“I told you how I felt several times,” I snapped, my hands rolling into a ball. “You were the one who kept pushing, ignoring what I wanted like it wasn’t important, like I didn’t matter in your plan. Even after I told you it was over, you forced my hand. In front of everyone! Not caring at all except for yourself. You didn’t even notice I never said yes to you.”
“Forced you?” He moved closer to me, our shoes knocking together. “Oh…I’m so sorry you had to suffer. Marrying a prince, becoming a princess, that must be awful.”
“Fuck you,” I said so low, only he could hear. “You knew the title meant nothing to me. Don’t paint me as some crown chaser. I never wanted that life, and you know it. It was you I fell in love with. Don’t take everything we had and twist it. I did love you. So much, I thought I could forgo everything else.”
Grief cracked through his wrath, pain crunching his eyebrows, pushing down his shoulders. His fingers reached out, grazing my face. “Then what happened?”
“It wasn’t enough.” I stared up at him. “Loving you was too much of a sacrifice to who I am. I lost myself. I no longer liked who I was living in your world.” I twisted my hands together. “You know when I asked you not to forget me, and we were a team?” I lifted a shoulder. “You forgot me.”
“So this is all my fault?” The moment of vulnerability was gone as fast as it came, his hand pulling away like I was a disease, his spine straightening, leaning him back away from me. A wall of loathing stood before me instead.
“No.” I shook my head. “Theo…”
“Don’t think about coming back to the palace tonight. I will tell them you are with your friend for the night.”
“Theo.”
“Don’t,” he spat. “I can’t even look at your face right now.” He stepped back into Dalton, his guards moving around him, encasing him in a ring of protection. His body turned for the exit, but his gaze stayed on us. “You two deserve each other.”
He dipped his head and let his security shuffle him down the hall and out of the hospital.
A gasped sob hitched up my throat. I still cared for and loved him, and hurting him shredded at my heart. Just because I didn’t want to marry him didn’t mean I wanted it to end like this. I didn’t know how to fix this, if it could even be fixed.
My hand went to my mouth, trying to keep the grief inside like I had been taught all my life. Don’t show emotion. Stay aloof and cold on the outside, while you fell apart on the inside.
“We have to go,” Lennox mumbled. “People are watching us.”
I nodded, noticing the audience we had created in the hallway. Pulling my hood farther over my head, I tried to keep my identity concealed.
Lennox’s hand touched my lower back, and we walked out together.
Chapter 12
Staring out the passenger window, rain trickled down the glass, headlights igniting the trails like lightning in the dark car. The ride was mostly silent, Lennox’s old Range Rover gliding across town. I didn’t even ask where we were going.
I didn’t really care.
He didn’t try to talk to me, knowing I needed this time in the car, and he probably did too. Being caught did nothing to change how I felt about him, but our situation had now been tangled into a snarled knot.
All because I couldn’t stay away from him.
I had fallen for my bodyguard.
I’m a bloody cliché. A grunt hummed from me as I scoured at my face. I hated Lord William had called it—saw it coming even before I had.
I still needed to talk to him. The pictures I had taken from his office burned in my jacket pocket, but life kept throwing me curveballs. It was hard to believe the attack in his office had just been earlier today.
Lennox rolled the car down into an underground parking lot near the river. A modern apartment building stretched up into the sky. It wasn’t a wealthy neighborhood but an area that was “up and coming” with the young professionals. Hip cafes and bars were popping up, mixing in with dive places and lower-income housing.
He shut off the SUV, getting out. Wordlessly, I followed him to an elevator and up to the seventh floor, leading me into a newer, modern, compact studio flat. A small galley kitchen was on one wall with a breakfast bar and two stools. The opposite wall was the loo and walk-in closet. Gym stuff was in one corner, along with a hanging punching bag, a bench with weights, and bands and jump ropes. A large bed, leather side chair, coffee table, and TV floated in the middle, acting as both living room and bedroom. The selling feature was the floor to ceiling windows with a small balcony overlooking the glistening river below.
Small. Compact. Clean. Tidy.
And almost devoid of any personal items. A pair of dress shoes were by the coffee table, his suit jacket tossed on the chair, and a rumbled band t-shirt discarded on his gray comforter. There were a few shelves with books, a few pictures of him and some buddies in military gear. Nothing of him and Gracie or anything that gave me real insight to him. I moved gradually around the space, taking in everything, touching the few books he had on his shelf.
“It’s just a place I lay my head.” His voice rumbled through the quiet like a distant thunderstorm. They were the first words he had spoken, swiveling me around.
He stood in the middle, shifting on his feet, not looking at me. It was the first time I ever had seen him look hesitant and uncertain.
“I didn’t really have the time to do anything to it.”
“It’s nice.” My throat was tight, like I hadn’t spoken in years. I took off my coat, laying it delicately on the bed, strain making me awkward and nervous. Being in his space changed something—drew an intimacy that shifted the dynamics. We had roles when we were at the palace, a safety net that kept us strangely secure.
Being in the place where he slept, lived, and probably brought other women ripped all the netting away. It made what we were doing very real.
What if he realized he didn’t want me? That he liked the idea of me, the challenge, but not the real thing?
“You want some tea, sorry, coffee?” He took off his jacket, tossing it on the chair with his other, already strolling to the kettle on the stove. “I know you hate tea.”
“Is this going to be a point of contention?” I asked playfully, ambling over to him, trying to ease the tension clouding the room. “Is that your line?”
He crooked his head, peering down at me, our mouths suddenly closer than I expected. “My line?” His eyes roved over my face, his voice deep and husky.
“I’m not a true Victorian, then. Tea is taken very seriously here. Might be a breaking point for you.” I forced myself to hold his gaze, the air crackling between us, my playfulness tripping over itself, making it even more awkward. “Could you be with someone who doesn’t drink tea?”
The kettle fell back onto the burner, and he whirled around, sliding his hands into my hair. He yanked me roughly to him, his mouth taking mine in a ravenous kiss. A tiny gasp of surprise lashed at my lungs as he devoured me. It was only a second before I responded with my own need.
“You are adorable when you’re awkward,” he muttered against my lips, annihilating all the nerves and strain into a melted puddle. Our mouths were brutal and demanding, both of us gasping for air when we could, not able to get enough.