He rolled his eyes at me. “No, of course not, Morelli. I’m no pussy. I’m just well aware it will cause some controversy overseas.”
“Not as well aware as I am,” I replied. “I’m very well aware it will cause some controversy.”
He’d been looking into US gossip news too, I could see it. It was probably being whispered about behind every closed door in his corporate HQ. Morelli and Constantine, shhh. He was probably shitting his pants that he’d be caught up in the crossfire if my family opted to take us out on the red carpet that weekend.
“Fine, then,” he said. “If you’re signing your own death warrant, that’s your call.”
I’d been weighing that up myself, and I was undoubtedly signing my own death warrant. Whether they’d come for us outside a London West End theater was a different matter. I didn’t think even my family or Elaine’s would be quite so dumb as to take us out so blatantly in public. Still, I could be surprised. They could try.
Hopefully they wouldn’t. Hopefully both sides of the battlefield would realize that we weren’t just escapees on the run looking for an easy life anymore, we were standing proud and firm, ready for the fight.
At least, I was. I’d fight with flying axes and fists and machine guns happily enough all day long, but my Elaine was a beautiful little darling who deserved protection from every flying fist on the planet. I’d give everything to give her that protection.
We were approaching the driveway when Quentin’s cell buzzed. His eyes went straight to mine once he’d read the message.
“Those things you wanted,” he said, clearly aware of the driver’s ears in the front seat.
“Yes?” I prompted, knowing full well what things he was referring to.
“They’ll be ready soon,” he told me. “Sunday evening most likely. They’ll be delivered by nightfall.”
I was pleased. Very fucking pleased.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he replied.
My tiredness was catching up with me as we left the limo on the drive and stepped back into the manor. I’d barely slept the night before, but my senses were on high alert as Elaine came charging on down the hallway, flinging herself into my arms.
“Welcome home, baby,” she whispered, peppering my cheeks with kisses.
Home.
Yet another use of the word out of the blue. I couldn’t wait to see her exclamation when she saw the home of our own. It appeared the impetus to move out of Quentin Manor wouldn’t be coming from the Quentins anytime soon, though. Both Francesca and Devon looked very enthusiastic when the housekeeper approached us about dinner that evening, asking us what time we’d be sitting down to eat.
“What time works for you?” Devon asked, looking at me, but I looked at Elaine, in her hot new day clothes, her time more valuable to me than mine.
She shrugged, innocently. “Whenever works for you.”
She was so fucking cute. A woman like Elaine Constantine could be looking down her nose at any human being she chose to, even the Quentins, but she was doing anything but. You’d think they were our lords and saviors.
Quite possibly because they were. They just didn’t realize it.
“We’ll see you at seven,” I told Devon, stepping in to seal the decision.
“Seven,” he told the housekeeper, and my word was law.
Elaine didn’t bother getting dressed more extravagantly for the meal once we’d made our way upstairs to the wing. She was still buzzing with happiness to see me, but I could see a conversation brewing on her face. Nerves.
“Tristan called me today,” she said.
I knew exactly what that would be for.
“Gossip columns,” I responded, and she nodded.
“He thinks we should be running away.”
“So would anyone who knows the situation and our families, but they can go fuck themselves, Elaine. I’m not backing down on this for anyone. You’re the love of my life and I’ll be shouting it from the fucking rooftops. Our families can suck it up and take it.”
“But what if they come for us?” she asked.
“They’ll want to,” I said. “But our empire and roots here are growing and expanding firmly. I hope they’ll have more sense than to take a shot at that.”
I could see she wasn’t so sure. She knew her mother after all, no doubt grieving the prick who’d spent years giving her daughter over to the cunts in the fellowship. Still, I knew my father. He’d no doubt be fuming to the point of abject rage, too. My father had a brain at least. I hoped he chose to use it.
“We are really doing this?” she asked. “The West End premiere?”
“Yes,” I told her. “We’re definitely doing it.”
She didn’t question me again, just turned her attention to dinnertime, saying how excited she was with her new friendship with Francesca. Again, it was lovely to see her glowing so brightly, right from the core.
Dinner was nice. Once more I was far more interested in Elaine enjoying the conversations than I was in enjoying them myself. I saw Devon smirking at me when he realized I was staring at Elaine between every mouthful of roasted lamb.
Francesca didn’t notice. She was chatting away quite happily to my princess, clearly excited about the friendship just as much as Elaine was. I loved that. I adored that. The Quentins would no doubt be high on our list of guests when we were in our own kingdom.
We headed upstairs as soon as dinner was over. As usual my hands were all over her as soon as she stepped in through the bedroom door. As always, she was desperate right back, begging for everything she took from me.
One thing she did ask for was pain, beautiful pain. Only I didn’t give it to her, not that night. I had a whole set of other plans on that front, too. Ones I wanted her skin clear and flawless for, a perfect canvas for when I did truly put some marks on her.
“Wait for your gifts,” I told her as I fucked her pretty little slit from behind. “You’ll be given them when I choose.”
I knew she loved that from me. Ownership. Possession. Making her my hungry little submissive under my command.
I made her come, my fingers rubbing her clit as I slammed into her, only giving her my cum in return when she was riding the wave. Fuck, I was spent when we were done, long days and nights finally catching up with me.
Then we did something we hadn’t done all that much of before. We lay in bed together, staring at each other in the fuzzy glow of the aftermath, asking each other random questions.
“Do you like snow?”
“What’s your very favorite color. The exact shade, not a vague one?”
“Have you ever watched a sitcom and been hysterical laughing?”
“What’s your star sign? Have you ever had your birth chart made?”
It was so much fun. So lively. So lighthearted. Something we hadn’t had much of in all the time we’d known each other.
That’s when I picked up on it in myself—just how much I wanted to see the same things I’d seen in her eyes when she was looking at me as when she’d been looking at Francesca downstairs across the dinner table. Friendship as well as love. Love was all consuming and everything, but friendship is knowing. Truly knowing someone. I wanted to know my princess inside out.