Royal Disaster by Parker Swift (20)

I was walking on air after my reconciliation with Fiona. It felt like everything was looking up. We’d dragged Josh into our plan for an indulgent girls’ night in, complete with takeout and face masks. I was in such a good mood that I didn’t even mind when I received a bad news text from Dylan:

It was after eleven before I’d successfully convinced Fiona and Josh to call a taxi and head home. We’d eaten our way through half the menu at the local Thai takeout place and every dessert we could put our hands on, convincing ourselves we were burning at least that many calories laughing. I felt like I had my friends back.

And it turned out to be just in time. We were waiting for their car to arrive and I was searching YouTube for a Beyoncé music video they’d never seen when my computer dinged with an incoming email.

Somehow I just knew.

It was one of those moments when you forget the immediate surroundings, forget that there might be other people present, forget that maybe it’s not a good idea to act, and instead succumb to the inevitability of the whole thing.

The sender was the same, a random series of letters and numbers. But this time there was no text, just a video embedded in the email. I clicked PLAY before thinking, and immediately Dylan’s voice filled the room.

“Shh, baby.”

I gulped and then gulped again, starting to shake.

“So wet for me. I love this little pussy, you know that?”

Dylan’s voice again, haunting me. The image was clear, and you could see everything. Me. Spread out on Dylan’s bed at Humboldt Park. His hands on me.

“Watch—I want you to watch everything.”

“What the fuck is that?” said Fiona from across the room, clearly hearing the video. I immediately slammed the laptop closed and started to cry. This couldn’t be happening. It was too much. Too personal. I had no idea how long the video was, how far it had gone, but I did see that the little indicator was far to the left, suggesting several minutes of video would follow. The image had been crystal clear, as though the person taking the video had been right there in the room with us. How was that even possible?

I was mortified. Horrified. I felt dirty. I felt invaded. And for the first time really scared. There was no way Dylan knew about this. No way.

“Lovey,” Josh whispered, rubbing my back. “What’s going on?”

I heard him indicate to Fiona to cancel the car.

They sweetly moved me to the couch, and I told them everything. About every last email. About not going to the police. About not knowing who or why or what. About Frank. I had told Dylan this would be a secret, but the truth was I needed him in that moment. But he wasn’t there—my friends were, and I needed them too.

They reminded me to send the information to Dylan immediately so he could act on it, and I did. I did do that. He called me within minutes, and Fiona and Josh watched as I spoke into the phone.

“I’m fine,” I said, but I could hear how dead my voice was.

“No, you’re not,” he said sternly.

“I am. Dylan, it’s fine. I’m going to bed, I promise. Just please, please make them stop.”

“I’m working on it, baby. I’m working on it right now.”

I was pretty sure he could hear the shakiness in my breath.

“Trust me,” he said, as he had so many times before. But this time it somehow made things worse. There were only so many trust mes a girl could handle.

I pulled it together and glanced at Fiona and Josh, sitting on the couch. “I’ll see you Wednesday, knighty,” I said, but it was forced. The nickname didn’t have the same lightness it normally did.

Thankfully Fiona and Josh left shortly after that. I’d been so glad they were there so I could talk to them, but then talking about it made it impossible to forget. So I was also glad when they left, ready to sink into my bed and lull myself into an oblivion where none of this was happening.

I was in a restless sleep when I felt the sheets rustle beside me. My eyes flew open in a panic—a new fear had settled over me.

But Dylan’s hand stroked my bangs, and he leaned down to kiss my face, gentle pecks over my cheeks and lips.

“Don’t be scared, baby. It’s me.”

I curled my body into his and let him wrap his arms around me.

“How are you back? Why? I thought you weren’t going to be able to be back until tomorrow night,” I said, breathing him in, calmed by just the scent of him.

“Shh,” he continued. “I called the pilot as soon as I got off the phone with you. I needed to be here with you. I won’t let him hurt you or get that close to you ever again. I promise.”

It had to be near morning—the blue light of dawn was already creeping in my windows—but I fell back to sleep in his arms.

When I woke again, I saw the clock on my wall read ten in the morning, and I shot up, panicked. And then it all came flooding back to me—the night before, the video, Dylan in my bed.

“You came home,” I said at the same time that Dylan’s hands landed on my arms from behind.

“Of course I came home,” he said.

“I have to go to work,” I said and started to climb out of bed, but Dylan grabbed my hand, holding firm.

“Fiona texted me and said to say that she told Hannah you’d be in late today because of a dentist’s appointment.”

“She texted you?”

“Yes—I’m glad you told her what was going on. I’m glad she was here. She’s a good friend.”

“She is,” I said, falling back against his chest, relieved not to have to rush.

“Baby,” he started to say as he wrapped his strong arm around my chest, “we got the guy.”

I flung my head around and looked into his eyes. “Really?” I said, so hopeful. “Dylan, you really got him?”

Dylan nodded and smiled. “I got a call this morning, and they found enough evidence on this guy’s hard drive to make it pretty clear. He is denying it, of course, but it would be too coincidental, given the evidence.”

“Who is it?” I asked, scooching myself to sitting up next to him, still not believing this was behind us. Especially so quickly on the heels of that last email.

“It was just as I thought,” Dylan started and pulled me against him. “He works for an old Russian family we used to do business with, the Bresnovs. Back in my grandfather’s day we were partners with them—they were actually extremely helpful to my grandfather in getting Hale Shipping off the ground. But the last sixty years haven’t been good to them—they’re not the family they used to be,” he said, sighing.

“But why?” I asked, still not understanding. “Why would someone do this to me? To you?”

“Spineless pricks. I had my suspicions, but Christ, the assholes were hard to pin down. A few years back a deal we had went south, and it really left them high and dry. Honestly it left them without options—they were desperate and trying to send me a message. Plain and simple. But it’s over now, baby.”

“But what does this have to do with you? Hale Shipping is your father’s domain. I don’t get it.” I was now perched on my knees, my T-shirt collecting at my hips, my eyes searching his for understanding. Somehow it just didn’t feel real that it was over. I’d gone to sleep feeling so utterly creeped out.

“My father made the deal. I broke it.”

I searched him for more.

“I’ve never been very involved with the company, not until recently, but as a member of the board I do an annual check-in with the accounting group, to make sure everything’s on the up and up. When I learned about this deal…The Bresnovs stood to gain a great deal at Hale Shipping’s expense. I couldn’t let that stand, and I’ve kept a closer eye on things since then. This stunt was them trying to send me a message that the conversation isn’t over.” His muscular arms came for me, his hands wrapping around my middle, his strength pulling me to sit across his lap and against his bare torso. “But I assure you, baby. The conversation is over. I won’t let them harass you again.”

“Thank god,” I said, sighing into his chest. I could feel the stress leaving my body. “I still don’t understand how they did it. How did they get that video?” The longer I sat against him, the safer I felt, but remaining unanswered questions began popping up in my mind.

“My team is investigating. They found a camera in one of the rowing statues in my bedroom. They must have paid one of the staff or a visitor to sneak into my room and plant it. We’ll figure it out.” He kissed the top of my head.

I simply reached up and kissed him in reply before he continued. “I still couldn’t tell you why it took two months to figure this out—why this evidence was so hard to come by—but it’s done with. Now we’ll really have something to celebrate on our trip.”

I was still in a state of disbelief and extreme relief. This haunting nightmare, one I now realized I’d been minimizing, was finally over. I let my weight sink just a little deeper into Dylan’s chest.

“So where are we going?” I asked sleepily, knowing that soon I would have to get up and go to work, but it would feel like a brand-new world when I did.

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head and giving me a look that said he was up to no good. “It’s a surprise.”