Chapter 15

Charlotte

“Aren’t you supposed to be over the Atlantic by now?” my sister asks, a scowl on her pretty face as we video-chat over Skype.

“Actually, I’m not going to fly out until tomorrow morning.”

Gen scrunches her nose. “Why?”

“Because I have dinner plans with Brooks’s family and it seems rather rude to leave right after the table is cleared.”

“This suddenly occurred to you when?”

Right after Brooks made me think my future doesn’t have to be diamonds and tiaras…and untimely deaths. “Right after my nap. I wasn’t myself, you see, and—”

“You’re still in love with him,” she says flatly. “Fine. Play like the dutiful girlfriend and then come home straightaway. I need you.”

“You can’t always need me, Gen.”

Her brows crash together. “But you’ve always been there for me.”

“Yes, but after your coronation ceremony, you shan’t need me anymore. Your husband will see to you.”

“Oh goody. A husband I barely know will pretend to love me for what—the rights to a portion of Sinclair Enterprises? I can’t wait.”

“You never know. We haven’t really looked at the list yet, and there could be one man who makes your heart flutter and—”

“The chances are less than zero,” she says flatly. “The only bright side to this is that I get to pick the most manageable one of the bunch. The duller, the better.”

“And there is no timetable on how long you have to pick one, as long as you’re dating the men on your list,” I say, trying to find another bright spot.

“Yes, nothing like drawing out the inevitable.”

I sigh thickly. “I’m trying to make this better for you.”

Her face softens, as does her voice. “I know. How are you doing—really?”

“Horribly in love with a man who wants to marry me,” I admit, sinking onto the bed.

Gen’s face drains of color. “He wants to marry you?”

“I am a good catch,” I reply.

“He does know that in order for your marriage to be legal, you’d have to be recognized by Parliament, right?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t care about my title or that I’m your heir.” I stare at the dresser, where my reflection shows a woman with flushed cheeks and stars in her eyes. “He doesn’t care about any of that.”

Gen snorts. “Yeah, because he could write an entire book about how he persuaded a princess to renounce her claim to the throne for him. It would be a bestseller. Worse, it would be true and we couldn’t sue for libel. You couldn’t even testify against him in an American court.”

A sliver of doubt tries to stab my heart. “You don’t know him like I do.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” she admits. “I pray to God I’m wrong about him. That he loves you as much as you look like he does.”

I press a hand to my cheek. “He hasn’t said he loves me.”

“Yet he wants to marry you.”

I nod. “He said he cared about me and wanted to protect me. Make it so I can have my freedom.”

“Isn’t that so very special of him to think of you like that.”

I close my eyes in frustration, then open them again. “Try to like Brooks, Gen. I’ve invited him to Saint-Lyons and you can get to know him there, on your territory.”

“Does he know about the Saint-Lyons Morning Star Ball?” she asks.

“I don’t even know about the ball,” I reply, trying to remember if I happened to see it on my schedule and had merely forgotten it in the excitement of it all.

“That’s because I’m the first to throw it and you’re my first invite. And in good faith, I will send an official invitation to Mr. Walker as well.”

I can’t contain the smile on my face. “Thank you for having an open mind.”

“I’ve always had an open mind, darling. It’s my mouth that gets me in trouble for letting everyone inside.”

That evening, I dine with the Walkers—Brooks and his twin as well as their parents—outside on a lovely patio with wrought-iron furniture, lighted torches along the perimeter, and multiple pots full of flowers in every imaginable shade.

“I do love the flowers, Georgiana. You have an incredible green thumb,” I say as the men finally join us at the table. While the Walkers do have staff on hand to cook and clean for them, they tend to be rather relaxed about it.

Like tonight, for instance, Georgiana and I made the side dishes while Brooks and his father, Bishop, grilled fillets and shrimp. Briggs rotated between us, eating appetizers and giving instructions to his brother and dad that were not appreciated.

“It’s such a soothing pastime, sugar. I can send you home with a starter kit. Asters are the easiest to grow and you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

“I’d love that.” I take a sip of my water and set the glass down. “There’s a perfect spot in my room for it.”

“Make sure you have plenty of sunlight coming in,” she cautions, and I nod.

“Oh, no problem, that spot gets so much that I have to wear sunglasses just to see in the morning.”

She laughs and Brooks jerks his gaze to us. His crinkling eyes let me know that he’s pleased with our interaction.

“She’s a keeper, Brooks,” his mother says, taking my hand in hers. “I want to see a ring on this the next time you come.”

My eyes widen and I start to sputter, but Brooks is infuriatingly calm as he says, “Trying my best, but Charlotte’s a little gun-shy.”

Everyone looks at me and I turn what has to be the reddest shade imaginable. “I’m not shy. I only want to make sure that something so permanent is what Brooks wants.”

Bishop grunts. “The boy is almost thirty-four years old. It’s time for permanent.”

“Hear, hear,” Briggs says, tapping his spoon against his tea glass.

“Don’t think we’ve forgotten about you,” his mother says, letting go of my hand. I take the opportunity to gulp down more water to cool off. “Can you believe that these boys are in no hurry to give me grandchildren?”

I nearly spit water out all over the table.

Brooks, that infuriatingly sexy scoundrel, smiles like the confident, cocky man he is but doesn’t say a word.

Not that anyone would notice because Briggs is too busy defending his lack of, well, everything to his parents.

“Did Brooks tell you about the time I caught him using my good china for target practice?” his mother asks.

Turning my attention to Brooks, I narrow my eyes at him. “You did not, you naughty boy.”

His brother groans.

The table shakes.

Briggs shouts, “What did you do that for, jerkface?”

“You know why,” Brooks mutters and I have to bite back a smile because I know why as well.

“Enlighten us, please, since you thought it was smart to interrupt your momma while she was speaking,” Bishop says.

Immediately, Brooks and Briggs issue a very polite if not sincere apology to Georgiana. She smiles at them like a queen on her throne. Only this queen has a true king at her side, ruling over their family with love and affection…and respect.

My heart pinches.

Perhaps if I’d been born into a different family, Brooks and I would be here under different circumstance. My parents would be at the table as well and they would give him a hard time about wanting to be with their little girl.

My parents would have secret smiles and tender, affectionate touches.

Tears cloud my eyes and I blink them away.

Brooks frowns, his eyes conveying his concern.

I shake my head. “So tell me about the world-famous honey your family started selling nearly two centuries ago.”

“You haven’t told her?” Bishop asks.

“Haven’t gotten around to it,” Brooks replies, and he turns his attention back to me. “He’s excited to tell you how the legend of our honey ties to your country, and I’m not going to deny my dad the opportunity to bore you with it.”

Briggs snickers.

I give Brooks a don’t make fun of your father look, then flash Bishop an encouraging smile. “I’d love to hear your legend.”

Bishop all but preens and his sons groan in harmony. “Legend has it that the first queen of the Isle of Man had royal beekeepers who brought honey just to her from a special hive.”

Brooks and Briggs throw their heads back and start to snore loudly.

“Boys,” Bishop says rather sharply, and they stop. Just like that. I can’t help but be impressed. “As I was saying…Whenever surrounding countries crowned a new king or queen, they came to the Isle for her blessing and the honey it produced. Later, when the first Walkers sailed to the New World, she allowed them to take several colonies of bees with them. Only two survived, but from those two, Queen Bee Honey was born.”

“That’s you! I adore their honey. When I was little my mother gave it to my siblings and me whenever we had colds. She said it could cure anyone of anything, except stupidity.”

Everyone laughs and for once I love the memory my mother gave me. Love that I can almost smell her perfume and hear her voice, feel her arms wrap around me while she sang a Manx Gaelic song about fairies and flowers.

“See,” Bishop says. “Told you it was true.”

Briggs simply shakes his head while Brooks…Brooks doesn’t stop looking at me. His gaze is soft instead of calculating.

And that’s the more frightening of the two.

“Y’all ready to eat?” Georgiana says.

“Absolutely,” I chirp.

“Bishop, bless the food, please.”

As he prays, I attempt to listen respectfully and even add in a silent prayer of my own, but all I can think about is Brooks.

About his promise.

Wanting to marry me.

Coming to the Isle.

It all seems too good to be true. My villain is turning into a regular Prince Charming…and I’m not sure if I like that.

As soon as dinner is finished and the dishes are done, Brooks corners me in the kitchen. In his casual button-down shirt, carefully styled hair, and khaki-colored shorts, he looks every bit the southern gentleman tonight.

Except for the very wicked look in his blue eyes.

“I want to come to your room tonight,” he says, and I shiver in anticipation.

I press a kiss to his lips. “I won’t stop you.”

“Yeah, I know you won’t, which is why I’m going to suck it up and follow the rules one more night.” His forehead crinkles. “What kind of rules are there for us at the palace?”

I start to answer him, then admit, “I have no idea. My only experiences are sneaking around and going to his place.”

“We won’t be sneaking around,” he says firmly. “Who do I ask for permission to marry you? In the South, we usually talk to the parents, but since you’re not from here and your brothers probably hate me…”

With a sigh, I touch his cheek. “I said I didn’t want to hear about marriage.”

“You could have a reason to marry me.” He looks pointedly at my tummy. “Because we both know we didn’t give each other anything else. No way in hell would your brothers have allowed you to sleep with me if I weren’t clean.”

“They don’t have a say in my love life.”

“When it comes to STDs they do.”

“Perhaps you do have a point and perhaps you were thoroughly investigated by Peter and his team.”

“They weren’t the only ones.”

I roll my eyes. “Do you always investigate your sexual partners?”

“No, but I’ve never had sex without a condom, either. I didn’t make that decision lightly.”

“I didn’t, either.” I start to fidget, balancing my weight on one foot, then the other. “This is hardly appropriate kitchen talk.”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Charlotte.”

“I’m not trying to change anything but your obstinate opinion on the matter. I don’t want you to marry me so I can be free or because I might be pregnant. I want you to marry me because you are so in love with me that the thought of spending even a second apart drives you mad,” I blurt.

He grins. “Took you long enough to admit it.”

Fury rising, I ball up my fist properly and strike his chest. “You are a scoundrel and a rogue.”

“And you have the most adorable vocabulary I’ve ever heard in my life.” He dips his head, his hand sliding around my neck to cup it. “I love riling you up.”

“You certainly have a knack for it.”

Then his lips are on mine and every concern and worry seem to melt away. We kiss for what seems like hours, our hands everywhere, touching and exploring over our clothes. He whispers against my skin, in a tone so low that I can’t make out what he’s saying.

“Back away from the Princess and get your ass in the truck,” Briggs says.

We jump apart, or rather I jump and Brooks slowly lifts his head. “Go the fuck away.”

“Nope. There are rules in place. Rules that if I don’t get to break them, neither do you, numbnuts. Hayden’s waiting for us.”

“I’ll be back later and we can continue our conversation.”

“How exactly do you talk with your tongue stuck in her throat?” Briggs asks, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Brooks gives his brother a murderous glare. “Go wait in the truck. I’ll be there in a few.”

“No can do.” Briggs grabs his brother by the arm and jerks him away from me. “Let’s go, lover boy. Don’t wait up for him, Princess. We’ve got a lot to catch up on.” Briggs winks at me and I wave.

“Have fun at the bar, boys.”

“That accent, man,” Briggs says, throwing an arm over his brother’s shoulder. “You don’t want to know what it does to me.”

“Fuck off.” Brooks shoves his brother into the wall. “Night, Charlotte.”

“Night, love.”

“Don’t you fucking say it,” Brooks warns his brother.

Briggs holds his hands up, as if to proclaim his innocence. “Wasn’t going to say anything.”

Following a few steps behind them, I giggle as they continue to fight and sling insults.

“I suppose that’s your influence,” Bishops says, joining me in the hallway.

“Oh, I think they do just fine on their own,” I reply with a smile.

Bishop shakes his head. “They haven’t acted like that in years, Charlotte.”

“Oh dear. I do apologize.”

Georgiana sails into the hallway. “Lord have mercy, Bishop, it’s a wonder you were ever elected to office. He’s not blaming you, sugar. He’s thanking you. And so am I.”

I gaze at them in wonder. “For what?”

“For his smiles, his laughter, and the fact that he’s going out with his brothers. This house has been far too quiet without them, even with three little ones running around,” Georgiana says softly.

She looks as though she has tears in her eyes, which in turn makes me want to cry. Della always told me a southern lady should never let another lady cry alone, but I hate crying in front of anyone. “I’m happy to have helped, but I don’t think I’m solely responsible for a return to brotherly companionship. Brooks often spoke warmly of his twin,” I say in the most ridiculously formal manner I can possible muster. As if to remind them that I’m not plain, normal Charlotte, but Charlotte Sinclair, princess of arseholedness.

Georgiana’s face falls, and I scramble to set things right.

“What I mean to say is you’re welcome.” Brilliant, Char. Bloody, perfectly brilliant. That’s so much better. I doubt that his parents would want him to put a ring on my finger now.

“See what you did there. You’ve made Charlotte uncomfortable by putting her on the spot like that,” Bishop says.

Georgiana arches a brow. “I put her on the spot. Do meet Kettle, Pot.”

A snort of laughter leaves me.

“There she is,” Georgiana says. “I wondered where that charming young lady had gone.”

I wince. “Sometimes when I feel nervous, I tend to go overboard with formality. It’s a weirdly natural fallback.”

“Nothing weird about it, sugar. Hard to piss someone off when you’re being so dang royal that they can’t tell if you’re blessing their heart or telling them to jump off a cliff.”

“Oh, I do like to bless hearts. My sister-in-law’s stepmother taught me the proper uses.” A yawn abruptly leaves my mouth. “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to be so rude.”

Bishop pats my arm. “We’ll leave you be. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you again for allowing me to stay. Regretfully, I must leave in the morning. My sister needs me.”

Georgiana beams at me. “That’s another reason why a ring needs to be on your finger.”

“Georgie,” Bishop softly exclaims. “Leave the girl alone.”

“I don’t mind, but I do need to get some rest before I leave. Peter will make sure to lock up once I’m out of the house.”

We say our good nights and I head upstairs, then take a detour to Brooks’s room as the most brilliant thought enters my head. I’ll borrow one of his T-shirts so I can be with him while I wait.

His door is cracked open and the light is on. I step inside, taking in his boyhood room. It looks as though his parents have left it as is, complete with a twin bed, sports posters on the wall, and a small desk. His bag is sitting in the overstuffed leather chair beside his desk and I hurry toward it, feeling a bit like a snoop.

But before I can dig through his things, a manila envelope sticking out of the middle drawer catches my eye. On the corner of it, in small letters, is the word Sinclair.

My heart kicks against my chest and my hands start to shake. I know that if I look at the contents of that envelope, I won’t be happy. I’ll be crushed.

Except…oh, Charlotte, you know he’s been investigating your family for years. It stands to reason that he would have a file of sorts on you. He’s never lied about that.

“Which means it’s entirely within my right to see what he’s found.” Slightly giddy and anxious, I pull the drawer out and grab the envelope.

I almost rip it open in my hurry. Finally, it gives and I let the contents spill out on his desk. I gasp at all the images, at all the handwritten notes that have to belong to Brooks. The room spins slightly, but I square my shoulders and take a deep breath.

Everything he has is public knowledge. There aren’t any creepy pictures of my siblings or me half-dressed or in our house.

Quickly, I rifle through the rest and find—

“Oh my God.” Nausea runs through me. Hot and cold invade different areas of my body, making me sweat and shiver. How could he have kept this from me?

My birth certificate along with Gen’s fall from my hand.

He knows. He’s known all along.

Jaw clenching, I look through the rest and discover a detailed account of Beaumont’s confession.

“That bastard,” I hiss, then want to crumble to the floor and sob.

But I won’t. He doesn’t deserve my tears.

I search through his desk, finding a pen and a scrap of paper. When I’m done with my message, I don’t bother to put anything back. I have nothing to hide from him.

Slamming my note down on top, I pivot and march to my room, where I promptly text Peter.

Have the plane readied. I’m leaving tonight.

Peter: I’ll be waiting outside.

Heart in my throat, I shove everything in my tote and begin the worst walk of shame I can imagine.

This is a million times worse than what happened to me before. There’s nothing any of us can offer Brooks that he hasn’t already had, and he doesn’t need our money to cover gambling debts.

A sob attempts to escape me, but I swallow it down and let the tears burn my eyes because I refuse to let them fall.

On my way out, I run into Georgiana. “Are you okay, sugar?”

I smile brightly. “I’m perfectly well. Unfortunately, I must leave this instant. A nonemergency emergency sort of thing between sisters.”

She nods sympathetically. “You go on then. I’ll let Brooks know when he gets home.”

“Please do.” Because I have no intention of texting or calling him myself. “And I left him a thank-you note on his desk.”

“I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“Thank you.” I kiss her cheek. “I really enjoyed being part of your family, for a little while, at least.”

She hugs me tightly. “You come back whenever you want.”

“I will,” I lie, and then she lets me go.

And then I let Brooks go, following the path that leads me to the waiting car that will take me to a plane that can’t put enough distance between us.