American Prince

He sits next to me on the bed and I sit up too, drawing my knees up to my chest. His eyebrows pull together. “Because you’re worried I’ll go too far in my anger?”

My chin quivers and I have to look away. “Because it hurts my heart.”

He makes a noise, and then I’m being drawn into his arms. “I’m so sorry, little princess. I should have told you what—I—I needed you. I needed what you do for me.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “So you weren’t angry with me.”

It’s his stillness that tells me. His silence. I pull back and find him watching me carefully. “Ash?” I say, my voice trembling.

He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “Let’s take a shower. And then there’s something I need to show you.”

The thing that drove Ash upstairs to punish my body is a three-minute video. It’s night vision, all greenish-hued and glow-eyed, but it’s clear enough. My blond hair is like white fire in the video, the silver duct tape flashing in the barely there light.

I had guessed there were cameras—why hadn’t I thought of that when I begged Embry to fuck me? Why hadn’t I guessed that Melwas would keep trying to destroy my life?

“You know I never held this against you or Embry,” Ash says apologetically, as if this video is all his fault. He closes the laptop on the coffee table in the living room and pulls me close to his body on the sofa. “But when I saw it, when Merlin told me, I was furious. At Melwas mostly. But also at you and Embry for being so careless. And Greer, if I’m being honest, there was a difference between simply knowing about it and then having to watch it.”

Suddenly, I need space from him. I stand up and cross my arms, walking over to the window. Panic is a fist clenched in my chest, but my voice comes out calm. “I’m sure there is a difference.”

“Greer, this isn’t just about us now.”

I press my fingers into my eyes, wishing I could drive out the shame with the pressure, squeeze it out of my head. “I know. Merlin has seen.”

“Not just Merlin. Not even close. It’s on the Internet. All the major outlets have seen it. Merlin, Kay, Trieste, Linette and Embry will be here tomorrow at seven for us to figure out a media defense.”

“So everyone will know I let Embry fuck me, but they don’t know about the kidnapping and nothing about that video suggests that it took place in Carpathia. And the video is date-stamped, so it looks like I fucked him while I was on my honeymoon with you.”

“You did fuck him, Greer. Be honest about that at least.”

That stings. His bitterness stings like acid. “Screw you,” I whisper.

He drops his head into his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says. “God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just…”

The distance between us suddenly feels vast, and the things I feel about myself I’ve never felt before, not like this. With Ash, I always felt safe in loving two men, whole and healthy and happy. And for the first time, I wonder if he thinks I’m a slut. I wonder if he thinks I’m a whore, and not in the playful bedroom talk way, in the way men think it about women they don’t respect.

I wonder if I think it about myself.

After all, I did fuck his best friend. I did it after my wedding. I enjoyed it. I’d do it again. And now the whole world knows.

Ash looks up at me, his face miserable. “Greer.”

“It’s my fault, my mess. I’ll deal with it.” My voice is as cold as my stomach is hot with pain, and I turn to wheel into the bedroom. I can’t be around him right now.

“Greer, stop. Come here.”

I don’t. I won’t. If he’s going to look at me like that, then I can’t even bear to look at him. If he’s going to judge me as harshly as I’m judging myself right now, then we should just get divorced, because—

He snaps his fingers.

My back stiffens at the sound, kinetic memory forcing me into better posture even before I turn around to look at him.

His face is still miserable, but the command and the control are back in those summer lake eyes, and suddenly I realize divorce was never on the table for him. He came upstairs to remind us both that he would never stop loving me and I would never stop belonging to him. He snapped his fingers to show me he still wants me at his feet.

He watches me attentively as I walk over and sink down onto my knees in front of him. I hear him let out a long breath as I settle back onto my heels and bow my head.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, and I know he’s not apologizing for the scene or even his anger, but for not talking to me beforehand about it. For not communicating.

My hair is still wet from our shower, but he plays with it anyway, stroking it and twining small pieces of it around his fingers. I can’t help the instinct to buck and nuzzle against his hand like a cat, and he makes a pleased sound when I do.

A couple minutes pass like this, my hot feelings beginning to cool in this familiar posture, his hands familiar and comforting in my hair.

“If I could have shielded you from this, I would have,” he says softly. “The things I promised you on our wedding day, I meant with all my heart. I take protecting you seriously.”

“I’m humiliated,” I admit in a barely there voice. “That people will know—”

“People will think they know. We will tell them otherwise. Videos like this are manifestly easy to fake, and that’s what we will tell the world.”