by Geneva Lee
Pepper was frozen, watching us from an open balcony door. Our eyes met and I allowed a wicked smile to creep across my face. Her gaze stayed icy, but it was clear she couldn’t look away. I closed my eyes and lost myself to Alexander once more. He was mine and soon she would know that.
“I need to feel you, X,” I murmured to him. “Your skin on mine.”
The stroke of his cock stopped, although it stayed wedged against my sex. I relished the tiny pops as he unbuttoned his shirt, and a moment later, Alexander wrapped an arm around my torso. He brought my body into contact with his bare chest, only the thin lace of my dress lay between us, and I could feel his warmth radiating across my skin.
“I want your cock. I want you to fill me,” I moaned loudly, melting into him, even as he bent me forward and entered me with a powerful thrust that drew a loud gasp from my lips.
Alexander’s hand slid from my belly to my breast, plumping it through my dress and sending more moans to my lips as my nipple beaded in response. I felt Pepper’s eyes on us still, but I didn’t care. I was lost to Alexander—lost to his touch. In that moment, I belonged to him and I knew that when it came to his pleasure, the answer would always be yes.
“I’m going to come inside your beautiful cunt.” A groan punctuated his words, and my core clenched, tightening around his cock like a coiled wire. “Christ, you’re milking me. You want me inside you, don’t you? You want me to pour inside your cunt, because you know it’s mine.”
“Only you,” I gasped as my limbs tightened.
“Only you,” he repeated. His words flooded through me, and a thready cry escaped me as I felt the hot lash of his seed. I shattered into a million pieces that rained over me, drenching my body with pleasure that soaked into my blood.
It was too much and my knees buckled. Alexander caught me, sweeping me into his arms and cradling me against his bare chest as he carried me into the house. My eyes flickered to our audience, but she was gone. She’d gotten the message.
I sighed with relief, resting my head against Alexander’s shoulder and breathing him in. I belonged to him, but he was mine.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The room was spartan, save for a bookshelf and a few framed pictures on the desk. I did my best not to gawk at the family photos of Alexander with his mother and sister. Alexander watched me as I looked at one of the portraits.
“She was beautiful,” I murmured as I studied the photo of Sarah on her horse.
He nodded stiffly. “She loved to ride horses.”
“What happened?” I asked in a soft voice. There were still walls standing between us, and more than ever, I understood how much we needed to tear them down.
“Clara, I honestly wish I knew.” He spoke sincerely, and my heart ached for his loss and his confusion. The guilt had broken him but facing it might allow him to finally heal. “I remember flashes. That’s why I continued to invite Pepper to events.”
He told me this with some hesitation, so I forced an encouraging smile onto my face. As much as I hated Pepper, I’d track her down myself if she could give him the answers he needed to move past the accident.
“I was drinking and my sister showed up. She was underage, and I yelled at her for being at a bar.” He struggled to remember, and I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “For some reason we left. I don’t remember much after that. And what I do remember, I can’t burden you with.”
“Nothing between us, X. No secrets.”
“I remember how slippery her blood was on my fingers. She sagged like a rag doll. I remember the heat of the fire as it blazed across my skin, but I couldn’t leave her there, even though I couldn’t carry her.” His eyes had grown distant, fading to another place and time. “I was so scared that I didn’t even feel the frame of the door in my side. I’d been impaled, but I wouldn’t leave her, so we burned together.”
I choked back a sob and nodded, trying to stay strong for him even as my imagination painted a gruesome picture for me. “And Pepper?”
“She’d been flung from the car. Broken bones,” he said. “If she remembers more than me, she’s never admitted it.”
“X, what happened was horrible.” I brushed back an inky strand of hair from his forehead. “But it wasn’t your fault.”
“Why don’t you see the monster when you look at me?” he asked. “Everyone else does.”
“They don’t see you like I do.” My words were faint as I gathered my courage. “They don’t love you like I—”
“I’m sorry,” Alexander interrupted my confession. “I just need a minute.” He staggered to the bathroom and locked the door behind him.
You scared him away, my critical side admonished me. I pushed the thought away, refusing to believe it. If Alexander said he needed a minute, I would give it to him.
I didn’t go after him. He would come back out, and I needed time to digest what he’d told me. The physical details of the accident were public knowledge. But why couldn’t he remember anything?
A knock on the door pulled me away from my thoughts, and I opened it with some trepidation. Albert’s eyebrow raised when he saw me, and I knew what he was thinking.
I bowed my head to him as he entered. Albert paced the perimeter of the room, pausing to pick up the photograph of his wife and young daughter. Taking a deep breath, I moved closer to see this one. Elisabeta’s Grecian beauty was even more pronounced in the personal snapshot, her dark waves whipping across her glowing skin as she hugged a young Sarah to her chest. Sarah was a miniature version of her mother but with pigtails and dimpled cheeks. Somehow the photo had managed to capture them so vibrantly that when I looked at it I felt as though I had known them.
Of course, in a way, I had through Alexander. They lived in his memory, and I had faith that one day they would no longer haunt him. Instead, he would remember only the good times. That’s why it was so important to help him find the answers he needed.
“Elisabeta was an ideal royal wife,” Albert said, running his hand along the edge of the polished frame. “She was modest, loyal, and above all: deferential.”
I pressed my lips together to keep my thoughts about this to myself. I’d seen how Albert treated his sons. I could only imagine how he treated his wife. Had she deferred to him to keep the peace? Or had she been trained to submit entirely to her husband?
“Many people believed our marriage was arranged for us, but it wasn’t,” he continued. “Her family sought asylum here when Greece exiled their monarchy. She was thrown into my circles, and to be honest with you, I fell in love with her the first day we met.”
I wasn’t certain why he was sharing this with me, but I nodded encouragingly.
“My wife was brought up amongst the aristocracy. She knew what to expect. She knew her role.” He placed the frame back on the desk and turned to meet my eyes. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
“Your wife was groomed to be Queen,” I said softly, but I couldn’t bring myself to add the rest of his message. I was not.
“I hope you see that this isn’t a personal vendetta against you, Miss Bishop. I could even sanction a relationship between you and Edward, but it’s my duty to look out for the interests of the monarchy.” His words were crisp—clean and concise—but they still sliced through me, cutting me to my very soul. I bit back a gasp of anguish.
“I’m not Edward’s type,” I said coldly, and the chill of my words shivered through my skin. I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing Alexander would return.
“And that proves my point,” he replied with a congratulatory tip of his head. “Appearances are the key to the Royal Family’s survival. Think of how the story would solidify my sons. Edward steals you away from his older brother. Alexander would make a suitable match, and what happens behind closed doors would be your business.”
“Are you suggesting I marry your younger son so I can be his brother’s mistress?” I asked the question aloud because I thought hearing it might make help me compreh
end the King’s suggestion. Instead I felt more confused than ever.
“The second thing only a Royal would understand is sacrifice.”
I choked back a laugh at this. “How is lying and cheating and hiding a sacrifice?”
“I never said it was. I’m talking about sacrificing happiness, about sacrificing selfish desires. Alexander believes he wants you now, but if he gives up his title—his birthright—do you think he’ll thank you in ten years?” Albert caught a strand of my hair and rolled it between his fingers. “He won’t. Consider this: what about you? How will you feel in ten years? But what if you sacrificed your concept of happiness now and settled? In ten years, when he’s lost interest in you, you’ll have a title and a life.”
“I can’t believe you would honestly think that I would do that to either of them.” The shivers had grown to tremors, and I clutched my arms protectively. How could he believe I was capable of that? And why would he believe that I saw it as a viable alternative to being with Alexander?
He paused for a long moment, regarding me with tired eyes. “You might as well know then that expectations are in place for Alexander.”
“You’ve made that clear.” I couldn’t control the amount of sarcasm in my tone, and I didn’t care anymore.
“Marriage expectations.”
The addition of that one word instantly changed my perspective. My mouth went dry as I struggled for something to say. “You mean…?”
“It’s long been expected for Alexander to marry within the Royal Family. In fact, a match was secured when he was a child. He doesn’t speak of it much, but he certainly knows about it.”
Albert could have stabbed me directly in the heart and it would have been a less painful shock. My knees buckled under me, but I forced myself to stay upright. Albert expected to win this round with a bombshell. I wasn’t giving up so easily.
“You’re his toy,” the King said, wiping invisible dust from his sleeve. “And when he tires of you, he’ll get a new one. There’s nothing you can do to secure your place in this family.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that I am not looking for marriage?” I asked, hoping he hadn’t caught the break in my voice. “Or a place in this family?”
Albert laughed at this. “All women are looking for marriage, whether they know it or not.”
No wonder he had such insane ideas about marriage. He didn’t even view women as people. I turned away from him, as his barb fanned my simmering rage into flames.
Alexander filled the doorframe, watching our conversation from the bathroom with controlled interest, but as I neared him, something dark flashed in his eyes, warning me away from him.
“I see that since you couldn’t sway me with your threats, you switched tactics.”
“We both know how this ends,” Albert said, keeping his gaze level with his son. “The tart’s quite pretty, but you aren’t serious about her. Why do more damage to her reputation?”
His words stripped away all pretense of civility. Albert radiated the same primal power as his son, but the King’s dominance was laced with bitter prejudice and apathetic cruelty. Behind him, the picture of his wife beamed up at him. Had she loved him enough to overlook this? Had she not seen it?
Or had her loss simply turned a charismatic man into a domineering one?
“You know the expectations,” Albert continued. “I’ve given you far too much latitude since you returned, but it’s time to accept your role in this family.”
“I know,” Alexander said in a stiff voice.
My mouth gaped open as I tried to process his response. A mask of resignation fell over his features, his eyes turning to icy sapphires. Their fire had gone out, replaced by something cold, unreadable and hard. His jaw was set and he looked past me out the window. The awareness that usually accompanied his presence fled my body as numbness crept through me.
This man was a stranger to me. I didn’t know Alexander at all. Despite the shock dulling my senses, this realization twisted my heart until I couldn’t breathe for fear it would snap in two, and I would crumble to pieces with it. The bond I’d felt between us since that night at Brimstone faded in and out of my perception like the signal of a black box lost at sea. It had survived when nothing else had, and even as I searched for it, desperate to find that connection, I felt it slipping away, fading from my grasp under the turbulent waves of anger and sadness crashing through me.
The pressure in my chest increased as tears welled in my eyes. He’d warned me away, knowing that a relationship wasn’t possible. He’d known that there were other expectations for him. He had told me that he wanted to fuck me. Alexander had promised me pleasure, and he’d given me that, but there had always been an expiration date to his offer. Except somewhere along the line, I’d forgotten that, and that’s how I’d made the one mistake I couldn’t take back. I’d fallen in love with him.
How stupid had I been to think he had fallen with me?
“I should leave you two,” Albert said, breaking the silence that stretched across the room. “Good evening.”
As he shut the door, my fingers closed over a book on the shelf next to me and I hurled it. It cracked against the door and fell to a heap on the floor. I stared at it, tears rolling down my cheeks. Pages had twisted and bent, the spine split neatly in half from the force of my throw.
Broken.
Misused.
Abandoned.
My knees buckled and I dropped to the floor as well. Alexander flinched, but he didn’t move. A part of me that I hadn’t even known existed—the part of me that expected him to take me in his arms and comfort me—died. It was all true. I’d ignored all the warnings I’d been given to guard myself against him. I’d even ignored my instinct that he would break me.
And he had.
He had done everything they said he would do. He’d done everything he said he would do.
So now there was only one person I could count on. Myself. The agony of his rejection clawed through me, slicing me open and leaving me to bleed out slowly. But I’d been broken before. It was this alone that allowed me to finally gather the strength to push to my feet. I swayed once, catching myself on the bookshelf, but I stood. I stood despite my sorrow and confusion. I stood when all I wanted was to lie back down and waste away.
I stood.
And that alone made me strong enough to give Alexander one last piece of myself.
I drew in a jagged breath and stepped before him. He gazed coolly at me, remaining distant and removed, and waited.
I wanted to touch him. I longed to trail my finger across his beautiful jawline or run my hands across his shoulders. I’d never imagined that in this moment I wouldn’t be able to—that I wouldn’t want to—touch him.
Trembling with tears as I opened my mouth, I forced him to hear the words he’d tried to run away from. “I love you, Alexander.”
His eyes closed, and for one beautiful moment, the distance between us faded. I felt my proclamation wash over him, saw it take hold of his body, watched him shift.
I watched him break for me.
But when he opened his eyes again, the hardness remained. “That wasn’t part of our arrangement.”
I had expected this reaction, but actually hearing him say it crushed me. A sob wrenched through me, and I fled the room. I wouldn’t let him see me cry.
Never again.
The tears fell hard and fast, tremors racking through my body as I staggered to a recess in the wall. Crumpling to the ground, I broke down. I could have been there for minutes or hours or days. Time had ceased. I didn’t care if the sun rose again or if the world halted on its axis. Nothing mattered.
I succumbed to darkness as pain pulled me under. I had trusted him, I had given myself to him, and he’d destroyed me. Just like he told me he would.

Hands lifted me from the darkness and cradled me tenderly, but when I opened my eyes, I was still in my nightmare. Edward held me with steady arms, carrying me back
toward my room, whispering small words of comfort that did nothing to alleviate the agony ripping me apart.
Forcing myself to speak, my words catching on parched lips, I stopped him. “I need to leave.”
“You should rest,” he suggested in a gentle voice. “I’ll take you to my room if you want.”
But I shook my head. “Please. I need to go home.”
“I’ll make the arrangements,” Edward agreed, not arguing further. “Clara, you don’t have to tell me, but what happened?”
“I fell in love with him,” I said, my words brittle and unwanted on my parched lips.
Edward didn’t speak, but his arms tightened around me. We both understood that sometimes love wasn’t enough.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I turned the key over in my hand, still trying to decode its meaning. But its existence was as unfathomable to me as Alexander’s absence from my life. Two weeks later, and I was still trying to convince myself that I had done the right thing. There’d been no word from him. No phone calls. My only contact with him was on the cover of whatever tabloid he’d landed on each day. He certainly wasn’t sitting at home and forcing himself to eat and get dressed every morning. He hadn’t forgotten how to breathe without me. In fact, the only indication I had that he regretted what had happened in Norfolk was this brass key.
Belle poked her head into my room and found me curled up in bed. “You can’t go.”
“I just wish I knew what it meant,” I admitted, my fingers closing over the notched blade as I wondered once again what it opened.
Belle was right though. The only thing I knew for certain about this key was where it came from. It had arrived mid-week in a cream envelope sealed with a red wax stamp that set my heart racing. But there had been no explanation included. No apology. No plea for another chance. The envelope had simply contained this key and a notecard with an address and tomorrow’s date scrawled across it.
