JENNY IS FAFFING AND FIDDLING with my ponytail in the back of the car, while Kim gives me the rundown from the passenger seat of everyone attending this year’s Cartier Cup game. Basically, everyone who is anyone. I hiss as Jenny tugs a little too hard. “Sorry, just need to tuck this lock in somewhere.”
“Just leave it.” I moan tiredly. I’m casual but smart today, in a cream Zimmermann embroidered-silk georgette dress matched nicely with silver strappy flat sandals. All-day comfort, and perfect for the spring sunshine.
“The photographers are out in force,” Kim says.
“Can’t have me looking anything less than perfect then, can we?” I quip, putting my tassel satchel over my head and across my body, making Jenny tut when I knock her hand as she fights to secure that loose, defiant piece of hair. “It’s fine.” I peek into the rearview mirror. There is not a hair out of place, my ponytail immaculate and smooth. She’s being picky.
Stepping out when Damon opens the door, I’m immediately aware of the photographers in the distance, happily snapping away to catch the Royals jollying it up in a good old-fashioned royal tradition.
As I scan the crowds, I take in the sea of elaborate hats and champagne flutes in every hand. I start across the grass with Damon in tow, spotting every single member of my family except the one I actually want. Matilda. My mother waves me over, standing in a group with my snarky sister-in-law and Matilda’s parents. Where is she?
“I’m glad you are finally here.” Matilda swoops in from behind me.
“There you are.”
She passes me a glass. “Have you seen the new guy?”
“What new guy?” I look toward the field where she points, but only see the polo ponies saddled up and ready to play.
“There. Look. On the other side of the field with John and Eddie.”
I spot my brothers talking to a man, but his face is hardly distinguishable beneath the guard of his hat. His body looks quite fine beneath his tight trousers and top, though. “Who is it?”
“Some Argentine polo whizz. Santiago something or other.”
“Santiago Garcia?” I try to focus harder, past the bars of his guard. It’s no use. Anyone could be under that riding hat.
“That’s the one. Did you know he plays off a six-goal handicap? And he is insanely good-looking.”
“I’ve heard.” I tip my glass to my lips as Matilda gazes across the field. “Do you think he would fall into the approved category of men?” I ask, not that I am interested. While this polo player extraordinaire is apparently insanely good-looking, he isn’t Josh. But asking is what I would usually do.
“I don’t know. His father is apparently a diplomat, and his grandmother a descendant of the Spanish royals.”
“Great, so I’m related to him somewhere down the line.”
“Never stopped the royals before,” Matilda quips.
“He’s all yours.” I chink her glass in congratulations, quietly pleased with myself for appearing my usual self. Truth be told, if Josh was not in my life and consuming all my thinking space, I would probably have some fun with Mr. Polo Whizz over there.
“You heard from Mr. Hollywood?” Matilda turns into me, though her eyes are keeping a keen eye on Santiago.
“No.” I brush off her question casually, appearing unfazed and unaffected at the mention of him, despite how exhilarated I feel. “In hindsight, he was all power no precision.” I’ve never told such a barefaced lie in my entire life, and Damon’s cough from behind me confirms it. I cast a brief look over my shoulder, ready to scowl at him, but he is too busy scanning the surroundings.
Matilda giggles through her mouthful of champagne, struggling to swallow. “How disappointing.”
I hum my agreement, spotting Felix hurrying toward me. “Oh, bore. What is he doing here?” His beige suit is immaculate, his hair combed with precision to the side. “Will you be divot stomping with us in between chukkas, Felix?” I ask when he joins us.
“Your Highness.” Felix nods in greeting. “I think I’ll leave that to the lords and ladies of this fine land.” He looks at his shoes, no doubt dreading the thought of his signature loafers getting smeared with dirt.
“Suit yourself.” I give Matilda a flick of my head, indicating we should follow our sense of smell to the champagne tent without delay. “We will be on our w—” Champagne is forgotten, and my need to escape my head of communications is halted when my eyes, now wide, spot Senator Jameson across the field, all geared up and ready to swing his mallet. Oh my goodness. If he is here, then . . .
My silent pondering stops right there as Josh appears from behind Senator Jameson’s horse. “Oh no.” Mixed feelings swirl through me—delight, excitement . . . disappointment. How on God’s green earth am I going to keep my eyes off him, let alone my hands? Darn it. He knew I was coming here. He probably knew he was, too.
“You okay?” Felix asks, looking back to whatever has my attention.
“Perfectly fine, thank you,” I squeak, slipping my shades on. Even if the sun is swallowed up by clouds at any point during the afternoon, these sunglasses will be staying firmly on my face to conceal the direction of my stare. Matilda has just caught sight of Josh, too. Her tongue-in-cheek expression and sarcastic raised eyebrow tells me she has put two and two together.
“Oh, Josh Jameson,” Felix breathes, shaking his head in . . . what is that? Condemnation?
“What does that mean?” I can’t stop myself from asking.
“I’m surprised he dare show his face in public.”
What? I look across to Josh, where he is deep in conversation with Senator Jameson. “Why?”
“Well, this.” Felix magically produces a printed email from nowhere and pretty much shoves it under my nose. “Tomorrow’s front-page news. It’s shocking.”
My eyes can’t focus fast enough, and Matilda is quickly on my shoulder, gasping at what is looking back at us. My heart skips a few too many beats as I absorb the words.
SUITE TRASHED. JAMESON OVERDOSES ON WOMEN, DRINK, AND DRUGS IN AN ALL-NIGHT WILD PARTY.
The pictures below show various rooms in a suite, a suite I recognize . . . because I’ve been in it. It is completely smashed to pieces. In the main area, there are glasses on the floor, chairs broken, empty bottles of liquor scattered everywhere. In the bedroom, the sheets are tossed all over the floor, the mirror is shattered, and the dresser he screwed me on is face down. I zoom in, seeing various pairs of knickers scattered on the carpet.
What?
I step back, away from the bold letters of the proposed headlines and the damaging images of Josh’s suite. My eyes refuse to drop to the article, worried that what I’ll read might pale me further and give me away. He didn’t sound very intoxicated when he called me from the after-party, but then again, it was only eleven o’clock. The night was young. Why? How could he? My shaking hand passes the email back to Felix. “Where did you get this?” I breathe, my lungs squeezed dry of oxygen.
Felix looks kind of smug as he slips the paper back between the pages of his diary. “Ma’am, it is my job to keep myself abreast of breaking stories. Contacts, contacts, contacts.”
“He is despicable. How dare he show his face here?” I murmur, catching Matilda’s pursed lips. I ignore her grave expression and point my empty glass to the tent where more of my savior can be found. “Shall we?”
She just nods, as Felix answers his phone. “Yes? What? Darn it,” he spits down the line, looking back toward the club’s entrance. “I don’t care what it takes, do not let him in. I’ll be there in a jiffy.” He hangs up. “Must dash.”
I watch as he runs off, thankful for whatever emergency has removed him from my increasingly sweaty form before he notices something untoward. Matilda is still here, though. Staring at me. “You okay?” she asks.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” I start across the grass, my stinging eyes straying to where I saw Josh. He’s gone, but that doesn’t make me feel even remotely better. He’s here somewhere, and I don’t know where. How could he? After that wonderful night we shared, the words, the understanding, how could he do this to me? I swallow lump after lump, fighting to keep myself together. At least I don’t have to be concerned about keeping my hands to myself anymore. Ignoring the deceitful bastard should be easy as pie now.
I purposely dodge every member of my family, choosing my route carefully to the tent so I can avoid engaging with any of them. “Let’s get squiffy,” I declare, arming Matilda and myself with two fresh glasses of champagne.
“You know, you could seduce the Argentine and get him out of your system.”
“There is nothing in my system that needs to be removed,” I assure her, my damn traitorous heart bleeding for something I didn’t really have in the first place. I down my fizz and claim another. “But still, he has some front showing his face at a royal event after what he’s been up to.” My discontent starts to bubble into anger. Of all people, I know the press embellish things for entertainment and shock value, but I also know that there is no smoke without fire. You would think he’d be trying to avoid me, but here he is, bold as shiny brass at a royal gathering. If things were hopeless for us before, now . . . well, now it will be impossible. “He should be ashamed of himself,” I spit, throwing back another glass. “Women? Drugs? Vandalism? What a fool. I mean, who does that? Who behaves so deplorably?” I catch Damon at the entrance of the tent, watching me, his face stoic, though I can see the concern in his eyes. I sigh and look away, feeling utterly humiliated, despite the limited people who know of Josh’s and my rendezvouses. “I need a cigarette,” I declare, marching over to Damon and holding out my hand. “Don’t say a word. Please, just give me a cigarette.”
“I wasn’t about to say a thing, ma’am.” He reaches into his inside pocket and slips his packet and lighter into my bag where it rests on my hip. “Want to be alone?”
“Please.”
“Around the back of the tent. Stay close to the ice buckets. It’s out of view.”
“Thank you, Damon.” I’m aware Matilda is hot on my heels after my silly little rant, wanting to nail me down and squeeze all of my sins out of me, but Damon intercepts her. I need to be on my own for a few moments to calm down and talk some sense into myself.
Locating the ice buckets, I sit on a champagne crate next to them and light a cigarette, pulling in the longest draw. “You are a first-class idiot, Adeline,” I say on an exhaled plume of smoke. I let my guard crumble for the first time in my life and look what happens. I’m hurting in places I never thought I could hurt. I’ve been strung along, and I feel utterly humiliated. And angry. So very, very angry. And I’m angry for being angry. I shouldn’t care.
A cough sounds from behind me. It’s an over-the-top cough, a cough to suggest that my little vice is killing someone in close proximity. I’m about to turn around and tell whoever is invading my quiet time to find somewhere else to choke, but they speak before I can send them on their way.
“You told me you had given up.” Haydon rounds me, and I look at him looming over me, feeling like a naughty child caught misbehaving. “Now, now, Adeline, you know it is bad for you.” He reaches down and plucks the half-smoked cigarette from my fingers, looking at it in disgust.
“Maybe I like things that are bad for me, Haydon,” I mutter indignantly as I push myself up off the champagne crate and collect a whole bottle, working the foil. “Are you not playing today?” He’s wearing linen trousers and a dress shirt, no polo kit in sight.
“I thought it bad taste given my grandfather’s passing.”
“Oh, Haydon. Yes, of course. I’m so sorry for being so insensitive.” Now I feel terrible for him. Shit.
“We have a special guest playing. I volunteered to sit out.”
“Oh, the Argentine.” I pop the cork and catch the overflow with my mouth. Maybe I will devote a little attention to Mr. Garcia, if Matilda hasn’t pounced already, which I highly doubt. The woman dilly-dallies somewhat awful when it comes to men. “I hear he is a bit of a polo whizz.” I hold the bottle up on a smirk before tipping it to my mouth and swigging as much as I can before having to come up for air.
“Whatever has gotten into you, Adeline?” Haydon asks, obviously disgusted by my behavior.
I huff on a sarcastic laugh. “An American,” I whisper under my breath, tipping the bottle to my mouth again, somewhat determined to wash away my hurt with alcohol.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing,” I sigh, forcing my face into something resembling a smile. “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling myself today.” That is entirely untrue. I haven’t been myself since I first set eyes on Josh Jameson.
“Oh, are you unwell? Would you like me to call Dr. Goodridge?” Now Haydon looks genuinely concerned, and I brace myself for the fuss I’m about to endure. His palm lands on my forehead, his eyes scanning my face. “You do feel a little hot.”
That would be my blood burning with rage. I take his hand and pull it away. “I’ll be fine.” Time to change the subject. “How is Sabina?” I ask, letting my true concern for his grandmother show. I know she lost her husband, but she hasn’t been herself lately, and those conversations I overheard are leading me to believe there is more to it.
Haydon’s soft expression adopts a sharp edge. “She would be better if my father would display a little grief and sensitivity.”
The spite in his tone, as well as his words, makes me recall David’s lack of reaction when I heard the news in my father’s office. Having just lost his father, you would think the trivial issues of my antics would not be top of his priority list, yet there he was, joining in on the Adeline Slamming Party. “Maybe he is in denial.” It’s the only explanation I can think of. “People express their grief in very different ways.” But then again, I also remember the strong words he and his mother were having when I saw them at the stables.
“Well, I wouldn’t know how he’s displaying his guilt right now because we haven’t seen him for days.”
“Oh, where is he?”
“We don’t know.”
I reflect on the other morning and my brief breakfast with John, Eddie, and my father. Davenport couldn’t get hold of David. “I’m sure he has taken a timeout,” I suggest, though he doesn’t seem concerned, more irritated.
“That’s what I’ve told Grandmother.”
My hand reaches for his arm in an instinctive display of comfort and gives it a little rub. “Probably just trying to come to terms with it.”
Haydon nods, a flicker of something passing through his eyes that I know I am not mistaking as hope. His hand rests on mine. His illusion that my display of compassion is anything more has me pulling away. “Have a lovely afternoon, Haydon,” I say, turning on my sandals and heading back to the crowds.
“We’ll stomp some divots together,” he calls, the hope in his tone matching that of what I saw in his eyes.
I force a smile over my shoulder. “Sure.” What can I say? No? That would be cruel when he’s having family troubles. Yet it is also cruel to give him hope when there is none. Not for Haydon and me, anyway. And now not for Josh and me, either. The resentment that has been missing for the past few minutes while being distracted by Haydon returns full force, the images of a trashed suite at The Dorchester spinning like a camera reel through my mind. And the word women punches at my nerves repeatedly. There were several pairs of lacy knickers on that bedroom floor.
I look at the bottle of champagne in my grasp, seeing it as my only form of escape from the agonizing let-down. Yet I wonder what I expected from him. A fairy-tale romance? The man warned me that he gets bored easily. I laugh curtly and swig from the bottle as I round the corner, but it’s swiped from my curled lip.
Damon tosses it in a nearby bin. “Don’t show yourself up on his account,” he says quietly, not looking at me. “Head high before that fucking crown falls off.” He’s speaking hypothetically, of course, but I appreciate the meaning and the gesture.
He’s right, as usual. I don’t need Josh to help me fall from grace. According to my father’s condescending aides, I plummeted from my pedestal long ago. “Thank you, Damon.”
“Don’t thank me, ma’am. Just do as I damn well say.”
I smile as I nudge him in the shoulder, feeling like I hit a brick wall. He doesn’t budge, but his lip quirks at one corner. “Am I allowed to drink at all?”
“In moderation. You’ve had a whole bottle in the thirty minutes since you arrived, so may I suggest orange juice for a while?”
“You may.” Only a few seconds with my level-headed bodyguard is making me see sense. “Damon?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Very good, ma’am,” he says, simple as that.
“I’ll be off to get some orange juice.”
“I’ll be here if you need me.” He widens his stance and gets comfortable, ready for a long day of watching polo. Or watching me.
Collecting an orange juice, I go to find Matilda and curse her to death in my head when I locate her with every direct female member of my family, all gathered in a cozy little circle. God, they’re all here. I’m welcomed into the group by the usual glares of condemnation from the lovely Helen, as well as Matilda’s mother, my delightful Aunt Victoria. But my mother, as always, regards me with warm eyes full of love, oblivious to the other’s display of disdain for me. Or ignoring it. As much as I wish she had more backbone and would openly support me, I’m glad her indifference isn’t because of disgust.
“Orange juice?” Helen questions, shocked by the non-alcoholic drink gracing my hand. “Did you get ill?” She chuckles, Aunt Victoria joining in. Matilda smirks at me, and Mother remains in her usual state of Switzerland, ever the placid one.
“Ha ha,” I screech, folding at the belly in an over-the-top bout of feigned laughter. “Yar yar, very good, yar?” Both Helen and Aunt Victoria pipe down quickly, shocked, and Mother astounds me with a mild smirk. Matilda, however, dares not express a hint of amusement and risk the sting of her mother’s tail, though I can see my cousin has a fight on her hands to stop her face splitting with a smile. I sniff and sip my orange juice. “John said it is you who has been ill, in fact,” I say, indicating to Helen’s stomach. “Morning sickness sounds utterly miserable.”
Aunt Victoria coos her sympathy. “I suffered terribly with Matilda.”
“I did with John and Adeline,” Mother says, looking off into the distance, a little glazed. “But I breezed right through it with Edward.” I look to where Mother is staring, finding her looking fondly at Eddie.
“It’s frightfully inconvenient,” Helen grumbles, circling her tummy. “How is one supposed to get on with everyday life?”
Everyday life? She hardly does a thing. “I’m sure one will find a way,” Uncle Stephan’s wife, the mousey Sarah, says, which surprises me. She never speaks up in social situations. “I’m sure the blessing of a baby supersedes the temporary inconvenience of nausea.” She smiles, and it is sincere. The poor woman is married to a secretly gay man, and there’s nothing she can do about it. She has no children, and at forty-six, she isn’t likely to now, especially with Uncle Stephan, not only because he’s gay. He’s eight years her senior, so his clock is ticking faster than Sarah’s. She would probably do anything to go back in time and know what she knows now. I can guarantee she wouldn’t marry Uncle Stephan, if she even had a choice. Not because he’s a horrible man. He’s not. He’s wonderful; he just isn’t supposed to be married to a woman. I smile sadly at Sarah, reaching for her arm and touching it gently. She returns my small gesture, patting the back of my hand.
“I can’t think past how ghastly I feel at the moment,” Helen scoffs, her attention on Sarah. “Not that I could expect you to relate.”
I gawk at my sister-in-law in disbelief, and Sarah squeezes my hand lightly as if to reassure me that it’s nothing. It is not nothing. Helen is an insensitive, snotty, self-important cow. I’ve never thought her maternal. This baby is simply to secure the throne for John’s line.
“Oh, the match is starting,” Mother declares, taking my arm and leading me away, purposely stopping me from saying anything to upset the apple cart. She links arms with me and leans in, whispering, “Morning sickness really is dreadful. Maybe one day you will see for yourself.”
I roll my eyes at her less-than subtle hint. “How does it feel to have a self-important, entitled bitch for a daughter-in-law?” I ask sardonically.
“That is no way for a princess to talk.” She gives me a light nudge in my shoulder. “Helen’s emotions are all askew,” Mother says quietly, as if Helen isn’t always an insensitive arsehole. “Let us go easy on her.”
“Yes, because God forbid we upset her when she is carrying the King’s first grandchild and heir.”
“Now, now, Adeline. You’ll make yourself ill with all that bitterness.”
“It’s not bitterness, Mother. It’s principle.” We approach the field, where the players are now on horseback, waiting for the umpire to start the first chukka. “I’m merely pointing out that she should be a little more sensitive.”
“Okay, darling.” Mother releases my arm and joins the rest of the crowd in clapping the players onto the field. “What a wonderful day for it.”
And that signals the end of our conversation. I exhale dramatically and look at my orange juice despondently, before casting my eyes back to Damon. He taps the face of his watch, meaning I have not had sufficient time on the non-alcoholic beverages just yet. His gesture doesn’t only prompt me to think about the lack of champagne in my grasp and when I might get it. It also makes me think of the day at the palace for my thirtieth, when Josh Jameson was tapping the face of his watch, reminding me of my appointment with him in the maze. The skin of my bottom heats with the thought, and I glance around the crowds, searching for him. There is no sign.
“Really, are you ill?” Matilda whispers in my ear, completely serious as she joins me on the field side.
“No, I’m thoroughly irritated.” The words are out before I can stop them.
“Dare I ask why?”
“No.”
“Thought not.” The game begins, and Eddie launches the ball with spectacular precision to John, but as John swings, a player from the opposing team hooks his mallet and Eddie shouts his frustration at our older brother for losing possession. I smile at Eddie’s competitiveness, and smile harder when John snarls at our brother. Eddie is a superstar player, and would have gone professional had he not chosen to serve in the military. John, however, is average, and he positively hates the fact that his younger brother is better at something than he is.
“Poor show, John,” I call, delighting in the glare I receive. “Gee up, boy.”
“Adeline, behave,” Mother says, scolding me, closing her eyes to gather patience. “Why can’t my children all get along?”
“I love my brothers, Mother,” I assure her, kissing her cheek sweetly. I’m not lying. I love them both. I just don’t like John. “It’s simply silly sibling rivalry.”
“Adeline, look.” Matilda jars my shoulder roughly, nearly knocking me onto the field. “It’s him.”
“Who?” I ask stupidly. The appearance of only one man would warrant such physical contact to alert me. So I ask, “Where?” instead.
“Over there.” Matilda points her champagne glass across the field, and I spot him in an instant, staring at me. I divert my gaze immediately, heart racing. Was he smiling at me? Smiling like he was pleased to see me, like I would have no clue about a damning and explosive story that will be dropped like a bomb tomorrow? Of him indulging in women, drink, and drugs? I shake my head, muddled. “I think I need a drink,” I say to myself, taking the opportunity of the cheering crowd as a result of a goal to break away.
I weave through the people in my way, nodding and smiling as best I can to everyone who greets me. “Okay, ma’am?” Damon asks from close behind, tailing me.
“I don’t know.” My eyes are on my feet now, my painted smile fading. I don’t have the strength or inclination to force it back into place. I peek up to gauge the distance to the tent.
And collide with someone.
I’m caught from behind by Damon, and in front by Josh.
“Hey, are you avoiding me?” Josh asks, looking genuinely perplexed.
I have no words for him, only a blank stare. “Ma’am?” Damon asks, still holding on to me, as is Josh in front of me. I’m sandwiched between both of them, relying on them to hold me up.
I quickly engage the muscles in my legs and wriggle my way free from between them. “Excuse me,” I murmur, scuttling away while scanning the vicinity for anyone who might have caught that awkward moment.
“Whoa, wait a minute there,” Josh says on a laugh. It’s nervous and laced with confusion. He catches my wrist and pulls me to a stop, and I swing around, finding Damon within touching distance. “What’s going on?” Josh asks him, keeping a firm hold of me.
Rather than answering Josh, Damon looks to me, his thumb hovering in no man’s land.
“Thumb down,” I grate.
“No,” Josh seethes. “You do not get to give me a fuckin’ thumbs down, woman. Not without me knowing why.” He turns back toward Damon. “Thumbs up. Turn the goddam thumb up.”
“Down,” I counter, barely able to talk through my panic.
Josh looks on the verge of explosion. “Up!”
Damon glares at us like he wants to tear our heads off, then motions around us, as if to remind us that we’re in full public view. “Move it somewhere private, perhaps, ma’am?” He levels me with a serious stare. “If you want to talk.” He’s asking me, and I hate that he has to. Because he must see how conflicted I feel. He must see the hurt. And my lack of an answer gives him his.
I suppose that must be why he doesn’t stop Josh when he growls and yanks me across the way toward the portable toilets. Toilets? Okay, so they are the most unrivaled portable toilets in existence, the poshest out there, but still. It’s a toilet. And small.
“Nice night at the after-party?” I spit, being dragged along behind Josh.
“Yes, and I spoke to you, remember? What the fuck has changed since then?”
“Sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” I retort, trying to win my wrist back. I lose.
Josh drags me up the steps to the toilets, shoves me into one of the luxury cubicles, and slams the door. There is roughly two feet between our chests with our backs pressed to opposite sides of the box. Very cozy. If I was talking to him, which, of course, I am not.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he barks.
I divert my stare from his angry blue eyes, but with limited space comes limited options. I resort to focusing on his shiny tan shoes, a safe bet. Until they move, telling me he has taken the one and only step available to bring him closer.
I can’t breathe with him so near, can’t think. “Your wild party at The Dorchester. That’s what I am talking about. The women you entertained, the fact that the place was trashed.”
“What?”
His ignorance ramps up my anger, and I brave facing him. I immediately regret it. His handsome face is like a sucker punch to my gut, reminding me of one of the things I love about Josh Jameson. Just one. The attraction. And with the vision of the face that has scrambled my entire existence comes every other amazing thing about him, all things I love. His way with me, his lack of veneration for my title, his softness mixed with his hardness, his ability to take me to faraway places where only we exist. My eyes begin to burn with the onset of an emotion I have no idea how to deal with.
Josh must see the glaze wash over my eyes, because he frowns, withdrawing a little. “Talk to me, Adeline.”
“The head of communications at Kellington advised me of a story that is running in tomorrow’s paper.”
Josh’s body locks up, and he reverses his step, his back meeting the opposite wall. “What story?”
“The one of you getting drunk, entertaining women, plural, and trashing your hotel suite.”
His mouth drops open, and he looks to the door of the cubicle, his forehead a roadmap of creases. “I didn’t trash my hotel room.”
It’s hardly surprising I don’t focus on his denial, but only on his lack of reference to the women. So, he can say lovely things to me, build my hopes up, tell me it will all work out, but he has no qualms about fucking other women while he waits. I’m a fool. I’m done. Through. “I saw the pictures, Josh. And you may have forgotten, but I’ve been inside that suite so can verify the photographs’ authenticity. Do not treat me like I’m stupid.” I go to leave, getting nowhere, his hand like a vice on my forearm. I glare at him with all the disgust I feel. “I only have to shout and Damon will be in here within a second.”
“Then fuckin’ shout,” he snaps, goading me, shoving his spare hand in his pocket and pulling out his phone.
So I do. “Damon!” The door to the lavatory is open within a heartbeat, Damon brooding on the steps before me, taking in the scene. “Get me out of here, please,” I all but sob, yanking my arm free and rushing past my head of security.
“Adeline,” Josh yells after me, but I don’t slow my pace, dashing to the field to immerse myself in the crowds where I know Josh can’t corner me. I cast my eyes back as I round the corner, seeing Damon placating Josh, allowing me to escape. I need to go home. Get away from here, and that is exactly what I intend to do when Damon comes back.
“You are acting weird today.” Matilda looks at me with a heavy frown when I land by her side, all flustered and still drink-less. So I help myself to hers. “Dive in,” she quips. “What’s going on? Did you talk to him?”
“Why would I talk to him? What he does is not my concern.”
She snorts, thoroughly amused by my pathetic attempts to feign coolness, yet her apparent disbelief doesn’t encourage me to spill the beans. Besides, there is technically nothing to spill now. “You slept with him, Adeline.”
Except that, which my cousin already knows because I was daft enough to tell her. “I have slept with men before. What is your point?”
“No point.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Except that you are absolutely smitten with this one. Probably best he has turned out to be a moron. It’s not like it could have gone anywhere.” Cocking her head at me in interest, she claims back her champagne. “Cheers.” I stare at her as she returns her attention to the field, paralyzed by my conflicting feelings.
She’s dead right, of course. This is the best thing that could have happened. Or it would be, if I wasn’t so head over heels.
“Santiago Garcia is a god on horseback, by the way.” Matilda pouts, and I slowly turn my attention to the field. “Bravo!” Matilda yells, as the god on horseback swings his mallet, connecting perfectly with the ball and sending it straight toward Eddie. My brother swiftly finishes it off, landing it in the goal in time for the end of the second chukka. Eddie rides across to Santiago, who pulls off his hat, revealing his stunning looks to all as he shakes Eddie’s hand.
“Did I hear your heart just flutter?” I tease. “Or was it your thighs vibrating?”
“Adeline.” Matilda scolds me, though she is still smiling toward the Argentine.
“I know,” I say quietly, glancing around me. “I’m a disgrace.”
“Yes, you are.”
The crowds disperse for the small interval, most venturing toward the champagne tent to replenish. I remain where I am, scanning the area, wondering where Damon is. I’m itching to escape.
He appears, as if responding to my thoughts, and paces over. “Ma’am, a word, please?”
“Thumbs down,” I say, just in case he needs reminding.
“I’m aware of your wishes.”
“Good.”
“But I must insist you accompany me to the car.” Damon places his hand on my back and moves me along.
“Why do we have to go to the car?” I ask, my legs working fast to keep up with his long strides.
“Kim would like a word. Something about a bank.”
I nearly crack my neck when I snap my head up to look at him. Gerry Rush? Has he not disappeared into the black hole full of hookers where he belongs? “So much for a lovely day at a royal polo match,” I mumble to myself.
“Quite, ma’am.” Damon opens the door to the back of my car while I brace myself for whatever I’ll be challenged by now. Maybe I should relent to my father’s wishes and marry Haydon, because I’m suddenly so very tired of the constant discord in my life. Could I learn to be content? Could I pretend like the rest of my family?
I slip into the back and the door slams quickly after, barely giving me enough time to settle in my seat.
“Now you will listen to me,” Josh says from beside me.
I suck in an incredulous breath and immediately reach for the door to let myself out, but I hear the mechanics of the locks kick in before my searching hand finds the handle. What the hell? I yank at the lever nevertheless, and despite it having no effect, I repeatedly pull, cursing Damon for his underhanded stunt. “Thumbs down,” I shout through the window to his back.
“No thumbs down,” Josh replies calmly. “You will listen to what I have to say.”
“I’m not interested.” I give up on my bid for freedom and slam my back into the seat. “He will lose his job over this.”
“No, he won’t. You love him too much.” Josh’s hand lands on my bare knee, and I immediately push it off.
“Don’t touch me.”
“As it belongs to me, I will touch it when I want.” His statement is deadly serious, his hand back on my knee, his flesh fused to mine. Heat courses through every vein, muscle, and nerve. How can I be so hypersensitive to his touch? How can I react this way when I’m so angry and disgusted? The thoughts are twisting my head.
“I do not belong to you.” I spit the words out with pure venom.
“Wrong,” he states simply, reaching for my jaw with his spare hand and forcing me to look at him. Amber flashes in his blue eyes back up his potent anger. “You became mine the second you dropped to your knees for me, Your Highness.”
I defiantly tug my jaw from his grasp. “And you became an arsehole the second I saw evidence of your little party.”
He exhales through his nose, clenching his teeth. “Oh, that.”
Oh, that? The man has a nerve. “Yes, that.”
“You mean this?” He collects his phone from his inside pocket and drops it onto my lap.
I look down and see an image on the screen. An image I have already seen. I grab his mobile and toss it onto the seat between us. “Well, thank you for refreshing my memory on what a massive arsehole you are.” I take the handle of the door again and pull in vain.
“Read it.” His phone lands back on my lap. “Now.”
“Fuck you,” I spit.
“You know, for a princess, your mouth is vulgar sometimes.”
Releasing the handle, I turn my body fully into him, leaning close. “Fuck. You,” I breathe, restraining my hand, which is dying to slap his face.
“And I love it,” he growls, grabbing my neck and yanking me forward.
Gone.
Our mouths smash together—fuse together—and our tongues connect like they’ve never been apart. And I’m back floating on air in that amazing place he takes me to like I never left. I’m in my own seat one second, on his lap the next. It’s a messy kiss, one of tangled tongues, smashing teeth, and constant cries and groans. It’s an angry kiss. There is no effort on my part to stop myself being swallowed whole by him. I don’t fight his fingers from crawling up my inside thigh and slipping past the seam of my knickers. Even mad and confused, I’m wet for him.
Then my mind’s eye quickly reminds me of his hotel suite. The knickers. The women. It’s a stark reminder of why I’m here in the back of the car with Josh, sparring with words. “No,” I gasp, prying myself away from him, short of breath. I fall back into my seat. “You are a liar and a cheat.”
His head drops back, his own breathing as labored as mine. “I don’t appreciate being accused of shit I haven’t done, Adeline.”
“I’m not accusing you. I have the evidence.”
Snatching up his phone that was knocked to the floor during my lapse of restraint, he shoves it into my chest. “No, what you have is a pile of fabricated trash, Your Highness. Read the fuckin’ date. Tell me when they claim I threw this wild party and fucked endless women.”
I recoil, searching his angry eyes.
“Read. It,” he grates, taking my hand and placing the phone there.
I look down, wincing at the headline and the images, quickly working my way to the main article. I’m forced to endure too many graphic details before I reach the bit I’ve been demanded to find. Bewilderment comes on strong. They are not claiming all these defiling activities happened the night of the after-party at all. They state quite clearly that this so-called wild party and orgy went down the night before the after-party. My hand quickly covers my mouth and I shoot my eyes to Josh. He’s looking at me expectantly, his eyebrows raised.
“But I was with you in your suite,” I exclaim, looking at all the images of Josh’s trashed room. “I was with you all night.”
“Yes, you were.” He takes his phone back. “I didn’t leave the after-party until four in the morning. When we got back to my suite, it had been ransacked, though I can assure you there were no panties on the bedroom floor. We assumed a robbery or a deranged fan and called the police. But nothing was stolen, not even a pair of my boxers or a bottle of cologne. It didn’t make sense.” He shakes his head, his jaw so tight. “Now it makes perfect fuckin’ sense.”
It does? “How?” I’m utterly confused. Yes, newspapers decorate stories, but completely fabricate them?
“They can’t claim all this happened on the night of the after-party because everyone knows I was at another venue until dawn. There are pictures in every fuckin’ magazine.” Josh looks at me gravely, his palm on his nape, massaging. “It seems someone’s out to discredit me, Your Highness. Why’d you think that is?”
I can’t help my recoil. “You think this has something to do with me?”
“Who else?”
“But no one knows,” I whisper as I search my frantic mind for another plausible explanation. I come up blank.
He’s right.
Who else could it be? Who else would want to tarnish Josh’s reputation? Just because I have had no indication that my father and his army know, doesn’t mean that they don’t. I come over a bit claustrophobic, my mind reeling. This is everything I dreaded. This is every reason why I should have stayed away from him. They will destroy him before they allow me to be involved with him. I swallow down the pain running riot through me, staring at the back of the driver’s seat. “You should leave me alone.” It physically pains me to say it. Hurts like nothing else has hurt me before. I can’t risk his reputation and career being sabotaged by the bastards that advise the King. I care too much for him. “They will ruin you.”
“Never.” Josh reaches across the back seat and manhandles me back onto his lap, pushing my bent legs to either side of his hips. I don’t fight him. “Do you hear me?” My face is cupped in his palms, his blue eyes daring me to deny him. “Never.” Bringing his nose close to mine, his soft gaze flutters across my face, taking it all in carefully, as if he could be photographing each and every piece of me to memory. A small smile ghosts his lips. “We were made for each other, Adeline. I’ll be damned if royal blood and fame get in the way of that.”
I feel overcome. “Really?”
“Damn straight. I own that beautiful royal ass of yours.”
Never has anything sounded so amazingly right. “Really?” I ask again, at a loss for any other words.
“Really.” Pushing his lips to mine, he growls as he kisses me, sealing his authority over me. And I let him. But just as quickly, I’m breaking his kiss, unwanted worry and fear plaguing me. This is bad, and the news breaking tomorrow is all the proof we need that it is all so very hopeless. Josh doesn’t know what he’s up against. No one does, really. “Josh, there’s nothing we can do to stop them.”
“I won’t let you believe that.”
“But I already do.”
“Then you are not the woman I thought you were.”
I drop my heavy head. “That isn’t fair.” My voice is thick with emotion and bleakness. “You can’t confirm you were in your suite, because they will check all the CCTV footage and see me.”
“Aren’t you prepared to fight for it? To fight for happiness? To fight for me?” he asks, prompting me to peek at him. “Because I’m ready to fight for you, Adeline. I’m already armored up and set for battle, and I’m pretty fuckin’ determined to win. Because the prize is you.”
His valor is admirable, if wasted. “But at what cost, Josh? Your career, your rep—” A hand is sealed across my mouth, silencing me.
“I don’t care.” He sounds so adamant. “As long as the cost isn’t you.”
I stare at him, trying so hard to comprehend what this means. I would like to think that it means a permanent place floating on air with him, but, first and foremost, I know it means war. A war between my family and me. A war between Josh and my family. Quite literally. But to keep him? To keep the feeling of freedom? It sounds crazy since he has claimed he owns me. But the fact of the matter is, I am free when Josh owns me. Free from the constraints of my life. Free from the suffocation and suppression. The way he whisks me away to that special place is enough to keep me going. His faith in me. His friendship. His belief in us. He will fuel me with the fight I need.
“Just tell me you’re in with me.” He’s pleading. He doesn’t need to.
In with him? I’m so far in, I’m drowning. Drowning in him, and I can think of nothing better. Everything worth having in life is worth fighting for. The pain I feel just thinking about Josh being absent from my world, no matter if it’s me walking away before the carnage breaks, or him being taken away when it does, is unbearable.
“There is only one right answer to my question,” he whispers. “And there will only be one winner in this war. It won’t be them.”
“I’m in.” I exhale, feeling like my commitment to this battle lifts the burden of wanting him so badly. “I’m in, I’m in, I’m in.” I fall forward and sink into his chest, needing him all over me.
“Correct answer.” His lips vibrate against my neck, and I close my eyes, falling deeper, trying not to think about what is at stake. My fear isn’t for the strength I’ll need or the anguish I’ll experience on this journey. My fear is for possibly coming out the other side of it without Josh. The agony of not having him touching me again, or speaking to me in his dreamy American accent, of surrendering to him with a simple demand or look. Of laughing and joking with him. Of letting him relieve the pressure from my shoulders. Of letting him take charge over me and welcoming the relief of it. I can’t sacrifice any of it, not for anything or anyone, and especially not for a throne. I’m in. I don’t care if I never find my way out, as long as Josh is in with me.
“You know, Your Highness,” he says into my skin, kissing me between every other word, “this spell you have me under is fuckin’ strong.”
I make no attempt to move out of his embrace. “I don’t have you under a spell.”
“Don’t argue with me.”
“Okay.” I smile. “Whatever you say.”
“You’re a fast learner.”
While it’s lovely being here all cuddled on his lap being playful, I’ll soon be missed. I sigh deeply. “I should go before my absence is noted. What are you going to do about the article?”
“You’re not the only one with a wizard to deal with the press,” Josh assures me. “My reputation will still be intact tomorrow.”
Grudgingly, I place my hands on his warm chest and push myself away, and he grudgingly lets me, albeit on a murmur of protest. “I really don’t understand how this has happened.” There has been nothing to suggest the King knows of my connection with Josh. Not one thing. Or . . . wait. His surprise visit to Kellington for breakfast? But nothing was said about Josh. God, I feel like my head could pop. “I’m certain no one knows. Only Damon, Kim, and Matilda, and I trust them with my life. And Eddie would never betray me like that, no matter how worried he is for me.”
“That’s four people, plus both teams of security we have tailing our asses every step we take.”
I shake my head, confident that none of my staff would divulge my private life to anyone. “It doesn’t make any sense. If my father knew, I would be summoned to the palace and warned.”
“Let’s tread carefully until we decide what to do, yeah?”
I nod, agreeing, because agreeing is all I can do. Josh taps the window, helping me across to my own seat. “I’ll hang back until the coast is clear.” He taps his cheek in silent order, and I lean over to drop a kiss where indicated. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“I will.”
“And for the record”—his face takes on an edge of repulsion—“that Haydon dude is cruising for a bruising.”
“He’s misguided,” I sigh in his defense. “It’s not his fault. Plus, he is dealing with some family problems. Don’t be too harsh.”
Damon pulls the door open, and I hop out, brushing down my dress. “A bank?” I question him dryly. “You horror.”
“You forget, ma’am, I was in Mr. Jameson’s suite that night, too. He deserved his chance to explain. The man’s been shafted.”
“But by whom? Nothing has been mentioned from the top about Josh.”
“I’m aware of that,” Damon muses, clearly as mystified as me as we wander toward the field.
“I don’t know what to do.” My fingers twiddle with the tassels on my bag.
“For now, you smile.” He nudges me in the shoulder and my smile pops onto my face as if by magic. “Oh, and you should know, Felix really was looking for you. I told him you were MIA.”
“Seems plausible,” I say on a light laugh. “What did he want?”
“The call he got earlier was security on the gate. Gerry Rush was trying to get into the club.”
That magic smile drops away like a rock. “What?” I can’t take any more. What the hell is wrong with him? He’s married, for God’s sake.
Damon’s eyebrows are scarily high. “Mr. Rush was demanding to see you. He soon departed, mind you, when Felix waved a few photographs under his nose.”
I feel myself shrink. But there we have it. Threats come first, then action should warnings not be heeded. My family’s army of advisors can’t possibly be responsible for the wreck that was Josh’s suite. It’s not how they operate. After being summoned to the palace, Josh would have received a polite stay away. It’s of no consequence that Josh would never take notice of a threat, nor would I obey my father’s demand. The point is, neither of those things happened. They would never jump straight into fixing a problem that may not need that much fixing. This is hurting my head.
“Just be careful, ma’am,” Damon offers gently, nodding past me to give me the heads-up that we soon won’t be alone.
Matilda joins us, falling into stride beside me as Damon drops back. “I’m not even going to ask,” she says snootily. “I’m offended by your lack of trust in me.”
The game is now over, the riders all dismounted and shaking hands. “He was set up. It was Josh’s room, but he wasn’t there when it was trashed.” I keep my eyes set on the field before me. “It happened while he was at an after-party. But the night they’re claiming it was done, I was with him all night. He’s been set up.” I peek out the corner of my eye to gauge her reaction.
My cousin is looking at me like I could be a unicorn pissing rainbows. “What?” she chokes, a little too loudly for my liking.
“Keep it down.” I link arms with her and start walking around the outskirts of the field, out of earshot of everyone.
“I don’t know what question to ask first,” she admits. “Wait, yes I do. You spent all night in Josh Jameson’s suite?”
“Yes.” I can’t help the smile that creeps up on me, my mind giving me a lovely replay of that night. And just now, back in the car when he laid it all out for me. He leads, I follow. It seems so natural.
“And you’re not falling for him?” Her glare dares me to deny it.
“I’ve fallen so hard I’m black and blue.” I laugh on the inside at the irony of that statement. My body has never been in such a terrible state, yet my heart has never been in a better state. As for my head, I haven’t the first idea how to deal with the state of that.
“Oh my goodness, Adeline.”
“I do not need you to tell me what a mess I am in, Matilda. Please.”
“No, you don’t. You have photographs of Josh’s hotel suite to tell you that.”
“That’s just it. I don’t think the wonderful institution that is our family is responsible. Only you, Eddie, Kim, and Damon know, and I trust you all wholeheartedly. Besides, they would never steamroll in and tackle a problem so brutally, not without the mundane warnings first.”
“Who else would want to paint Josh in such a terrible light?”
“I don’t know.” We come to a stop on the opposite side of the field, and I scan the crowds, my eyes falling on my father, who is flanked on all sides by close protection. “The King would never be able to hold back on berating me if he knew I had been keeping company with Josh Jameson, and he sure as hell wouldn’t allow Josh here today.”
“True,” Matilda agrees, lowering to the grass.
I join her, picking at the blades, observing the people waiting in line to lick my father’s boots.
“There’s your lover.” My cousin jars my forearm with a flick of her elbow.
I look to where she’s discreetly indicating and follow Josh’s path until he reaches Senator Jameson, who greets him with a firm slap to the shoulder before walking him over to my father. I watch, rapt. Matilda is quickly holding my arm tightly, equally as interested, and maybe nervous, too. My mind only bends more when the King gives Josh a friendly smile, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. I witness only civility in my father’s countenance. Then they’re laughing, all three of them, sealing my conclusion.
“His Majesty seems to like him,” Matilda says. “Maybe you are worrying over nothing.”
“Oh, Matilda, you say some stupid things, but . . . really?”
“Okay. It was a silly suggestion.” She turns into me, crossing her legs and pulling her dress over her knees. “Now, I want to know everything.”
I laugh. She really doesn’t. “Like what?” Where would I start? The whipping? The commands? The romantic ride on horseback through the countryside? The tiara upon my head when he fucked me? Or drifting off to sleep in his arms? I sigh dreamily like a lovesick teenager, all of my woes forgotten.
“Like everything, Adeline.” She looks across the field toward Josh, where he is still conversing with the King and the senator. “He has gorgeous eyes.”
“He has gorgeous everything,” I admit, getting a flurry of mental images flicker through my mind, every picture a piece of Josh’s anatomy—his biceps, his insanely tight stomach, his thick thighs, his hard pecs, his . . .
“He doesn’t look like his father.”
I don’t divulge what I know. It’s not my place. “I think he must look like his mother. She passed away.”
“That’s sad.”
“It is.” Smiling fondly at Josh across the way, I can’t help but feel a little proud of him for everything he’s achieved. Yet his success still won’t be good enough for my father. “Oh, look.” I point to the left of us, where the Argentine is wandering over with his horse, his hat dangling by the thigh of his tight trousers. His appearance gives me the perfect opportunity to change the subject. “That’s a bulge and a half.”
“You are disgraceful.” Matilda sniffs, coming over all fidgety. “I wouldn’t know. I have not looked.”
“Then do so, because it is delightful.” I yelp through a chuckle when she elbows me in the side. “He’s heading this way,” I inform her around a grin. “And he has his eyes on you.”
“Oh my goodness, what do I say? What do I do?”
“Relax,” I laugh, helping her to her feet. “Ask him about his beast. And I mean his horse, not his bulge.”
“Adeline!”
My grin widens as Santiago makes it to us, nodding politely. “Ladies,” he purrs, his accent thick and rough and sexy. I can literally feel my cousin crumbling under the pleasure of it.
I quickly kick off the introductions before Matilda screws it up. “Mr. Garcia, what a pleasure to meet you.” I offer my hand.
“Your Highness, the pleasure is mine.”
I smile and claim my hand back. “This is Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent. But you may call her Matilda.”
“Matilda.” Santiago flashes my cousin a mouthful of perfectly pearly white teeth, and, I swear, a twinkle sparks in his eye. The man is gorgeous, no doubt, but he is a little too pretty for my taste.
When Matilda fails to offer her hand to him, he takes the liberty of collecting it himself, placing a lingering kiss on the back. She stares at the back of his head, frozen, until I jar her from her inertness with a poke to the arm. She darts a panicked look at me.
Ask about his beast, I mouth, backing away on a smirk. She rolls her eyes, her chest expanding.
“That’s a fine beast you have there,” she says, and I chuckle as I leave them to it, making a mental note to call her later. I want every juicy detail. Well, perhaps not about his beast.
I watch Josh with fascination as I wander toward the hub of things. He’s laughing along with my father, and Eddie has joined the group, too. Senator Jameson is congratulating him on a game well played. I’m curious of what the King could possibly be talking about with a Hollywood actor, but I know not to muscle in on man-talk, not without an invitation, so I head toward the tent. Besides, I can’t be certain I could hold it together with Josh so near in front of an audience.
“Adeline.” My father’s booming voice cuts my journey short.
I cringe at the entrance to the tent, contemplating, just for a second, pretending not to hear. That would be very unwise of me. So I paint on that smile and pivot, finding all four men looking at me. Eddie is the only one without a smile. I don’t like it. Be cool. Be cool. Be cool. “Father,” I sing, making my way to him, accepting his warm welcome. It’s quite a novelty after the last few times I’ve seen him, when he has ranted and raved at me.
“I don’t believe you have been formally introduced to the Senator and his son.”
Christ. My smile falters, but I quickly remedy it. “I don’t believe I have.”
Eddie clears his throat, and Josh flicks a curious look his way. I was right to avoid this cozy little group. How awful. “Oh, she has,” Senator Jameson pipes in. “At the garden party.”
Oh God. I’m as stiff as a board, frantically searching my mind for my next words. I have just blatantly lied to the King. Why would I do such a thing if I have nothing to hide? But he saw me talking to Josh. Is it possible he doesn’t remember? I don’t know, but I need to play it down. “Oh, of course.” I smile at Josh who is looking at his dad like he wants to rip his head off. “Forgive me.”
“You’re forgiven,” Josh says coolly, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Your Highness.”
Heat blazes my skin, damn him.
The King laughs, loud and rumbling. “Josh here makes movies. He’s quite an accomplished actor.”
“How delightful.” I smile tightly, trying to keep my composure. Just the simple fact that my father doesn’t know of Josh’s fame speaks volumes. Hollywood royalty isn’t on his radar, so I’m not surprised he thinks it won’t be on mine either. But it is. Like a huge, bright screaming beacon. I analyze my father’s disposition. He’s relaxed, smiling, and he is far from wary of the American before him. In fact, I would go as far as to say he is rather impressed by him. Maybe even likes him.
“And you are a very accomplished shooter, I hear?” Josh relieves me of his burning eyes, giving the King his full attention.
“Years of practice on the clays, my boy.”
“I used to shoot. Haven’t for years, mind you, but I used to enjoy a hunt from time to time.”
“What did you hunt?” the King asks, interested.
“Elk, deer, moose. If it moved in the woods, it was mine.”
Father is more than impressed now. “I hunted elk once in Arizona. Thrilling. You must join me one day. I like a bit of competition, and no one around here provides that.”
Did my father just invite Josh out for the day? I stare at Josh, astonished, who gladly accepts the King’s offer, because no one, no matter who you are, declines the King. I’m not quite sure what I’m witnessing. Silly thoughts start to bounce around in my head, visions of my father aiming for a clay and turning the gun onto Josh at the last second. Bang! I flinch on the spot, my mind now having the King tossing Josh’s body in a nearby ditch. Christ, what’s going on in my head? Or maybe the King really will approve of Josh and give us his blessing. Now, I’m inwardly laughing, because that is, without question, the silliest thought I have ever had. Even more silly than the idea of the King having Josh killed off.
I’m gratefully distracted from my crazy thought process when Davenport appears by my father’s side, whispering into his ear. The King’s expression goes from delight to dismay in a heartbeat. “Very well.” He moves away, addressing the group. “Duty calls, I’m afraid.”
Everyone nods at the King’s departure, and I use it to break away myself. “Excuse me, gentlemen.” I nod, turning away before I make eye contact with Eddie, the senator, and especially Josh. I’m ready to go home and process everything that has happened today. It might take me a while. And plenty of champagne, since I’ve been denied too much today. Whatever is going on?