14
Molly
The alarm chirped. I pulled the covers close to my shoulders. I was warm in my little cocoon. I had been dreaming. I tried to pull the dream back to focus, but it was fuzzy. The edges came and left my consciousness. And then I saw them. The dark eyes. The lust of Damon’s piercing stare.
My breath caught. I squeezed my eyes together tightly. My core fluttered remembering that look. I’d never forget it. Along with his voice in my ear. It rattled me. Unlocked something in me that wanted to break free.
I sighed when the snooze ended and the alarm chirped again.
“Fine,” I groaned. I tapped my phone, and slid my feet to the floor. I had a lot of work to make up after I disappeared yesterday.
The back of my throat tightened. I didn’t want to admit I was disappointed. How foolish could I be to think the king was going to track down my phone number or show up on my doorstep overnight? I had to stop thinking that way and accept I had an incredible memory to relive anytime I wanted. Nothing more.
I walked to the shower. I brushed my teeth before stepping into the tub. The curtain was chained to the ceiling and only covered one side of the tub. It didn’t matter. There was a small radius where the water splashed. I had to stand in just the right spot to wash my hair or else I’d never get all the shampoo and conditioner out.
I performed my morning ritual, although I didn’t feel as routine as I did before The Titan. Something was different.
I tipped my head back, letting the water pour through my long hair. The angle reminded me how Damon yanked the nape of my neck, pushing me into submission. There was something entirely erotic about giving my control over to him. But it was a give and take. I’d never experienced anything where my body craved giving as much as needing to be pleasured. I felt my body heat from the inside out remembering how I begged him to give me more. I’d never done that.
I finished rinsing off and stepped from the shower, wrapping a towel around my chest. I pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. I twisted my hair in a bun and poked a pencil through. It could dry later.
The apartment was quiet. Brooklyn was still sleeping.
I started the coffee and turned on the TV. I froze when I saw the same pair of eyes that were in my dream.
“The king has been in closed door meetings with the prime minister of the Bostique Islands for the second straight day,” the reporter stated. “We expect a full briefing from the palace this afternoon.”
I sat on the loveseat, careful not to disturb my rows of notecards. I hadn’t touched them since arriving home.
A picture of Damon flashed on the screen along with the prime minister.
“A palace spokesperson has confirmed the prime minister’s trip has been extended.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. Part of me felt a sweeping sense of relief. Maybe he hadn’t forgotten me. Maybe the country’s work had prevented him from returning. But that was naïve hope creeping in. Trying to convince me that my one night with the king had been more than fantasy.
The reporter stood in front of the palace at the main gates, not by the private entrance I had used. “Sources close to the king say that trade with Bostique is at risk unless the king can turn the talks around. The Islands accounts for twenty percent of our trade economy, so this meeting is critical for all of Galona’s citizens. We will broadcast the palace announcement live.”
I blinked. That sounded serious. I turned the volume up and walked back to the kitchen. The coffee was ready. I didn’t want to miss any of the reports.
It was silly, but I was desperate for more glimpses of him. Maybe a sound bite. Video footage of him walking the palace grounds or in meetings with the prime minister.
I poured the coffee into my I heart Freychon mug. It was nothing like the delicate china cup I sipped from yesterday on the balcony. The mugs were one of the first things Brooklyn and I bought when we moved. We had a matching pair.
I returned to the love seat. The report now focused on the Bostique Islands. There were scenes from their sugar cane fields. Apparently, Galona imported ninety percent of its sugar from the prime minister’s country. The Galonian government was dependent on these tiny islands for huge trade profits. The country’s economic future would be determined based on these negotiations.
I watched old news clips from previous meetings between the two leaders. Damon hadn’t once implied his meeting was as critical as the reporter claimed. He had been calm. He didn’t rush my tour of the library. I never would have guessed this was going on.
I wondered if that made him a good leader. He was hard to read. He could present one side, while concealing his emotions. Or did that make him unreliable? Unpredictable? Maybe even dangerous?
“What’s going on?” Brooklyn emerged from her room. “Did something happen?” She yawned.
“No. I’m just watching the news.” I hadn’t looked away. I was absorbed in the intricacies of the relationship between the two countries.
She staggered to the kitchen. “Thank God there’s coffee.”
I nodded absently.
“Oh, it’s the king?” She sat next to me with a steaming mug.
I didn’t respond.
“What are they saying?” she asked.
“Trade meetings. Sugar taxes. That kind of thing.” I acted as if the details of trade tax bored me. And under any other circumstance, it did.
“Oh?” She lifted the mug to her lips. “I didn’t know you were interested in Galona politics.” I saw the smirk behind the coffee mug.
“There’s nothing wrong with taking interest in the country that is currently our home.” I felt defensive. As if I had been caught doing something I shouldn’t.
“Mmmhmm. And it happens that the king is hot as fuck.”
“Brooklyn.” I eyed her.
“You’re not going to tell me anything? Really?”
“We can’t.”
She huffed. “You’re not serious about the contract. I was planning on telling you, anyway.”
“We shouldn’t.”
“Mol, it’s not like security from The Titan is going to break in here and arrest us. It’s us. We can tell each other anything we want. Screw them.”
The news cut away to the weather. I didn’t know how long it would be until the press conference. I needed to stop procrastinating and focus on my notecards. I was losing time. I turned the TV off.
“You’re not going to watch?” She looked surprised.
“It doesn’t matter. I have work to do. We both knew what we signed up for. That night is over, and talking about it doesn’t get me any closer to completing my dissertation.”
“I wish you would stop being practical and just admit that you had fun and that something might have happened.” Her eyebrows rose.
“It’s not worth talking about. I’m going to the library.”
I scooped the cards off the couch and shoved them in a bag. I couldn’t stay in the apartment and deal with her prodding. I couldn’t deal with the temptation to turn on the TV again and watch the press conference, hoping for a glance of Damon. His Royal Highness, I mentally corrected myself.
“Mol, come on. Don’t leave.”
I grabbed the keys from the hook next to the door and slung my messenger bag over my shoulder. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Hope you have a good day. Maybe you’ll see a job posting you like.”
She rolled her eyes and I locked the door behind me.
The library would be quiet. No TV. No phones. And no traces of the king.