the Explorer.
Sutton took a step forward, striking the first chord of the push-pull dance we always seemed to do. “The guards don’t typically hang out on this end of the castle.” His words dripped with contempt.
So much for poetry.
He studied me.
I studied him.
The woman continued dusting but watched us with a careful curiosity. Her gaze flicked from me to Sutton then back to me again. I know, lady. I don’t get it either. The tension was hot enough to light a match but the words cold enough to blow it right back out.
I swallowed hard then broke the silence. “I was actually looking for you.” His eyes narrowed and my chest tightened as my fingers fumbled with the cross that hung from a thin, silver chain around my neck. “My mother was… looking for you, I mean.” Why did he make me feel like I was scrambling around putting vowels with consonants to make words then praying they made sense?
The high-pitched ping of his cell phone vibrated in the sudden silence. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. His jaw clenched with a cold indifference then he slipped his phone back in his pants. What was that about?
“Of course.” He paused, his eyes flickering with… disappointment? “I should see what that’s about then.”
“You should hurry. She gets a little salty when she has to wait.”
He hid his smile behind a smirk. “Good to know.” He turned to walk away, sparing one last glimpse over his shoulder. “Oh… The library.”
I rolled my eyes and folded my arms across my chest. “Yes. I get it. Don’t come out of your cell, Katie. Don’t wander around the castle, Katie. Why can’t you just do what you’re told, Katie? You don’t have to act like I’m going to break something, you know. I’m not a child.” Or a prisoner.
He spun on his heel then pointed to the white section of wall. “I meant the door. You were asking where it went before my mother closed it up. It led to the library.”
Oh.
The library? Why would she close up the library?
I stared at the wall that used to be a door and a nervous uncertainty bubbled inside of me. There were so many things that made no sense, and a lot of them had everything to do with my family. I didn’t know why, but what I did know was that the truth was out there. And I wouldn’t stop until I found it.
It turned out Katherine sent her daughter on a seek-and-find mission so that my parents could tell me that Dad’s oncologist called in LifeCare: aka The Death Sitters. LifeCare only came in when the doctors had done all they could do.
The cancer had spread to his liver weeks ago. There was no cure. The only thing chemo was good for now was prolonging the inevitable, so Dad refused to take another round. I spent the first part of the night in his chambers and the rest of it tossing and turning in my bed. Fucking LifeCare. We would spend the next day, week, or month if we were lucky watching Dad fall in and out of morphine-induced unconsciousness. That was their job—to keep him comfortable. As if the knowledge of dying ever made anyone comfortable. Especially when they were leaving a kingdom behind.
The next morning, I sat at my desk, going through emails, staring at the computer screen. On the other side of my office, a wall full of windows overlooked a beautiful garden full of life and promise and all the color that had been stolen from my very black and white world. There were no privileges or choices for the Prince of Torryn, only obligations. Here in this chair covered in expensive leather, behind a desk carved from the finest mahogany, the only promise I knew was that my only responsibility was the Crown. It was the sole purpose of my birth—or at least it felt that way to me. I never got to be a son. I’d only ever been an heir. With my father soon to be declared incapacitated, it was only a matter of time before I became regent. Focusing on other people’s problems kept me from bursting into my father’s room and telling him how selfish he was being, that Mom and I needed more time, that he didn’t get to decide when to give up. Then again, he was the king for now. He could decide whatever the hell he wanted.
The emails were therapeutic. Even though they were a constant reminder of the duty I would soon inherit, somehow they comforted me. Knowing that hundreds of other people had their own crosses to bear made mine feel a little lighter. There was a nation full of people out there worried about the same thing I was—the future.
The heavy marble paperweight and framed family photo on my desk blurred into the background when I opened the next email. Two simple lines from an email address labeled “anons” stood out like a neon sign outside a sleazy strip club.
You know what you took. We’re coming to get it back.
I leaned
back in my chair, clicking the end of the pen I twirled between my fingers and focusing on the threat. It was sent yesterday. As far as I knew, there hadn’t been a threat to the Crown in months, not since Matteo Bellizzi died and took them all to his grave. I’d lost count of how many we got before then.
I stared at the email, at the name, the timestamp, the choice of words, and I tried to piece it together. I opened a drawer and rooted around for a notebook. I needed to make a list of people in my world who thought the Crown owed them something. I flipped the cover back and clicked my pen again then stopped in mid-air because that was the thing about my world. No one could be trusted, and everyone felt entitled. There weren’t enough pages in this notebook for a list that long. So, I started with the obvious.
Katherine Bellizzi was loyal. Maybe not to the Crown, but she was dedicated to my mother. I knew that without a doubt. I saw the pain in her eyes when she told me about LifeCare yesterday. I watched her kneel and pray with my parents for hours. If anyone knew the heartache Mom felt, it was Katherine. Because not so long ago, she lost her husband too.
It was her daughter who worried me. Katie had fire in her eyes. She was so passionate, so unpredictable, and at times, so angry.
But she was honest. As far as I knew, anyway. No one ever talked to me the way she did. People never stood up to me. They never offered to give without wanting anything from me in return. I ached for her defiance. I burned for her grit. My body was haunted by the ghost of her touch. She was a craving I couldn’t shake. It was fucking with my head, and I needed to be careful.
I slammed my laptop shut and tossed the pen on top of the open notebook. The messed-up truth was that I felt like I knew everything and nothing at all about Katarina Bellizzi. I needed answers. Finally, I called Antonio because… fuck Keaton. He answered on the first ring.
“I need you to check the history on a tram card for me.”
“Yes, Your Royal Highness. Do you have the card number?”
Crown of Thornes : a modern day royal romance Page 7
