Dirty Halo

by Julie Johnson

  “Ew. Don’t get all clingy on me, E. I have commitment issues.”

  “Deal with it, C. And don’t for a minute think I missed that line about me being crowned.” My eyes roll. “You do realize there’s a ninety-nine percent chance I’m going to walk away from all this in a few weeks, right?”

  “No.” She slams her milk glass onto the table with a bang. “I refuse to accept that. You cannot abdicate. If you do… the throne will pass to some distant cousin no one even cares about from the far side of the family tree.”

  “How far?”

  “Far. As in…” She squints, mind churning. “Your grandfather’s younger brother’s daughter’s son. A middle-aged, cross-eyed miscreant, no doubt.”

  “Hmm. And how exactly do you know this distant cousin wouldn’t make a better leader than me?”

  “I don’t.” She shrugs. “But I can say with at least some degree of confidence that you’re not a complete idiot. God only knows what kind of moron might come crawling out of the woodwork.”

  “How sweet.”

  Her laughter tinkles out in a melodic burst.

  A thought occurs to me. “Will the dreaded cousins be there on Sunday? If so, you’ll have an opportunity to decide — with some degree of confidence — who’d make less of a mess, sitting on the throne.”

  “Probably.” She groans at the prospect. “Everyone and their mother will be there to pay their respects in their finest funeral attire. Should be a positively ghastly affair.”

  “You make it sound like a bad cocktail party, not a memorial service.”

  “Funerals aren’t for the dead, they’re for the living. And, in the case of a royal death, it’s more about the spectacle than anything else. Days of pomp and circumstance, dignitaries flying in from all over the globe… it’s a media circus. Frankly, I’d rather remember my aunt and uncle privately, not on display for the sake of the whole world.”

  “I understand that. When my mom died… I didn’t want to share my grief with anyone else. I held it close to my chest for months. I’m not sure why I did it, except that… maybe I thought I’d be giving away a piece of her, somehow, if I talked about her with other people. Does that make any sense?”

  Chloe glances over at me. “Maybe it’s the gummy bear talking, but yes. It totally does.”

  I smile and begin to reply, but the sudden buzz of my cellphone on the table between us draws my focus. A quick glance at the screen has my mouth pressing into a flat line. I click the side button to send the call to voicemail.

  “Who was it?” Chloe asks, curious.

  I hesitate.

  “Spill, E.”

  “It was Owen.”

  “Ah.” She smirks. “And how is the leader of my personal fan club?”

  “I don’t know. We aren’t speaking, at the moment.”

  And, if your mother gets her way, we’ll never speak again.

  “Looks like he’s speaking to you,” she points out. “Why the deep freeze?”

  “You do remember him being a total boor the other day, correct?”

  “Vaguely.”

  I sigh. “Plus, there’s the small fact your mother came to my room last night and essentially threatened to have him arrested if I ever see him again.”

  “WHAT?”

  I briefly summarize Octavia’s visit to my chambers, leaving out the part about my wall-punch and the conversation I had with Carter, afterward.

  “Jesus Christ,” Chloe mutters when I’m done. “She really has it out for you.”

  “Any advice?”

  “Honestly? Not really. I wish I could tell you this is an idle threat, but… much as it pains me to admit, it might be better for you — and for him — in the long run if you do what she wants. ”

  My expression falls. “You can’t honestly think I should cut him out of my life. He’s my oldest friend!”

  “I can’t tell you what to do. I can only tell you about my own experience, going up against Octavia.” She grimaces. “In middle school, I made a friend named Kacey. Scholarship kid. Super sweet, dirt poor. We were close… until Octavia decided Kacey’s family wasn’t a quality connection for the stepdaughter of a duke. She told me to end the friendship. I refused.” She pulls in a breath. “A week later, Kacey’s family abruptly moved away. The official story was that her father got an unexpected transfer at his job to a town six hours from Hightower. Unofficially? It was Octavia. ”

  “Let me get this straight. She uprooted an entire family across the country, just to prevent you from being friends with some random girl?”

  “The fact that she’d walked in on me and Kacey making out in my bed the previous week probably didn’t help my case.” Chloe winks at me. “Can you imagine? The perfect Lancaster image, tarnished by a lesbian!?”

  “I’m sorry, Chloe. That’s…” My head shakes. “That’s bullshit. You should be free to be with whoever the hell you want — free to be whoever the hell you want.”

  “Don’t you worry about me. Octavia may not be thrilled that I’m a solid 3 on the Kinsey Scale, but I got my revenge.” Her eyebrows waggle. “Swiss all-girls boarding school, remember?”

  I burst out laughing. After a second, she joins in with me.

  “You know, I should’ve said this earlier…” I clear my throat. “I’m really sorry about the other day. Owen usually isn’t so… combative.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t apologize for him.” She sighs. “And, much as I’d like to hold a grudge, in this case I won’t. Men are idiots when they’re in love.”

  I blink rapidly. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh come on.” She glances over at me. “You can’t pretend you didn’t know.”

  “You’re totally off base, here. There’s no way Owen is in love with me. He’s my—”

  “Best friend. Riiiiiight. Keep telling yourself that.”

  “He is!” I insist. “We’ve never so much as kissed.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “Huh. Well. That still doesn’t change my assessment,” Chloe says stubbornly. “It’s the only explanation for all his macho bullshit: he realized he was about to lose you and he flipped out.”

  “Yes — lose me as a friend.”

  “A friend he wants to bend over and fuck to kingdom come, perhaps.”

  “Chloe!”

  “What? Don’t be such a prude.”

  “I’m definitely not a prude. I just…” I flush. “I don’t like thinking about having sex with Owen. It’s weird.”

  “I’d have sex with him.” She whistles wolfishly. “The boy may be an asshole, but he is fine as hell. I would ride him like an escalator.”

  “Please, spare me the visuals.”

  “Suit yourself.” She chuckles. “So, if blond hotties don’t get your engines revving, who does? What’s your type? Clean-cut? Silver fox? Sporty? Rock god?”

  I mull over the question. The few guys I’ve ever had sex with were all casual college flings — dark, drunken hook-up sessions in narrow dormitory beds, typically over and done with in a few short minutes. I don’t have the nerve to admit to Chloe that I’ve never had an orgasm. Never even come close, actually. And I’m definitely not about to inform her that the only time I’ve ever felt even a hint of the passion I’ve read about in my favorite books was in the backseat of an SUV last Friday night, sitting on her brother’s lap, the rock hard length of his erection making itself unapologetically known against my ass.

  “Come on,” Chloe prompts. “Spill. Who was the last guy that inspired some hot sexual fantasies?”

  With considerable effort, I manage to push Carter’s face to the depths of my psyche.

  “No one. Honestly.”

  “You know, you’re a terrible liar. Your emotions play out all over your face.”

  Where have I heard that before?

  Her eyes dance with humor. “Don’t worry. We’ll work on it before you become the Crown Princess. You’ll need to be able to bluff with the bes
t of them, if you’re going to rule someday.”

  “Chloe! Give it up, already.”

  She just grins at me, totally unapologetic. After a beat, I can’t help grinning back.

  I’ve never had a sibling, so I don’t have anything to compare it to… but if this is what it’s like to have a sister, I have to say…

  It doesn’t entirely suck.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The knock sounds sharply on my bedroom door. A riot of butterflies flutters to life inside my stomach.

  “One second!” I call breathlessly. “Almost ready!”

  I give myself a final once-over in the floor-length mirror, hardly recognizing the girl staring back at me. Between the freshly dyed hair, the sky-high designer heels, and the immaculately tailored black dress that costs more than any other garment that’s ever been on my body… I’m a far cry from the girl with overgrown roots in a skimpy crop top who arrived at the Lockwood Estate a week ago.

  Hearing Lady Morrell’s voice in the back of my head, I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin.

  Posture is pertinent! Your spine should be straight as the steady trunk of a rainforest tree, supporting a whole canopy of branches.

  I tuck a glossy mahogany curl behind my ear. I haven’t seen my hair this color in — god, I don’t even know how long. Surprisingly enough, I don’t hate it. And though I gave the stylist a hard time last night when she pulled out the scissors, I have to admit that the layered cut is far more flattering for my heart-shaped face than the drab, uniform length I had before.

  Smoothing my hands down the front of my dress, I grab my jet clutch purse off the vanity. My hand hovers over my cellphone, but when I see the screen light up with an incoming call — Owen’s name flashing in all caps — I decide to leave it behind. No good can come from talking to him, right now… even if keeping him at arm’s length is enough to tear my heart in two.

  He’s safer this way, I tell myself, eyes stinging painfully. You heard Chloe’s story about Kacey. If Octavia would do something like that to her own daughter… she won’t think twice about doing it to you.

  My head tilts back to look at the coffered ceiling, a vain attempt to keep the tears at bay. I know I don’t have a choice — that shutting him out is the only way to protect him — but that doesn’t make it any easier. He’s been calling and texting nonstop. He even showed up at the front gates last night, demanding to see me. Or so one of the guards told me, after they’d turned him away.

  Apparently the email I sent two days ago requesting space and time to sort through things on my own was not well received.

  “That’s how you choose to end a twenty-year friendship? A bloody email?” Owen snarled on the voicemail he left around midnight, sounding both inebriated and furious. “For fuck’s sake, Ems. I can’t believe you could be this cruel.”

  Chloe knocks again, harder this time.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming!” I mutter, wiping a tear as I head for the door. “Hold your horses, Chl— Oh!” My throat convulses as I pull open the door and find myself face to face with Carter, looking utterly incredible in a black suit that hugs every plane of his sculpted body.

  Holy fuck.

  “You’re not Chloe,” I breathe stupidly, unable to tear my eyes away from him.

  “No,” he murmurs in a tight voice. “I’m not.”

  I nearly stumble back when I see the dangerous heat burning in his eyes. He drinks me in, inch by inch, his gaze dragging slowly up the length of my body from the black stilettos on my feet to the fitted curves of my dress to the dark brown curls falling around my shoulders in an elegant half-up style.

  “You look…” he trails off, jaw clenching tight.

  “Different?” I supply. “It’s the hair.”

  A muscle jumps in his cheek. “Trust me. It’s not the hair.”

  My fingers grip my clutch purse so hard, I worry I’ll snap the clasp as Carter takes a step toward me, closing a sliver of the distance between us. My breath catches, watching his hand lift to gently take one of my curls between his index finger and his thumb — just as he did the first night we met. I stop breathing altogether as his fingers slide down, stretching the lock to its full length.

  It’s the most erotic touch of my life, and I can’t even feel it.

  “What are you doing?” I ask breathlessly.

  His eyes flicker to mine, glittering with tightly-leashed emotions. His mouth opens, he leans in…

  “Hey!”

  We both flinch back at the sound of Chloe’s voice. My eyes drop to the hallway floor. Carter clears his throat roughly, turning away from me.

  “Let’s go, you two!” she calls from the top of the grand staircase, gesturing madly. “The limos are waiting outside. Don’t worry — I already made sure we aren’t riding with Linus and Octavia.”

  “Thank god for small miracles,” I murmur, looking anywhere but at Carter.

  He doesn’t say a word as the three of us make our way out the front doors and down into the driveway, where Octavia and Linus are waiting by the limos with Simms. At least ten of the King’s Guard are also present, armed to the hilt — literally, they’re all wearing swords — in impressive navy blue military uniforms. Their double-breasted gold buttons gleam brightly in the early morning sunshine. They look more ready to take on an invading army than accompany a grieving family to a funeral.

  “Is all this pomp really necessary?” Chloe asks.

  “Seeing as someone has recently attacked the crown? Yes,” Octavia snaps at her daughter. “A certain show of force must be made during our first public appearance.”

  Linus coughs, a rheumy sound. “Your mother is right.”

  I meet his eyes and see an unfamiliar expression on his face as he evaluates me.

  Could it be pride?

  “Emilia,” he murmurs. “You look absolutely lovely.”

  I open my mouth to thank him, but Octavia interrupts shrilly. “Yes, well, lovely as she may be, she’s delayed us insufferably. We’re running quite behind schedule. Everyone — into the cars this instant. We will see you at the Abbey. You won’t arrive until shortly after us, as you’ll be diverting to Westgate to pick up the Sterling children before the ceremony.”

  “Oh, perfect.” Chloe groans dully. I hear Carter sigh from my other side, equally perturbed, and my curiosity magnifies. I’m sure I’ve heard the name Sterling before, but I can’t put my finger on the context.

  I shoot Chloe a questioning glance. She mouths the words I’ll explain later, eyes rolling back in her head.

  Octavia, Linus, and Simms climb into the first limo while I follow Chloe and Carter into the second. We settle onto supple seats and I try not to let my awe leak through as I take it all in. I’ve never ridden in a limousine before, let alone one from the vintage Rolls Royce fleet used by the royal family for all formal events. My eyes scan from the fully stocked bar of glass decanters to the plush carpeted floor to the hand-embroidered royal crest that decorates the privacy partition. Every detail appears custom designed for maximum comfort and style.

  We’ve barely pulled out of the driveway when Chloe reaches into the beaded bodice of her frock and retrieves a rolled joint from her bra. She lights up and takes a deep hit before extending it in my direction.

  “No thanks.”

  “Carter?” she offers, voice scratchy with smoke.

  He shakes his head, reaching instead for the decanter of bourbon. Pouring a few fingers into two separate glasses, he takes one for himself and leans forward to hand the other to me.

  My fingers close automatically around the smooth crystal. “Oh, I don’t think I need—”

  “Just sip it,” he murmurs, staring into my eyes. I know he can read the emotions churning inside them — all the fear and worry and butterfly-induced nausea. “It’ll calm your nerves.”

  With a nod of appreciation, I take a hesitant sip. He’s right. The minute the warm liquid hits my stomach, I feel some of the swarming butterflies dissipate.
>
  The atmosphere is unusually quiet as we roll onward, each of us wrapped up in our own thoughts, enveloped in that unique somberness that accompanies all funeral processions.

  “So.” I clear my throat and they both look at me. “Who, exactly, are the Sterlings and why do we hate them?”

  Carter snorts and takes another gulp of bourbon.

  Chloe giggles. “First of all, we don’t hate them. There’s just… a lot of complicated history between the Sterlings and the Lancasters. Starting with the fact that Ava was engaged to Prince Henry. And her brother Alden was his best friend.”

  “Is,” Carter corrects lowly. “Not was. Henry isn’t dead, Chloe.”

  “Really? How would you know, Carter? Last I checked, you haven’t even been to see him.”

  “Don’t be a bitch, Chloe.”

  She flips him off and takes another puff of pot.

  “You were out with Ava the night of the fire,” I recall as fragments from a previous conversation suddenly click together in my mind. “At a club opening in Lund.”

  Chloe blows out a perfect ring of smoke, smirking at her own parlor trick. “Yep. Hard to say what she was more upset about — the fact that her chance to be queen legitimately went up in smoke, or that her fiancé had the gall to inhale so much of it during that fire.”

  “You make it sound as if she doesn’t care about him at all.”

  Chloe shoots Carter an interesting look. “Care to offer an opinion on that, dear brother?”

  He takes another gulp of bourbon and stares pointedly out the window.

  “So…” My brow creases as I try to sort out the complicated dynamics. “You aren’t friends, then?”

  “We were growing up. All five of us, actually — me, Carter, Henry, Ava, Alden. Thick as thieves.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, Ava and I are more like… frenemies?” She shrugs. “Our families are connected.”

  “Meaning…”

  “Look, E, you’re new to all this, so I don’t think you realize just how small the circle of aristocratic families in Germania is. Even if you don’t like someone, it’s practically guaranteed you’ll cross paths relatively often at charity fundraisers, galas, balls, coronations…”