Battle Royal

by Lucy Parker

  As a stream of profanity drifted from the piles of rubbish—most of which, incidentally, was all the ingredients Penny had purposely wasted—Mabel returned to the kitchen.

  “I’ll be off, then,” she said, collecting her bag and coat from their hook.

  “Have a good night,” Sylvie returned serenely.

  As Mabel passed her, without turning her head or altering her expression, their hands fleetingly clasped.

  The door swung closed, leaving Sylvie alone with Dominic in a lovely, clean kitchen, while her former intern made a third cross attempt to clamber from the trash.

  Locking the back door, Sylvie transferred the bland smile to him.

  His dark gaze shifted from the window to her face, his handsome features expressionless. “I’m equal parts terrified and aroused.”

  “What an excellent relationship motto for us. I think I’ll embroider it on a cushion.”

  The death blow to his composure.

  He had to hold on to the countertop, he was laughing so hard, and despite the chaos surrounding them at every turn, Sylvie grinned.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Though she be but little, she is fierce.”

  —William Shakespeare

  St. Giles Palace

  Sylvie had never found it so difficult to draw a line and consider a design done.

  She had tweaked her work over and over again since last night, would likely still have been fiddling with it down to the wire if she hadn’t needed to stop and dress for the ball.

  But it was done. She and Dominic had both delivered their final tenders ten minutes ago, casting shrewd looks at each other’s folders and the accompanying cake boxes of samples.

  Whatever decision the royal couple made, she was happy with her proposal. The whole thing was tinged with shadows over Jay, who was still screening her calls, but she was proud of herself and her team. It was a cake that could well and truly hold its place in the historical records.

  And regardless of who got this contract, this experience had changed her entire life. Dominic stood at her side and their fingertips brushed.

  Unfortunately, it was looking increasingly doubtful whether there would be a wedding to require a cake.

  Once before, she’d sat in this palace, watching as Rosie and Johnny continually reached out to each other with hands and eyes. She’d rarely seen a couple with such a tangible connection. Such obvious affection.

  They stood now on opposite sides of a small meeting room. In the fraught minutes since an odiously pleased Edward Lancier had ushered Sylvie and Dominic inside, Rosie hadn’t looked at Johnny once.

  He, on the other hand, couldn’t take his eyes from her face. His desperation was visceral.

  Much like last time, the Duchess of Albany was doing most of the talking. She looked more like a majestic iceberg than ever. “After the extremely unfortunate photograph that emerged yesterday, there will naturally be questions and comments this evening. You will ignore the atrocious manners of others and make no response. Any decisions and public statements will come at the appropriate time, through the appropriate channels. Do I make myself clear?”

  “That’s right,” Edward decided to pipe in. “With the personages present this evening, this is hardly the occasion to publicly sever this engagement.”

  Rosie jerked visibly, but she was already following her mother’s directive. She made no response, even to her family.

  “We’re not s-severing anything,” Johnny burst out. He moved then, lunging forward to grab Rosie’s hand. She didn’t pull away, but her fingers were limp in his. “Rosie.”

  The princess’s navy eyes had been frighteningly blank and flat, but as they lifted to meet the urgency in Johnny’s, a spark of pure anguish flared and extinguished.

  “I’ll thank you to not raise your voice in this room, please, John,” the duchess said frostily. “Most of this situation has been entirely your own doing. Although there has clearly been an unacceptable breach of privacy.”

  The chilling pale stare speared Sylvie. The moment the door had closed behind them, she had explained—quietly and succinctly, and to Rosie and Johnny, not the watching sharks—the circumstances that had led to the publication of their private pain. As Rosie knew, they had been in the grounds near Johnny. The photograph had been taken; Sylvie had left Pet’s name out of it. And a member of her staff had leaked it to the press. That person’s employment was now terminated, and she could only sincerely apologize.

  Johnny had merely shaken his head, his face white.

  Rosie had briefly looked at Sylvie, and said in an unnaturally calm voice, “I know you didn’t intend for it get out.”

  Her mother was less forgiving, but as the aristocratic lip curled, Dominic shifted. Angling his body so that he was partly shielding Sylvie, he looked at the duchess—who actually flushed.

  Even royalty couldn’t withstand the De Vere Glare.

  The older woman drew herself up and redirected her fury, but for once Johnny didn’t quail under her disapprobation. He was otherwise occupied, obviously geared up for the fight of his life.

  The fight for his life.

  “Fidelity may not be a highly prized virtue in this family,” opined the duchess, who was strongly rumored to have at least four lovers herself, “but you are expected to act with a minimum of discretion. Cavorting in the palace gardens, for goodness’ sake.”

  “I wasn’t c-cavorting anywhere,” Johnny snapped. He was still holding Rosie’s hand tightly, and he shook it gently as he spoke, urging her. “I would never be unfaithful. Never. It makes me feel sick even thinking about it.”

  Even Edward Lancier, who clearly despised Johnny, must have heard the ring of truth.

  Rosie drew in a shaky breath.

  Johnny jerked a glance at Sylvie and Dominic, but although he spoke to them, he looked at Rosie. The princess’s head was down. “Her name is Helena. The woman you saw on Friday and making a scene outside our offices.” He was speaking with uncharacteristic matter-of-factness now, so focused on his fiancée that the connection between them might be a visible cable, zipping with electricity. “I’ve known her all my life. She lives in the village adjacent to my parents’ estate. There’s never been anything romantic between us, but she’s told members of the press otherwise. She’s built up a fantasy narrative in her head, and she’s been s-systematically harassing me for months, from the moment my relationship with Rosie first hit the papers. She’s not well, and I’m trying to see that she gets the help she needs.”

  “Load of nonsense,” Lancier sneered, and Rosie turned on him in a sudden burst of anger.

  “Oh, shut up, Edward.” Red flags appeared in her cheeks. She lifted her chin, as regal as her mother when she wanted to be. “Of course Johnny isn’t having an affair. He’s got more integrity than most of this family combined.” She looked at Johnny then. “But I still can’t believe you told me nothing about any of this before yesterday. This woman has been sending you, what, twenty messages a day sometimes? Thirty? She’s got hold of your schedule and is ambushing you outside our home. Getting past security. Physically throwing herself at you.”

  “You already had Lancier and the rest of your family dripping constant poison in your ear about how temperamentally unsuited I am to this life.” Johnny shot the seething Lancier a forgivably nasty look. His eyes were burning with emotion. “I didn’t want to lay what seemed at first a ridiculous, petty s-situation in your lap.” His expression hardened. “And when it became progressively more serious and . . . concerning, I didn’t want to potentially expose you to any danger.”

  “You truly think this woman is dangerous?” Rosie looked torn between anger and concern, equally understandable.

  “Even a few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have said so,” Johnny said. His fingers curled tighter about hers. “I felt sorry for her. Frankly, I still feel s-sorry for her. She was always a bit of an odd bird out in her family, like I am in mine. But she seems to have spiraled since we announced our e
ngagement. She honestly believes we have this long-standing passionate history and I’ve betrayed her.” His mouth twisted. “Before she kissed me on Friday, the only time I remember ph-physically touching her was ten years ago, when I helped her into a carriage during the village heritage festival.”

  “She didn’t kiss you. She assaulted you. Johnny.” Rosie turned in a sudden surge of frustration. “We’re engaged. We love each other. You need to be able to tell me anything. Lean on me for anything.” She threw up one hand in a gesture almost of despair. “God.”

  Lancier made a final, ill-advised attempt. “He’s clearly not suited to the public rigors of this role. Encouraging the delusions of a mentally ill—”

  Johnny had finally reached his limit.

  “That’s it.” Releasing Rosie, he walked to the door and pulled it open. “Your Highness. Lancier. Get out.”

  Sylvie couldn’t repress an instinctive snort at the look on the duchess’s face.

  Every affronted, outraged GIF in history had just come to life in this room.

  If the Prince of Wales never had a child, it was possible that the Duchess of Albany could one day become Queen Consort.

  At the very least, she would hopefully much sooner become Johnny’s mother-in-law.

  He did not give one single shit.

  “Out,” he said again, his entire demeanor brooking no opposition.

  The duchess was the most stereotypical type of bully. When faced with a dose of her own medicine, she retreated.

  With a malevolent glare at the offspring who’d foisted this man on her.

  Sylvie strongly suspected that if Edward Lancier hadn’t followed suit, Johnny would have happily given him a helping hand, via a fist in his collar. Lancier might be a snobbish, interfering dickhead, but he wasn’t completely without a sense of self-preservation. He scuttled out like a bristling squirrel.

  Johnny shut the door firmly. He immediately turned back to Rosie. “You’re deliberately picking a fight,” he said with that unaccustomed coolness, and her lips thinned.

  “We’ll give you some space, as well,” Dominic began, belatedly startling Sylvie into realizing that she shouldn’t just stand here gawping at them and openly eavesdropping.

  Alas.

  “We all have to get out there.” Rosie’s hand fisted in the skirts of her spectacular black gown. Sylvie was in sparkling pink, and the combined effect was a little more Elphaba and Glinda than she’d intended. “We’re going to be late. And there’s nothing I enjoy more than waltzing with a room full of people who’ll be thrilled my fiancé is cheating on me. It enlivens the supper.”

  Sylvie winced, but the cold sarcasm made no impact on Johnny. He shook his head. “You don’t give a shit about any of them. All your Christmases came at once when that story broke yesterday.”

  A flash went through Rosie’s defiant eyes.

  That shot had hit home.

  “The perfect reason to end things,” Johnny went on. His hands were shaking, and he stuffed them in the pockets of his crisp tuxedo trousers, but his voice was rock-steady. And all of a sudden, it gentled. His next words were so soft he might have been humming a lullaby. “So determined to save me from myself.”

  Rosie blinked hard. There was a wet glitter behind the thickly mascaraed lashes.

  “Decent play, my love,” Johnny went on in that low murmur. “But I’m afraid it’s game over. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her breath was expelled in a long sob, and the genuine torment in that sound made Sylvie flinch. She imagined it had ripped the guts out of Johnny.

  “I’m not going to ruin your life.” The words wrenched from Rosie. “I can’t. I can’t.”

  “I love you,” he said simply. “I don’t care about the opinions of strangers. I don’t give a shit what people like Lancier think. My loyalty is to you. Our duties will be plenty, but my highest priority is to keep both of our hearts safe. I’m walking into this freely, of my own volition, with my head held high and my hand in yours.”

  “That’s probably what Jessica thought with Patrick at first, and—”

  A sudden surge of exasperation tore from him. “Stop comparing us to your uncle and his girlfriend. We’re not them. I don’t care if she didn’t choose him. I fucking choose you—”

  Sylvie cleared her throat. “She did choose him.”

  She could now appreciate Dominic’s attempt at a discreet exit. She’d intended to tell Rosie the truth about Jessica at a more appropriate time, and it was very awkward interrupting a declaration of undying love.

  Johnny’s mouth snapped shut. Silence followed, so for a moment they all had nothing to do but really feel the anticlimax.

  “What?” Rosie was understandably thrown by the abrupt change in atmosphere. She’d been about to be thoroughly snogged. Johnny’s hands were still on her face. He didn’t seem to know what to do with them now.

  Dominic came to the rescue with a matter-of-fact explanation. “Sylvie was going to speak to you later. We went to Jessica’s former home and spoke to her sister, Kathleen. Jessica changed her mind. She didn’t even make it through a week without him. She was killed in a car accident on her way back to London. Back to Patrick.”

  Johnny’s hands slowly fell away from Rosie’s cheeks.

  The princess’s face was very pale as she looked at Sylvie. “Is that—is that true?”

  Sylvie nodded. “She loved him, Rosie. According to Kathleen, she’d never been so happy.”

  Beyond the door, she could hear the distant murmur of voices and music. It felt as if they were in a bubble, a snow globe, temporarily hovering away from the rest of the world.

  The words came from the very heart of her and she looked up at Dominic as she spoke. “She knew it was worth fighting for. That they would have been stronger than everything that tried to break them.” Her fingers twisted into his when he silently took her hand. “That sometimes you have to overcome your fears and reach out for what you really want. Because no matter what happens in the end, you’ll never regret a single moment. It’s always worth it. It’s the only thing that matters, really.”

  Rosie made another soft sound.

  Someone knocked on the door, just once, very politely.

  Nobody moved; then, finally, Johnny bent to straighten Rosie’s skirts for her. “Duty calls,” he said quietly.

  Unlike Pet, Dominic considered this ball a final hurdle in the competition, not a reward for said work. He would admit, however, that the premier ballroom in St. Giles Palace was a stunning example of Georgian architecture, he appreciated excellent food that he didn’t have to prepare himself—and he had the most beautiful woman in the room in his arms.

  He looked down into Sylvie’s eyes as they moved to the music of the band. In the dim, romantic lighting, her irises looked dark. Given all the circumstances, this felt a little like dancing while the ship burnt around them, but he wanted the comfort of her body and touch.

  God, they’d come a long way.

  The woman who had driven him absolutely batshit four years ago, who had opened a rival business in direct view of his own, who was solely responsible for over a million people watching a YouTube clip of him being unicorned in the face, was the love of his life.

  Still totally surreal.

  The band switched to a more up-tempo song, and he startled a peal of laughter from Sylvie when he suddenly twirled her.

  “I should have known you were full of shit when you claimed to be a poor dancer,” she said when he brought her back in against his chest. “With the possible exception of people-ing, you’re good at everything. It’s very irritating.”

  But “people-ing” was a pretty significant thing to fuck up, when it resulted in the sort of hurt he’d seen in Pet’s face yesterday.

  He was determined to be a good partner, but he continued to prove an absolute bloody failure of a brother.

  The drummer launched into a solo, and Dominic glanced over at the mocked-up stage.

  In the unlikely
event that Pet showed up tonight, she’d be thrilled. The average person streamed their favorite music for their birthday. Princesses scored the Grammy winners live and in person, and this particular group had been playing on Pet’s phone on repeat for weeks.

  Sylvie’s fingers touched the back of his neck above his shirt collar, and that shiver wound down his spine. Increasingly familiar, yet never failing to startle in its intensity.

  “She’ll come,” she said softly.

  He pulled her closer. Spoke into her hair. “I hope so.”

  Over her head, through the crowds, he saw a familiar figure come through the main doorway and look around with an air of intense anxiety.

  Sylvie shifted to look up at him. “You okay?”

  He turned them so she could see where he was looking.

  She saw Jay at the same time her best friend spotted them. She took a quick breath as her mouth quivered.

  Apparently unconsciously, her hand slid across his shoulder to hold on to his bow tie.

  Jay also seemed to take a steadying breath before he moved toward them. He edged through the well-dressed crowds, wrinkling his nose when he passed the woman who must have bathed in her perfume.

  The closer he came, the more Sylvie tensed.

  “It’s okay,” Dominic said. “It’ll be all right. All of it.”

  Her eyes moved to his. “Promise?”

  The question was forcibly light, half ironic.

  He didn’t look away from her. “Yes. I promise.”

  Her fingers tightened on him.

  A few feet away, Jay cleared his throat. “May I cut in?”

  Sylvie squeezed Dominic’s arm before she nodded.

  Jay looked at Dominic. His expression was completely unreadable, but it was clear that Dominic wasn’t high on his list of favorite people. The feeling was mutual.

  And for the sake of the woman standing between them, it was something they’d both have to get the fuck over.

  “I assume you’re not looking at me for permission,” he said coolly. “Because she doesn’t need me to give it, and I’d probably get another cake to the face if I tried. But of course she wants to dance with you. You’re a vital part of her life and always will be.”