by Brown, Tara
I hurried, making hardly any noise, to the basement where the sneaky entrance was. My heels and sundress slowed me down but it wasn't a race. No one else would dare leave the table, although it was an informal meal tonight. Mine and Jack’s escapes were as rude as anyone would allow.
As I burst through the doors to the staff entrance at the very bottom of the mansion, opposite the public entrance, I shivered from the warmth of the evening air but savored the scent of lilacs drifting on the breeze.
Making my escape along the hedged path, I was just about to glance back up at the windows to the dining room, triumphant in my getaway, but something was in my way.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” I jumped back, not hiding the fact I was out of breath as I took another step away from the dark figure. “What are you doing?” I asked Aiden as I continued to back up. “I’m not coming back up there so don't bother.”
He towered over me, leaning against the rock wall next to the walkway, trying to hide the fact he was huffing for breath. He had to have sprinted from the main entrance to beat me.
“Don't leave.” He stepped closer, he was bigger. Thicker or maybe broader. “She’s miserable and wants to make everyone else miserable too. She’ll be unbearable for a while.”
“And I’m not your girlfriend so I don't have to take it. I’m here because I love Mary and Johan and Jack, and I wanted to be here for them.” And I loved him. However, I couldn't bear to say it. “But that’s not my problem.” I pointed back at the house as if it somehow represented his mother.
“And I am aware of that and I’m sorry.” He crossed the stone pathway to me, taking my hands in his and looming over me. “Fin,” he whispered my name, “I want to talk.”
“I don't think we have anything to say to each other, Aiden. I think you said it all two months ago.” The image of him shouting at me and calling me a spoiled brat who would never get over herself, fluttered about in my mind. Indeed, he had said more than enough. “And honestly, being here is making me see this ending was everything I needed.”
“Don’t say that,” he warned.
“Why not? It’s true.”
“It’s not. You miss me!” he barked at me, demanding I miss him. Or was he begging? Why did he want me to miss him? Did he enjoy this, tormenting me?
“I don’t,” I lied and took another step back.
“Yes, you do. You miss me as much as I miss you.” His voice cracked, echoing in my ears. “Please don't leave.” He was begging.
“I can’t.” It was my turn to beg. “Please don't do this.”
“What if I force you to stay?” His lips twisted into a slight smile, causing flutterings everywhere.
“You can't.” My insides knotted into a ball.
“I can.” He took a step closer. “This is my country. I can keep you here as long as I like.” He played but my heart wasn't in for another beating.
“Aiden, don’t,” I protested but it was too late, hope kick-started my heart, fighting my brain and common sense. My mind reminded me that I couldn't risk my heart allowing that kind of damage ever again.
“Seeing you is killing me.” He lifted a hand to my jaw and tilted my face to meet his. “I miss you more than I can bear.”
“No! You were right, Aiden. When we broke up, it was for the best.” I tried to cling to the common sense that had become a mantra.
“I was wrong.” He said one of the things I needed him to say, though he didn't know how wrong he really was. Lowering his head, he brushed his lips against my forehead. “Forgive me.” He placed a warm kiss on my right cheek. “Because I can’t live without you.” He kissed my left cheek breathily. “Stay with me.”
My whole body tingled and I forgot where I was, drunk off the scent and feel of him.
“I need you.” He lowered more, placing a soft kiss on my lips.
The taste mixed with the smell of him was becoming something heady, too potent to fight. There wasn't a strong bone in my body and my brain wasn't enough.
My face melted into his, pushing into him, allowing his touch to soothe all the aches and pains I’d pretended I didn't feel. Pretended I didn’t care about.
I let the kiss go further, his hands trailing my body until he was wrapped around me and lifting me into the air, walking back to the entrance I’d just left. My back slammed against the door as he burst through it, carrying me inside as we made attempts at devouring each other. My fingers clawed at his shoulders and neck as my legs wrapped tighter around his waist. We burst through another door and my butt rested on something hard, wooden perhaps. I didn't look.
He kissed down my cheek to my neck, licking and tracing my flesh, searing me with his lips. A moan escaped as I closed my eyes and tilted my head, permitting him access. He dragged the strap of my summer dress to the side, kissing my shoulder, lighting me on fire.
Our breath hitched as our bodies rubbed against each other, hands moving, lips caressing, and passion bursting.
We’d gone from an icy glare to his body entering mine in whatever room this was.
I gasped, clinging to him as he lifted my face, kissing me like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
We’d been stuck on fast forward and now we were lost in slow motion.
Breath became moans, needy fingers turned to soft lovers, and desperate lips were caught in teeth, paused and frozen as we did the one thing we shouldn’t.
“God, I missed you,” he whispered into my mouth, groaning with me.
The words played over and over as the pleasure peaked and I got misplaced in it all.
Mislaid with him until it was over.
Even then, our two out-of-breath bodies clung to one another.
We didn't speak, maybe both terrified of the things we might say. Or what the other person might reveal, emotions such as regret.
He helped me down from the large desk I was sitting on, ignoring the papers and books that had been flung in our outrageous act.
He straightened himself as I searched for my underwear, but they were nowhere to be found. I suspected where they might be but told myself I didn't want to ask that question right now. We were instantly back to the awkward iciness we’d managed to get stuck in two months earlier.
No.
It was two years, almost to the day.
He slipped his hand into mine, squeezing, not speaking, and leading me from the room.
He walked as though this were a casual stroll through the massive house, palace. House staff moved to the side, no one noticed much about us, but I felt as if a spotlight was on my face. My dress. My lack of underwear. Everything else that was going on.
Every step to his room resembled a walk of shame until he closed the door.
Even then, I felt awful.
But we didn't speak. My stomach continued to ache as he led me to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and left, returning only to offer a plush white robe and a humble expression.
I sighed, not sure how he knew I needed a minute or ten or possibly a year, but he did. I stripped and climbed in, sinking down the side of the shower and sitting on the floor as the water poured over me.
All the feelings of two years ago, of the breakup two months ago, of the things that had gone wrong, and the ways his father had manipulated me, washed back in.
My memory of the trip, the treasure hunt his dad had set up for us, and the secrets that had been revealed, all brought back the sickening sensation in my stomach.
I wasn’t sure how much Aiden knew, but our relationship had taken a nosedive from that moment on.
Ending with me here.
Alone in his shower, still smelling his skin, and wishing everything was different.
But it wasn't.
I got clean and climbed out, toweling off and avoiding my reflection in the mirror altogether, eventually forcing myself to leave the bathroom in the robe he’d left for me.
He was in his robe, cleaned and pacing in front of the window.
He didn’t see me so I w
atched him, agonizing over his stately way of existing.
After a minute he turned, his stormy eyes catching mine. He crossed the room in a few long strides, taking my hand and pulling me to the bed. We didn't speak and I didn't fight it. He helped me into the bed next to him, both of us still in our robes.
He pulled me into his arms and held me, kissing my forehead and whispering just one thing, “Let’s not speak.”
I nodded against him, hating it but certain words were not our friends.
Because if I did start talking, I might not stop, and God only knows what I would’ve said.
5
You can’t open a new door until you close the old one. Sometimes the old door won’t close, so you have to burn the house down. It’s the only way.
Catching breath
As I landed back in London before lunch, I checked my phone. It was vibrating aggressively.
Seventeen texts from Mary. She was furious about my leaving. Twenty-five notifications from Linna. She wasn’t coming home for another week. Two pictures and something of a long text from Jess who sounded blissfully happy again. And tommy-gun-style texting Bea was sending me; I didn’t dare glance at them.
But not one from him.
Not even a single hello.
“Have a pleasant day, Miss Roze,” the chief steward whispered, allowing me to deplane before everyone else. It was a necessary head start. The rumors of Finley Roze on the flight from Toulouse had caught fire, meaning there would be a crowd at arrivals and images of me running from the airport would flood the newspapers and gossip mags.
It was surreal that this was where I’d landed in life and everyone cared what I did. Fin jogs, likely trying to win the king back. Fin buys the fixings for a salad. Is she on a diet? Fin eats a burger alone at midday. What does that mean? Fin speaks to another man. Who is he?
My grocer, assholes . . .
There was no reason for me to be famous, and not just US famous, but intercontinentally so. I wasn't rich. My father was but not international-fame level of rich. I wasn't an actress or a model. I didn't have friends in high places. I was just a girl from Spokane. And no one seemed to grasp that.
The worst part was that I’d spent my life wanting this end. Famous and fabulous and exciting. The world at my fingertips. International travel. Luxury. Handsome princes. Kings. In fact, at several points in my teen years I believed I deserved this. As if the universe owed me. “Entitled” was a word commonly used to describe me.
Ha!
And now it was like the universe had shrugged and said, Okay, if that's what you really want. Boy, I’d been wrong . . .
At least Linna was benefitting. She had a hundred million followers and offers for work coming out her ears. My humiliation and destruction had been her rebirth and she was enjoying this.
She was literally the only one. Well, except Andorra . . . America had never cared so much about a small country before, ever. Tourism was up, skyrocketing Andorra into fame. They had TV shows based in Andorra now and were creating more ways to draw traffic in than they could feasibly handle.
Hurrying to the exit, I pulled my sunglasses from my purse and slipped them on. But it was too late. They were there, hungry vultures who’d been warned their next meal was rushing into Heathrow. Thankfully, I had a car waiting in arrivals with a driver Tracy had recommended when I first came to London. He was good with security and secrecy. I’d used him quite a few times and was slowly becoming friends with him. A necessity for me. The word “staff” made me uncomfortable now. Not that I was above having them, but I wasn’t quick to trust anyone. Not anymore. And honestly, what I’d assumed having servants was and what it actually was, were two different things. Having other people in your house twenty-four seven, with no break from them ever, was intense. It was like talking with your telephone voice constantly and it was exhausting.
“There she is!”
My entire body tensed at those words. That sentence had grown to become one I hated.
“Fin, why are you leaving Andorra so early? Did you and the king have a fight?”
“Fin, are you angry he and Alexandria seem so cozy?”
“Come on, Fin. One shot. Just a smile.”
“Are you pregnant? Is that why you look so tired?”
They swarmed.
My heart raced as I pushed through the crowd and hurried to the doors.
“Come on, leave her be. Jesus! Who bloody well asks a woman that?” A hand grabbed my arm making me recoil, but it was a friendly face, one I knew well enough to let lead me from the airport.
Lucas Reid, the guy who had saved me on my birthday all those years ago, hurried me forward. “Where’s your security detail?”
“I have a car outside.” I pointed at the door.
He shoved our way through the crowd and out to where Samere—Sammy—was waiting.
“Miss Finley, hello!” He got the door as Lucas and I dove into the car.
“Hi, Sammy. Thanks for coming.” Out of breath, I turned to Lucas. “Where you going?”
“My office, actually. Bloomberg Arcade in the financial district, please sir.” He leaned forward and held his phone out. “Do you need the address? I can find it, it’s in my phone.”
“No, I know the area, sir.”
“Lucas. Pleasure.”
“Samere. Pleasure is all mine. Home, Miss Finley?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“No problem.” He smiled in the rearview. “How was the trip?”
“A funeral. Depressing.” I shrugged, lying of course. “We were really busy with that.”
“Funeral?” Lucas furrowed his brow.
“Aiden’s dad died.”
“Oh yes, I did hear something about that.” He sat back, relaxing as we joined the line of traffic leaving the airport.
“Why were you at Heathrow?” I made small talk and avoided everything I wanted to think about.
“Work. I got in from Scotland an hour before you, but I heard the chatter that you would be arriving. And you always have a car, so I figured why not jump in your car with you,” he joked, making me smile. “Save fifty quid and all.”
“You waited an hour at arrivals for a ride?”
“Well, and I suppose to see you. Having a quick hour visit is a nice idea. I can think of worse ways to spend time in traffic.” He beamed, giving me that smile he reserved for taking breath away. I wished I wasn't so attracted to him. It was a complication I didn't need right now. But his dark-blue eyes always seemed to sparkle with mischief, and he had a dimple that sunk in when he gave you the one, the smile. And perfect lips and teeth were just the start of his handsomeness; the sharp jawline, thick dark hair, and flawless skin—he was not the person I needed to see in the state I was in. “It’s been ages. What, a year since we last had a run-in?”
“Yeah, I think so. You were with that girl, the one who didn't seem excited to be out for dinner.” I laughed and recalled the way he was too excited to see me, and the dirty looks she gave Linna and me all night long.
“That’s right. She was feisty, that one. How have you been?”
“Good. I’ve been working in a barrister’s office. Sort of taking up the same path as you, but international law instead of financial. One of my profs at St Andrews got me a gig for the summer to see if I liked it. Keeping me busy.” I smiled, hoping the haunted look that sometimes appeared on my face wasn't there. Lucas was astute at observing more than he should. The same way he was good at making my heart skip beats. And today was not the day for that.
“I did see the coverage of you this last little bit, living in London. You’re more popular than the British royals.” He chuckled.
“I’m not popular, that's the problem. They love tormenting me.” I tried not to sound sorry for myself. I changed the subject, “But yeah, Linna, Jess, and I sublet a place for the summer, and we all got jobs here. Worked out well. How’s Seamus?”
“Still heartbroken over Linna of course.” He rolled his eyes.
“I told him he was in over his head.”
“Yes, you did.” We both laughed but there was no joy in it. “How’s your mom?” His father had passed a year ago. I knew that through our common friends. I’d felt terrible for him and his brother.
“She’s doing well. She’s able to save money and splurge a little more and work less. So she’s relaxing a lot.” His accent had changed since we’d last seen each other. He hardly sounded Scottish, something I assumed he worked at. “I’m thrilled for her, she deserves it.”
“That’s great. She really does.”
“And your family situation. Has it improved?”
“No.” I scoffed. “Dear God, it’s such a shitshow. My wicked stepmother is out of the picture, completely divorced and banished, as she deserved. My dad’s single, but Jess is home right now, and when she called the other day, she said he’s being weird. She’s certain he’s seeing someone, but he’s cagey about it.”
“Isn’t that a good thing, he’s moving on?”
“No. He has terrible taste in women and chooses for the wrong reasons. She said he’s been traveling a lot, which he doesn't do for work. We’re worried it’s another Sheila.”
“Isn’t Sheila Jess’ mom?”
“She is.” I laughed bitterly. “We got Jess in the divorce, and I don't know that Sheila regrets that.”
“That’s odd. I’d never give up my child. Ever.” His tone dipped into a serious one. “I suppose growing up the way I did, I’ll do everything possible to be a better father than I was shown how to be.”
“You’re nothing like your father,” I said, not sure if it was true or not, but he’d always been kind to me. In fact, the weekend I first met him, he was home babysitting his brother and being their driver. He was a good person, even though he did things like this to see me every now and then.
“No, I’m not. But back to you. So you and the king broke up?” He stared into my eyes as he said it, maybe searching for hints of things.
“We did.”
“And how are you with that?” He was hopeful which meant I needed to be completely honest. I couldn't lead him on at all. The history was uncomfortable at best.
