by Scott, S. L.
“I was talking to Tracey Learnings at dinner. She’s based out of London and said Bixby seems unassuming, but he’s a shark in sales. I think she was trying to intimidate us. She doesn’t understand that as Everests we don’t give up, and we definitely don’t back away from a challenge.”
My gaze keeps gravitating to Ally, wishing she’d come talk to me. Bennett points in her direction with his glass in hand. “That guy with your girl is an asshole.”
“She’s not my girl. And he’s most definitely an asshole. What company is he with? I want to fucking take ’em down.”
“He’s not with a company.”
“Who is he then?” When he doesn’t answer, I ask, “Bennett?”
Hemming and hawing, he shuffles around looking more uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen him. “Look, Hut, you were right. It’s probably best if you and Ally don’t try to work things out. She left, and she had her reasons.”
“That’s not what I said, and what reasons are those?”
He turns his back to the room and lowers his voice. “He says he’s with Princess Arabelle. That they’re engaged, but it hasn’t been announced.”
A punch to the gut would have been less of a blow. “That guy? The asshole?” I turn to look at them again. Nothing in her body language suggests they’re together, much less getting married. “What the fuck?”
“I know. I tried to get more details, but Tracey wanted to talk business, so I let her run most of the show.” Nudging my shoulder, he adds, “But don’t forget, Jakob’s introducing us to the local party scene tomorrow night. We can get the deets then.”
“Does anyone still say deets?”
“I do,” he replies unapologetically.
“That’s fair.”
Giving the beauty my full attention, I stare at her—red lips, long dress, heels I’d tell her to leave on. Her hair is longer than before, and there’s not a tangle in sight. When my gaze shifts to the asshole, I try to see him in a new light, but I can’t. He still looks like the same drunken jerk yelling across the table at her, but this time, he’s pawing at her.
Fuck that.
I start for them, but Bennett grabs my arm. “Hey.”
“What?”
“Don’t blow the deal.” My brother is a lot like me. He likes to have a good time and a lot of laughs, but when he’s focused, he’s serious. Right now, he’s serious.
Standing there, I take the time to look around, noticing another pair of eyes latched on me. Ally’s roommate, Margie, didn’t like me in Austin, and she sure as shit doesn’t seem to like me any better in Brudenbourg. Her lips are curled into a snarl, and her arms are crossed over her chest.
Maybe she’s hot for me.
“I won’t blow it.”
I cut across the room and see Ally’s eyes go wide as she peeks over the asshole’s shoulder. “Hello again,” I say, not giving one shit about what this guy thinks.
Ally smiles, though I can tell she tries not to. “Hello again,” she says, setting that gorgeous smile free for the whole world to see.
Moving around to include me in the group, she asks, “Have you met the Duke of Wenig, a small southern province off our east coast?”
“Wenig means little. We like to say our province might be little, but it’s mighty. Wenig at one time was the first line of defense in protecting our small country, so we’re a proud folk.”
Duke? What-the-fuck-ever. “Everest. Like the,” fucking, “mountain. Hutton Everest.” We shake hands, but I make sure he knows who the alpha is in this pack.
“Another American,” he says in some haughty accent. “The Sutcliffes have taken a liking to the States, it seems. I was just telling the princess that she lost the Bruden accent. Her short time away seemed to bulldoze right over our traditional pronunciations of our English speaking words.”
“Al—Princess Arabelle has a lovely accent. I agree that she could have hidden in plain sight in the States by the way she spoke. But hearing her tonight, my ears can pick up the delicate lilt at the end of certain words, much like the British.”
“All hope is not lost then, now is it? Duke Richard Vaughn, but you can call me Dick.”
Asshole. “Dick.” Whatever. They both work the same.
“So I hear you’ve had a spot of trouble recently in America. Has that been sorted?”
“Huh? I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
“The lawsuit. The company. The model and the drugs.”
Wow. What a fucking tool. “Actually, I wasn’t involved in that situation. It was a dirty mess. My brother was dragged through the mud—”
“And the press from what I read,” he says, squeezing her cheek. “Much like my little Arabelle here.”
I’m a quarter second from popping this douche when Ally turns her head, and says, “I’m full from dinner and would like to rest. I’m going to retire for the night.”
Douche Dick says, “Would you like me to walk with you?”
“To my room?” Her voice scales up two octaves. “No.” Seeming to catch herself, in a calmer voice she adds, “I’ll be fine.”
I step forward, though I know I shouldn’t. My body connected to hers as if she never left that hotel room. “I was hoping to speak to you, Princess Arabelle.”
Dick says, “You can call her secretary, right, Arabelle? But I’m not sure regarding what you would need to speak with her. I’ll be part of the committee that decides on the winning bid after much review.”
I want to throw out my plea to give me five minutes, but I can tell it won’t work tonight. The Dick of Wenig—I mean Duke—is an obstacle to be dealt with. The man is completely annoying, but more so, disrespectful to Ally. Looking at her, I’m bewildered. How does she put up with him? How can I get time alone with her?
The dick gets sidetracked by the queen. Bumping Ally’s arm, he says, “See you tomorrow,” as he dashes across the room.
Ally asks, “Will you walk with me, Mr. Everest? It’s not far, but we can talk.”
Holding my elbow out for her, she takes hold of me, the current that has always connected us set on fire again. “A few minutes isn’t enough,” I whisper as we stroll toward the hall.
She smiles at Mr. Yamagata, bringing one to his face as well. “It’s all we have.” She looks at me as if the act itself was done on a dare. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I never thought I’d see you again.”
“But you knew. You must have known you were coming to Brudenbourg, and that I was here.”
“I did. I read plenty of articles online. I knew where you were. I just wanted you to be the one who wanted to see me again.”
We reach the hallway, and there’s nowhere left for us to go, just like before. “Can we take a walk outside?”
“I can’t have the other guests or my parents seeing us leave together.”
“Not even for a walk?”
She looks back at the party. Dick is chuckling it up with Bixby and his business partner, Tracey. Her parents seemed to be making the rounds to say good night. Bennett is with Marielle, and Margie is still scowling at me.
The other guests have either retired already or are deep in conversation near the fire. I add, “No one is watching us.”
“My parents and Marielle are. She seemed quite taken with you at dinner.”
“Are you jealous?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So am I. Want to tell me about Little Dick?”
“What about him?”
I almost laugh that she instantly knows who I’m referring to. “He told Bennett that he’s your fiancé.”
“What?”
Her parents look our way when her voice echoes through the expansive space. Unfortunately, that brings them our way. Ally and I go quiet, but her mother says, “I hope you enjoyed dinner and had a lovely evening, Mr. Everest.”
“I did.” I nod my head to bow like I was shown. “Thank you for the evening meal and for having me here in the palace. It’s an incre
dible place.”
“I call it home,” she says. Turning toward her daughter, she mouths, “Chin up,” before adding, “We’re going to retire to our quarters. Will you be staying, Arabelle?”
“I was going to show Mr. Everest how to get to his wing of the palace. As you know, it can be quite confusing to an outsider.”
“Yes, it can. If you need more assistance, make sure to call one of the butlers. They’re here to make your stay more pleasant as well as run the home, so please don’t hesitate to contact them if you need anything. There’s a button on the phone in your room if you do.”
“Thank you again.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr. Everest,” her father says with a voice bordering on hoarse. We shake hands before he nods and takes his wife’s hand.
As soon as they head toward the elevator, Ally looks at me. “Guess I have my parents’ permission. Come on. I’ll show you around the house.”
As I look around, this is not like any place I ever called a house before, but I finally have time alone with her again. “I can’t wait.”
11
Princess Arabelle
In front of the last door at the end of the west wing on the second floor, I stop. “This is your room.”
“How did you know that?” he asks, his voice much more seductive when we’re alone. Or maybe it’s always that way, but I’m starting to fall under his spell again. God, those lips. I want to kiss them, and I want them to kiss me, and—“Ally?”
I let my gaze slide above those full lips that I’ve sucked on and look right into the eyes that frequent my dreams. “Yes,” I reply, my throat dry and my breath coming less easy.
“How did you know this was my room?”
“You told me your room is white with blue pillows.”
“And you knew which room it was based on that?”
I nod. “I have them all memorized. This was our playground, our hide-and-go-seek wonderland. The winters are cold, and when we weren’t allowed outside, we played inside. Each room has a different color scheme, and your room is one of my favorites, decorated in yellow. I used to sneak off and sleep in there. The most beautiful sunrises can be seen through those windows.”
“Did you know I was coming?”
“No.” I hold out my hand. “Key please.”
He hands it to me, and I unlock the room, wanting to see it again. He remains outside the door and looks back down the hall. “Is this allowed? I’m not going to be beheaded, am I?”
“Don’t be silly. We haven’t done that in thirty years.”
“What?”
“The look of horror on your face was worth the joke.” I roll my eyes and wave him inside. “We never believed in death as punishment, but then again, we aren’t a country of high crime, so I don’t think it was ever necessary.”
There’s a hesitation to his steps, discomfort as if he’s breaking an unspoken rule. “It’s okay. No one will see us. We can even leave the door open if you don’t want to be alone with me. I understand.”
With distance still between us, he says, “You don’t understand. I’m not afraid of being caught with you. I’m afraid of being alone with you.”
“Why?” I hate the way my voice betrays me, dipping into seduction from one word spoken. I have no control around him. He stimulates my mind and tempts my body with ease. He doesn’t treat me like a doll that is easily broken or like a woman here for his pleasure. My pleasure is his pleasure, and his pleasure is mine.
He would never choose a pretty face over insightful conversation. But most of all, he would never expect me to be quiet.
Hutton looks out the door as if debating, but when he turns back to me, his mind is made up. “That last night together in Austin was the first time I realized what you meant to me. It had been so simple to keep things casual when we were living in different cities, but when I saw you, I knew what I wanted.”
“You wanted me?”
“I still do, Ally.”
The name warms me like a wool blanket in winter. “I missed that name. I missed you saying it. I missed so much.” I laugh lightly, looking down, almost embarrassed by my silly confession. Almost. But he never makes me feel awkward or uncomfortable sharing my feelings. I peek back up, and his interest is set in the depths of his soulful eyes.
“Then why did you leave suddenly? Why are we here pretending we don’t know each other better than anyone else?”
“I’ll be queen one day, and I can’t rule my own country from Austin, Texas.”
“I understand that, but what I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me.”
“I wasn’t allowed.” I turn away from him, not wanting his eyes dissecting my lies. I can’t tell him I was escaping a past of my own doing, and that I almost lost my chance at the throne because of my bad decisions. I can’t tell him that loving him would hurt me in the end. I can’t put that burden on him to carry. So I’ll carry it instead. “It’s complicated, Hutton.”
When I turn around, he shoves his hands in his pockets, looking drop-dead debonair in his tuxedo. “Clearly, but that doesn’t answer the question.”
“It’s late. I should go before the rumors start.”
“Let them—”
“No. I’ve traveled that route before. I’ll take the less scenic way this time.” I move to pass him, but he reaches out, catching me by the waist. I’m slow to allow myself this last look to indulge, but weak to this man, I do and angle my chin up. The tiara begins to slip, but he catches it. “You wouldn’t want to lose that.”
“What’s a few jewels when I’ve lost so much more already?”
“Speaking in riddles won’t get us anywhere but lost again.”
“That’s where I’m best when it comes to you.” I take a step just out of his reach but turn back, and whisper, “No one can know about us.”
“What happens if they find out?”
His tone isn’t bitter, but more curious. “I lose everything.” I walk to the door and take the knob in hand. Just before I close it, I add, “Good night, Hutton.”
“Good night, Ally.”
I take the cozy name and shut his door, and then carry it in my heart all the way to my room on the third floor. By the time I’m climbing in bed, my mind is whirling with thoughts of tonight, my heart both full and confused, and my belly hungry. Watching my sister and Hutton hit it off like a house on fire at dinner caused me to lose my appetite, so I’m actually starving.
Tossing and turning for more than two hours leaves me depleted, so I take matters into my own hands. I flip the covers off and slip on sleep shorts before I grab my Crow Brothers T-shirt to wear downstairs since I’m traveling down memory lane already. I take the back stairs and halls, tiptoeing in bare feet, boxer shorts, and my shirt with no bra. My hair is twisted on top of my head and my face free of makeup.
I don’t worry about seeing anyone or running into the staff. Everyone’s been asleep for at least an hour. Slipping into the kitchen, I’m met by the light of one of the refrigerators and a dark silhouette rummaging through the food inside. “Hello?”
When he leans back, I recognize that body—broad shoulders, carved biceps made of steel, hair that is short enough to look professional but long enough to mess up during sex. And that ass . . .
I could write poetry about Hutton Everest’s ass.
As a matter of fact, I have.
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I want to bite his ass and squeeze it too.
I didn’t say it was good poetry. Just an ode to sort of thing.
“Is that you, Ally?”
As much as it pains me to say, I have to. “You need to stop calling me that.”
He sets a block of cheese and a jar of mustard on the steel countertop and grabs a knife from the butcher block. His lack of response has my reactions going into overdrive. I know he heard me, but he pulls a cutting board from the stack in the corner as though he didn’t. As he digs the knife into the cheese, he p
auses and looks my way. “I like it.”
Deep.
Husky.
His voice fits the night and the sneaking around we’re both doing. The dulcet tones strike straight to my core. I grip the counter, the cold metal steeling my shaken willpower. “I’m a princess, and one day, I’ll be queen.” I hate how whiny I sound as if my saying it makes it real for him. It doesn’t. I’m still Ally from Austin in his eyes. The thought makes me smile, but I can’t, or he’ll never see me for who I am now. “Acknowledging my title is a sign of respect.”
“Respect is an interesting word, isn’t it? One could argue that you didn’t respect what we had. Someone else, maybe yourself, could argue that you respected me enough to let me go. So respect seems to be relative to the person using the term. What do you think?” The blade of the knife hits the cutting board with a thud.
What do I think? “I think this is too deep for one thirty in the morning.”
“Let’s go with something less philosophical. Mustard or mayo? I don’t know which one you prefer. Weird, right?”
“Mustard.”
“A girl after my own heart.”
Hutton’s made himself at home, working around the kitchen with such comfort and helping himself as if he owns the place. To my annoyance, it also comforts me. He’s so sure of himself, so utterly sexy and cocky Hutton. Grrr . . . Seeing him make sandwiches shirtless has me after something, but at this moment, it’s not his heart. “Are one of those sandwiches for me?”
His eyes find mine through the moonlight, and a smirk appears. Damn him. He never did play fair. He uses everything he’s got to get what he wants. I’m just not sure if it’s that sandwich or me he’s vying for, though. I move to his side and pull the bread from the sealed container. He takes a bread knife and slices the loaf, then lays the pieces on the board. Like a pastry chef, he leans over his creation, spooning the mustard on the four slices.
He’s so close that I’m warmed from the heat emanating off him. I move against him, the side of my chest pressed to his arm and then rest my cheek against his bicep. Hutton stills and stays. “What are you doing, princess?”
