Royal Rogue

by Jessica Peterson

  Charlie’s grin faded a bit. We started walking again. We were quiet for a beat.

  I wondered what to say. I had a million questions for him. Some of them serious. What is it that makes you sad?

  Some of them, not so much. Want to fuck again?

  I didn’t understand how Charlie made me feel at once a little panicky—like I needed to be alone, I needed space to think and digest—and a lot hungry. Like I couldn’t wait to see him again, even though he hadn’t even left yet.

  Or maybe I knew this feeling, and I was just too chicken shit to give it a name.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

  We were almost at my door. I slowed my stride. The air was still warm and soft. Just how he’d felt wrapped around me last night.

  “Honestly?” I said. “I need a cigarette.”

  He let out a breath. Whoosh. “Thank God you said that. Mind if I join you?”

  I looked at him. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

  “I don’t.”

  I kept looking at him. His gaze was teasing. Pained.

  “I don’t either. Come on, then.”

  I led him around the side of my apartment to the garden out back. Settling at the table there, I dug my pack of cigarettes out of my bag and reached for the ashtray I hid behind a table leg. Charlie took the chair across from mine, where he’d sat last night for dinner.

  “Why so sneaky?” Charlie asked, helping himself to two cigarettes. He lit one, gave it a good draw. Handed it to me.

  I took it. “Thanks,” I said. I put my lips where his had been half a heartbeat before. I could taste him. His mouth.

  I remembered how his mouth had felt on my skin last night.

  Charlie lit his cigarette. The sting of the smoke relaxed me.

  “I honestly don’t do it that much,” I said, watching him inhale. “I only smoke when…well.”

  “When what?”

  I flicked the end of my cigarette with my thumb. “When I need to think.”

  “Ah.” Charlie exhaled a tidy plume of smoke. “So you need to think about me?”

  I blew out a breath through my nose. A small laugh.

  “A little bit. Yeah.”

  Another beat of silence. My heart felt soft and strange inside my chest.

  Three days. Had it really only been three days since I’d met this man?

  “Exciting news for Aly and Rob,” Charlie said, tapping some ash into the ashtray. “No surprise there. At least not for me. They seem to be head over heels for each other.”

  “Oh, absolutely. They’re besotted. Sometimes the PDA gets a little intense. But they’re cute, aren’t they? I already know that baby is going to be a heartbreaker.”

  Charlie’s eyes met mine. A little uncertain.

  “Do you want kids?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I haven’t been bitten by that particular bug yet. What about you?”

  He ran his free hand through his hair. “Honestly? I haven’t ever really spent much time thinking about it. Being that settled—being that certain about stuff—it’s always felt far off, you know? But I guess it really isn’t anymore. Which is scary.”

  Licking my lips, I looked at him. “How so?”

  He gave my question some thought before responding.

  “I thought things would be different. I thought I’d be in a different place in my life. A freer place, where I was further along.”

  I scoffed. “Charlie, you own a bloody company. You’ve accomplished what other people only dream of. How much further do you want to go?”

  His eyes were searing when they met mine. “A lot further, Jane.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Means I’ve failed. I’ve fucked up.”

  My heart throbbed. One beat. Then another.

  I blinked away the burn in my eyes.

  “What the hell have you fucked up?” I asked.

  A beat. Then: “We’ve screwed up everything.”

  “‘We’?”

  “I mean me. I’ve screwed up everything.”

  Exhaling, I gathered my knees up to my chest. “I know what that feels like. I never thought I’d be thirty one and divorced. But here I am.”

  “That bothers you,” he said. “Not being thirty one, but being divorced.”

  I took a drag. Let it out. “Not as much as it used to.” I looked down, tapping my cigarette into the ashtray. “But I’d never failed at anything before. Never failed so much as an exam. But then I go and cock up this massive, important thing. And I do it publicly. It’s been really hard not to beat myself up about it. I feel like I carry it around with me in my pocket—that disappointment of not being able to make my marriage work.”

  Charlie patted the pocket on his breast. “I keep my disappointment right here.”

  I scoffed, stomping out my cigarette. I felt lightheaded.

  “It”—my voice caught—“it gets really heavy sometimes, yeah?”

  Charlie looked at me. “It does. Especially when you’re scared you’ll mess up again.”

  Yes.

  I focused on the scrunched up stub of my cigarette. Focused on my breathing. I hadn’t told anybody that.

  I knew it meant something that I’d told Charlie.

  Slowly—carefully—he reached across the table and took my hand. I let him take it. His fingers felt warm and sure around mine. Real.

  “You’re doing better than you think,” he said. “Starting with running out on all those douchebags at The Ascot.”

  I scoffed. “That was the easy part. The hard part is…”

  His eyes flickered with something I couldn’t place. “Trusting yourself.”

  God, I needed another cigarette.

  “All my life I’ve been warned the vultures are out there,” I said carefully. “But I wanted to believe I knew better. I didn’t. The fact that I’d let someone get so close to me and pull the wool over my eyes like that—it fucked with my head. For a while after my marriage blew up, I couldn’t tell up from down. I didn’t know who I was. I spun out completely—I’m sure you saw the headlines.”

  A muscle along Charlie’s jaw jumped against the skin. His eyes were hard and sad and stormy, all at once.

  God damn it, I couldn’t read this man sometimes, and it was driving me crazy. I wanted him to talk to me. Tell me everything.

  Then again, I didn’t. I couldn’t let him talk to me without letting him in.

  I looked away.

  “It’s taken me a long time to get my equilibrium back,” I said. “I had to claw through the rubble, you know? Rebuild myself one brick at a time. Find myself. I feel like I’m finally getting somewhere. I like where I am. I like my life. Minus all the douchebags, of course.”

  He swallowed. Audibly.

  “And you don’t want to get destroyed again.”

  He let go of my hand. My skin pulsed from the memory of his touch.

  I shivered.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  He tugged a hand down his face, pulling at his scruff with his fingers. I felt the scratchy sound in my clit.

  I wanted him to stay again.

  I needed him to leave.

  “I’m very sorry that happened to you, Jane.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “I’m a better person for it. At least I hope I am. I’ve learned from my successes. But I can see now that I’ve definitely learned more from my failures.”

  Charlie was looking at me now, studying my face. I couldn’t read his expression. There was pain there. Lust. That sadness, too.

  “My turn to ask,” I said. “What are you thinking?”

  His eyes flashed. “I’m thinking I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re opening up my eyes—making me see things I haven’t seen before.” He shook his head. “I guess what I’m trying to say is you’re not what I was expecting.”

  Heat bloomed in my cheeks and between my legs.

  “You’re not what I was expecting either. Not at all.”

  For a sec
ond I thought he’d ask to stay again. And for a second, I thought I’d actually say yes.

  Instead, he grabbed the pack of cigarettes between us and opened it, sliding the lighter inside before closing the top. He handed it to me.

  “I should get going,” he said.

  I blinked. “Yeah. Of course. Do you need a ride, or…?”

  “I think I’ll just grab a taxi outside the palace if that’s okay,” he said, standing.

  I stood too. My heart and my thoughts were scrambling as we walked through the house to the front door. I followed him out onto the steps.

  “If you go to the main gate, security will escort you through the pedestrian exit,” I said, crossing my arms.

  Charlie was standing close. I loved the shape of him. His size. Everything about him lit me up.

  He looked at me, hands in his pockets. “Thanks for last night. And for today. I’m not just saying this, Jane—I had a really great time with you and your family.”

  “They didn’t scare you off?” I said, smiling tightly.

  “How could they? Your sister in law makes a mean mac and cheese. And your brothers are excellent cheats at Monopoly.”

  “Never a dull moment in the Thorne family.”

  Charlie took a step closer, his trainers catching on the brick step. “When can I see you again?”

  “Um,” I said.

  “Right.” His turn with the tight smile. “You need time.”

  I swallowed. “Thanks for understanding.”

  “I hope I hear from you,” he said.

  Then he slid his hand onto my face, gently. My pulse skipped. Angling his head, he ducked down and closed his eyes and put his lips on mine. The feeling was so sweet I had to close my eyes against it. He kissed me slowly, savoring my mouth. Just a hint of last night’s lewdness. His fingertips were in my hair, blunt and curious, and I found myself rising into his kiss.

  Losing myself in the feel of him.

  This lonely, scruffy, sexy boy.

  I felt the ground giving way beneath my feet. That sensation of stepping into the deep end of the pool. My mind resisted the sudden change—it was screaming danger, danger, get the fuck out now—but my body liked the feel of it. The weightlessness. The freedom.

  I hadn’t felt anything like it in a long, long time.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Charlie

  I didn’t get a taxi home.

  Instead, I walked. I’d always been a walker. It helped me think. Cleared my head. It was one of my favorite things about London—how walkable the city was. I’d spent whole days wandering its alleys. Crossing its bridges and devouring its sidewalks, one stride at a time.

  I gulped lungful after lungful of diesel-tinted air. But I couldn’t calm down. Couldn’t clear the logjam inside my chest and my head.

  I had to crawl through the rubble, but now I’m finally getting somewhere.

  This fucking woman. This caring, charismatic, well-loved woman was just putting her life back together. And I was going to obliterate it. How did that square with mom’s wish for me to make the world a better place?

  Jane wasn’t supposed to be so down to earth. She wasn’t supposed to be so sexy or so smart or so good. She was better than good. She was excellent.

  All of my marks—they’d been dickheads. Assholes of the highest order. Pretentious and short sighted.

  Jane was anything but. And I liked her.

  I liked her.

  Although I was an idiot to even think I could actually make this work. Because it was impossible. Jane would be right to shut me out for pretending to be someone I’m not.

  She wouldn’t hate me for being a nobody. I didn’t even think she’d hate me for stealing from her.

  She’d hate me for lying. For “pulling the wool over her eyes”, as she’d said.

  I knew she was going to be hurt when she learned the truth. Which meant I needed to get the theft done as quickly as possible. Get in. Get out. The less time we had together, the less pain in the end.

  I wanted to spare her feelings as much as I could. I cared about her. I wanted her to keep moving on from her prick of an ex-husband. Even though the thought of her moving on with someone else made me want to die.

  Several miles and a few hours later, a familiar awning came into view. The lettering on it was cracked and peeling in places.

  THE SANDWICH SHO (the P had been missing for years).

  Even now, with everything going on, my heart ached with pride at the sight. I remembered the day mom opened the deli. She’d beamed from behind the counter, spreading mayo on toast, ringing up customers.

  A Closed sign hung in the door. But I knew Owen would be inside, cleaning up and doing prep work for the week ahead.

  I dug my keys out of my pocket. My hands shook so badly that I dropped them. Owen must’ve heard me, because a beat later, the deadbolt clicked and the door opened.

  He was in houndstooth chef pants and an apron, broom in hand. His eyes followed me as I stood back up.

  “Oh fuck,” he said. “What happened?”

  Spearing a hand through my hair, I stepped inside. I smelled bacon. The yeasty tang of bread.

  The ache in my chest intensified.

  “I really look that bad?”

  “Dude. You look like shit.”

  “Wow. Not even gonna try to sugar coat it, are you?”

  He motioned to me with his free hand. “Sorry, but there’s no sugar coating this.”

  He closed the door. I tossed my keys on the counter and followed him to the kitchen in the back. It was a mess. Pots and bowls were piled high in the sink; the oven was still on, and a freshly baked loaf of bread rested on the stainless steel prep table in the middle of the room. The loaf had been cut, slices of it spilling over the edge of the cutting board. Crispy bacon was cooling on a paper-towel lined plate beside it.

  “Mom’s sourdough,” Owen explained, his face lighting up. “Took me all morning. Want some? I thought I’d experiment with a different riff on her BLT. I’m this close to nailing it.”

  I went still. Owen was in his element. In the kitchen, bringing mom’s recipes—her memory—back to life. Because opening this shop wasn’t just her dream. It was his dream, too.

  Our dream. We loved making—and eating—sandwiches as much as mom had.

  Owen had been an idiot to take that loan from Jimmy. But I understood why he’d done it. He would’ve sold his soul to keep this place open.

  I was selling my soul, one con at a time.

  “I’m all right for now, thanks,” I said. I turned and leaned the backs of my thighs against the table. I felt weirdly tender, the way I’d felt after the fistfight I’d had with the kid who’d bullied Owen back in high school. “Smells good though.”

  Owen grinned, offering me a shrug. “I was feeling motivated. I guess it just kinda got real, you know? The fact that our lives will be one hundred percent ours again. No more worrying about losing our knees or the shop. I want to hit the ground running when the time comes. We’ve been waiting so long…”

  Hell, we’d been waiting years for our freedom.

  “Unless some shit went down with Jane last night,” he said, eyeing me. “She’s got you in knots, I can tell. What happened?”

  I shook my head. Where to even begin?

  “You like her.” His grin faded. “Holy shit, Charlie, you really like her, don’t you?”

  I looked at him.

  He looked away. Picked up a knife and started mincing a few cloves of garlic. “Makes things complicated for you, doesn’t it?”

  I blinked. Shook my head.

  “No. It’ll just hurt a little when we’re done.” It would hurt a lot more than that, but whatever. “I have it under control.”

  He still wouldn’t look at me. “This is five million pounds, Charlie. Life changing money.”

  “I know.” The words came out sounding more defensive than I’d intended.

  “Her bedroom.” Chop chop chop. “That’s where th
e Warhol is, right? Why didn’t you grab it while you were up there? Because if you spent the night, you had to have been…you know, in her bed.”

  “Because that’s not the plan,” I clipped. “You know that.”

  “What about security? Were you able to get more of a feel for what we’re up against?”

  “Yes.” I drew a hand down my face. “Jane’s got a personal security detail of three officers. There’s a contingent at the gate, and seven guards make regular rounds throughout the palace complex every hour on the hour. Walls are twenty feet high in most places. Cameras at regular ten meter intervals. We’ll escape via the roof—easiest way to get over the walls and into the public gardens.”

  “All right.” He gathered the minced garlic on the dull edge of his knife and dropped it into a prep bowl. Then he finally looked at me. “Thank you. For doing this. I know it’s been a long road. But we’re finally here. So close to our freedom I can taste it.”

  A lump rose in my throat. I swallowed it.

  “Speaking of taste, I think I’ll take you up on that BLT,” I said. “See if it’s as good as mom’s.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Jane

  Mondays were always tough. But this one was particularly brutal.

  A big donor had dropped out of Friday’s fundraiser, making the likelihood that we’d hit our target for grants quite low indeed. Emails kept popping up in my inbox, crowding it with a million requests. A million tasks. I’d spilled Diet Coke on my white shirt at lunch, and now I had a vomit-colored, areola-shaped stain on my boob. My secretary had discovered I’d accidentally double booked myself for a big meeting on Wednesday, and I’d had to cancel my visit to my favorite all girls’ school in London (I was due to sit in on a coding class I’d very much been looking forward to). I’d made the call personally, and had felt like a complete and utter wanker the whole time.

  It didn’t help that I couldn’t stop thinking about Charlie. I walked around in a daze, one foot in the present, the other in the early hours of yesterday morning, when I’d been wrapped up in Charlie, clawing at the sheets as I’d come and come and come.