I looked around the office at all the trophies and plaques, the framed photos and certificates of achievement, at a lifetime of accomplishments and wondered if I would ever measure up.
“You’re going to be a good king,” my mother said, answering my silent thoughts.
Pain sliced through my chest. “He’s not dead yet, Mom.”
Her face dropped. “You’re right. I keep saying all the wrong things and doing the wrong things.” The tears finally fell from her eyes, sliding over her cheeks. “He was the one with all the answers. How am I going to do this, Sutton? How am I going to live without him?”
I leaned over the desk and brushed her tears away with the back of my finger. “You won’t have to. He’ll always be here. As long as there’s someone around to remember him. You’re going to be fine because he made you strong. He made us both strong.” I needed the reminder every bit as much as she did.
Mom reached up to squeeze my hand then walked around the desk and toward the door because… fuck a hug. That would be too intimate. She grabbed the handle then peered over her shoulder at me. “He’s proud of you, you know.” Then she walked out the door not knowing her words slammed into me so hard my chest ached.
I stared at the declaration lying on the desk in front of me. Words like “incapacitated” and “Act of Regency” stared back, mocking me. Anger tightened in my chest, wrapping its greedy fist around my heart and crushing until I could hardly breathe. I was mad at life… at fate… at God. Angry at a mother who refused to show affection, even when her husband was dying. At a woman who drove me batshit fucking crazy every time I saw her face. At her father for driving a wedge between us so big that neither one of us would make it over without gaining a lifetime of scars. I was so angry I didn’t even know what, or who, I was angry at anymore.
I grabbed a marble paperweight that matched my own and chucked it across the room. It knocked one of the lamps off a round wooden table, sending the glass shade shattering all over the floor.
Fuck. Cancer.
Ten minutes later, it was no surprise that I found Katie in the library with her nose in a book. Her long legs draped over one arm of a cognac leather chair and her head leaned back on the other. She looked lost in a world I knew I would never be able to give her, a world full of romantic gestures and happily ever afters… and she was about to find out why.
I grabbed the book and tossed it onto the sofa then looked down to find her staring at me with those fuck me eyes. I had to blink away from them to keep from unzipping my pants and feeding her my dick. We were in the perfect position for it with me standing and her in the chair with her head resting against the arm and her mouth right fucking there. Jesus.
I gripped her wrist and pulled her out of the chair. “Come with me.”
She yanked her arm out of my grasp, stumbling back and nearly falling on her ass in the process. Her eyes moved to the book on the sofa. “That was a first edition.”
“I’m aware.”
Katie gritted her teeth and nailed me down with a glare. “You can’t keep treating people like things and things like they don’t matter.”
I wanted to hate Katie. I needed her to hate me. But the truth was that the only reason I was even here right now was because this—what I was about to do—did matter. She was beginning to matter.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Will you just come with me?”
“Why would I do that?”
Always fucking challenging me.
“Because we’re going to see my father.”
Nineteen
Sutton snatched me up from my chair like I was a scolded child. He’d gone from “Don’t you dare bother him with this” to “We’re going to see my father” in a matter of minutes. Whatever change of heart he had between our time in the kitchen and now probably had something to do with the phone call that left him white as a sheet.
The kitchen.
My brownies.
He started one way down the hall while I went the opposite. Having the king answer my questions was important but so was letting the staff know that I wasn’t one of Sutton’s flaky playthings who dropped everything—and burned her brownies—to chase a prince.
About five steps in, his voice boomed at my back. “You obviously missed the part where I said come with me.”
I spun around to face him. His eyes were storming, wild and furious, but I stood my ground. “I need to get my brownies.”
He stalked toward me, closing the space between us within seconds like the force of nature he was. The sharp staccato of his expensive shoes echoed off the polished floor and matched the drumming of my pulse. “Do you have to defy me every single fucking time I ask for something?”
For a man who was used to everyone doing his bidding, a woman like me, who chose to use her own brain instead of relying on his, was probably a culture shock.
“I’m not defying you. I just need to get my brownies before they set the kitchen on fire.”
Not that they actually would, but I felt like being dramatic. Or maybe I was stalling. I needed answers like I needed water or air, but the thought of facing the king, of what he might say, terrified me.
What if Sutton was right? What if everything I thought I knew about my dad was a lie?
I kept walking, not waiting for his permission. I needed a chapter break, some kind of bridge between now and what was to come. It felt like I was standing in front of a buffet—stomach growling, steam rising off hot, fresh food, everything I wanted at my fingertips—but knowing once my plate was full that there was no way I could handle it all.
Sutton stayed a step behind me and eerily silent as he followed me down the hall. His heavy footsteps were my only indication that he was still there. The wide hallway narrowed. The tall ceiling fell. The floor opened its mouth and threatened to swallow me whole. I was minutes away from the closure I fought so hard for and all I wanted to do was disappear. Good God how far was the freaking kitchen?
When we finally reached the doorway, I poked a finger at his chest, ignoring how good it felt to touch him even if it was just a fingertip. “Wait here.”
He looked down at me, his gaze razor sharp.
I heaved a sigh and swallowed every ounce of my pride and then some. “Please.”
He captured my chin between his fingertips, forcing my eyes to meet his. A smile danced across his lips but quickly disappeared. “I like this look on you.”
I hated the way I melted into his touch.
“What look?”
His eyes dipped to my mouth as he considered his answer. He took a step forward and wet his lips. “The one where you’re begging.”
Every fiber in my being quivered at the memory of his mouth on mine, of his hard length pressed against my soft center. Someone could walk out of the kitchen any second now and find us here like this. I could almost feel their eyes on my back and hear their furtive whispers.
No one knew about me and Keaton. Not that I kept it a secret, there just wasn’t anyone to tell. I liked being invisible. It made the thought of leaving a little more bearable. Then Sutton walked in, and he might as well have painted a scarlet letter on my forehead. Maybe not an “A” but definitely a “W” or an “S”. It was difficult to fly under the radar when everyone thought you were banging the prince.