X: Command Me through Alexander's Eyes (Royals Saga)

by Geneva Lee

  “Actually take each other’s advice,” he suggests. “Call her. Go to see her. Something. Don’t cut her out.”

  “Be with David,” I say.

  “Maybe you could give me something smaller to work with,” he says dryly.

  “Tell him. Talk to him. Or let him go.”

  It’s the advice we should both take. We’re both too selfish to take it.

  Edward leaves, and I cross to my desk, drawing out a crimson-red envelope and scrawl a note to her. I might not know what to do about her yet, but she deserves more from me—I promised her that.

  Poppet,

  Have a less dramatic week at work. I’m tied up with family business, but I will see you soon.

  X

  She had a full weekend planned with her friend. She’ll get this at work tomorrow, and it will…buy me time? I fold it and shove it in the envelope before melting a spot of wax and stamping it with my personal seal.

  Then I lift it to my lips and kiss it, knowing soon it will be with her.

  The only place I want to be.

  The last place I should ever be.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The next morning, I’m no closer to knowing what to do when I’m called to a meeting.

  “Alexander.” My father rises from his desk and gestures towards a man I don’t recognize. “I’d like you to meet my...associate.”

  I stick a hand out, and he surveys me with shrewd, green eyes. The man is my age, maybe a little older. His hair is caught between dark blonde and red. The suit he wears is expensive, as is the Omega wristwatch on his arm. All these things tell me he’s rich, but there’s little else to discern from his appearance.

  “Smith Price,” he says, without giving any more away. The man is locked up like a safe, and he’s not going to show anything unless he wants to.

  “Mr. Price is here to discuss a mutual friend.”

  “My friend or yours?” I ask dryly. I can’t imagine that we have any friends in common. The closest we get to sharing a relationship is where Pepper is concerned—and I’d hardly count her a confidant.

  “Mine.” My father’s lips thin into a flat line.

  “Actually, we have a mutual acquaintance.” Price picks a thread from his sleeve, eyes it with annoyance, and flicks it to the ground.

  I bite back a smile. I can only imagine the palpitations that move gave my father, but he doesn’t speak. I can’t help wondering who this Smith Price is that he puts up with it. “We do?”

  “Georgia Kincaid,” he says her name casually, but his eyes are trained on me, waiting to watch the bombshell explode.

  “I haven’t seen her in years,” I say coolly. My father shows no signs that he remembers the name. If he did, I doubt I would still be part of this conversation. I also suspect Mr. Price would be on his way out the door.

  It’s a message meant for me.

  “And your friend?” I ask my father, keeping my eyes on Price.

  “You remember Hammond,” he says, his face pinching.

  I shouldn’t be taken aback. My eyes sweep to my father, but he won’t look at me. Years have passed since he found me—whip in hand, with her at my feet, bloodied and bruised and blissed out—and he hasn’t forgiven me.

  “I’m surprised you count him as a friend,” I say simply.

  “You know what they say about friends and enemies,” my father says.

  “What is this about? And what does it have to do with me?” I ask, growing tired of the charade. “I haven’t spoken to Hammond in years, either. I don’t fit into his scene.”

  A smirk flickers across Smith’s lips as if he spots my lie but doesn’t say anything. He lounges in his seat, his arm slung over its back, and answers. “You have a problem.”

  “I do?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says, and all trace of arrogance is gone. “You’re going to need help.”

  “From you?” I guess. I don’t know how he’s found his way here or how he managed to catch my father’s attention. “I doubt it.”

  “I think you should listen to him,” my father says coldly. “There are things you need to know about—dangers you can’t possibly imagine. Not just to you, but—”

  My phone rings, interrupting him. I’m reaching to silence it when I see it’s from Norris. I look up to my father and Mr. Price. “I’m sorry. This is an emergency.”

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” my father demands. “You’re family is more important than some tart you’re shagging!”

  I ignore him, tipping my head at Price. “Sorry to cut this short.”

  “I understand. I’ll fill your father in.” He rises with me, bringing us face to face. He passes me a business card. “When you need me, come and find me.”

  I resist the urge to laugh. I have no idea what’s going on, nor do I care to hear anymore. My father suffers under the delusion that everything is life or death. It’s the power going to his head. I’m still shaking my head when I reach the hall and return Norris’s call.

  “Sorry, I was in a meeting,” I say, but he cuts me off before I can fill him in on the bizarre circumstances. “Is she okay?”

  Norris delivered the note this morning. Since then, he’s been keeping an eye on her office. After making our relationship public at my father’s party, I’m well aware she’s likely to face some paparazzi this morning. I want to know she’s safe.

  “There’s another story in the tabloids—”

  “What’s new?” I ask irritably.

  “I think you need to read it,” he says quietly.

  His words creep under my skin. I hang up and open my browser. Search results start appearing before I’ve finished typing her name, but this time the story isn’t about me. It’s about her. I scan the headlines, a pit opening inside me as I see what I’ve done. I didn’t protect her. I can’t.

  And now, it’s beginning.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Norris is not happy with me. I tug the ballcap down as I make my way off the Tube at Stepney Green. No one noticed me on the train, which is hardly surprising. No one is looking for me. I’m just some bloke with his hands shoved into his pockets on his way home from work.

  I make my way toward Clara’s flat. According to Norris, who’s watching her at her work, she’s still there. I could have waited to do this. Norris wanted to come with me, but I wasn’t sure what would be worse: sitting in a car going crazy or sitting in her room going crazy. In the end, I thought she’d be safest with Norris keeping an eye on her, ready to keep the camped-out paparazzi at bay.

  I spot a food cart selling kebabs, making my stomach rumble. The man behind it tilts his head curiously when I pause to consider getting one, but the last thing I need is to draw attention. The reporters will be following Norris and Clara home, but if he’s smart—and he is—he’ll lose a fair number of them on his way. Even the relative calm of the car ride will be a respite for her after being mobbed by the tabloid leeches.

  When I reach her building, I press the buzzer and pray that Belle is home. She strikes me as the type who’s too busy planning her wedding—to that obnoxious wanker, Philip—to have a job. She answers within thirty seconds with a bright, “Hello?”

  Clearly, she hasn’t seen the tabloids yet.

  “Can I come in?” I ask.

  She buzzes me in without asking why I’m here. I take the steps two at a time until I’m at the door to her flat. It’s already open, and Belle and an older woman regard me with an almost aristocratic surprise. It’s the kind of response that bred into titled people—people who might one day be called upon to entertain their king.

  Belle shoots a glance at the older woman, and I see her legs cross.

  “Don’t,” I say before she can curtsey. “I’m just your flatmate’s boyfriend stopping by unannounced.”

  Her crimson lips twist into a bemused smile. “I suppose I’ll stop looking for the glass slipper then.”

  She moves to the side, nodding her head that I should come in. I step through
and look around. The older woman has the same regal cheekbones and bright eyes as Belle, but her platinum hair is silver from age, not dye, and she wears it in a short, artful mess. She holds out a hand, her wrist jangling with bangle bracelets.

  “Jane Stuart,” she introduces herself. “Your highness.”

  “Belle’s aunt.” I take her outstretched hand. “Alexander, please.”

  “Can I get you some tea?” Belle asks, looking around like she’s trying to figure out how I fit into the day.

  “Scotch?”

  She tips her head, then shrugs. “That bad of a day?”

  “I assume you haven’t seen the news.” There’s no point avoiding it. If anything, Belle might have some insight into how to handle this bloody situation. I’m at a loss.

  She plucks the lid off a decanter and pours me a glass, then two more. “What happened?”

  I don’t know Belle, but I need all the help I can get. “I think a simple google search will clear it up more quickly than I can.”

  I sip the Scotch while she types on her phone. There’s a pause, and then her eyes widen, her mouth forming a quiet O of horror. Her aunt reaches for the mobile, looks at the screen, and proceeds to down her drink in one gulp.

  “Something tells me this isn’t news to you,” I say dryly.

  Belle heaves a sigh, looking back and forth between her aunt and me. “It’s not really my place to tell you about this.”

  “I can respect that.” I nod. I’d rather hear it from Clara. “But it’s true? She has an eating disorder?”

  “She did,” Belle hedges.

  “She does,” Jane corrects her gently, “and it’s under control at the moment.”

  I understand what’s being left unspoken. Belle doesn’t want to scare me off. Jane is wise enough to know that ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away. I don’t press either for particulars.

  “Fuck,” I mutter, finishing my own drink. I whip off the cap I’m still wearing, toss it on the table, and comb my fingers through my hair.

  “Is that a problem?” Belle asks defiantly, misunderstanding my reaction. “Because if you’re not man enough—”

  “I’m man enough,” I cut her off. “I just wish I knew. It didn’t come up…” I trail off before I give myself away.

  “In all the research you did on her?” Jane guesses, her blue eyes studying me shrewdly. She goes to the kitchen and returns with the decanter.

  There’s no point hiding it. I nod.

  “It doesn’t matter how much intelligence you have or who follows her and reports back. You can’t know a person until they show you who they are.” There’s a warning in her words and more than a hint of challenge.

  “I want to know who she is.” The confession slips from me before I can take it back. Maybe it’s the Scotch or the surprise of today’s news. Maybe where Clara Bishop is concerned, I can’t focus long enough to restrain myself.

  Belle doesn’t respond, but she bites her lip thoughtfully before checking her wristwatch. “I need to meet Philip,” she announces. “Will you be okay waiting for her here?”

  “Yes.” Relief floods through me. I need to talk to Clara...alone. The last thing I want is to share her with her friends tonight. Belle must understand this.

  “I’ll wait in her room,” I tell Belle, and she begins to gather her things, then I turn to Jane. “It was nice to meet you.”

  “Let her tell you,” she advises me. “Be patient. It’s not easy to split yourself open like that. It takes courage.”

  “I will,” I promise.

  I amble into Clara’s room, and I’m immediately bombarded by her even though it’s empty. Her scent lingers in the air. A pair of shoes waits for her. She’s everywhere, and my body responds possessively, growing more anxious as each second ticks by and she doesn’t appear.

  Belle’s blonde head peeks in through the door. “I’ll be leaving now. There’s not much in the fridge, but make yourself at home.”

  “Thanks,” I grit out, dropping into a chair by the window where I can watch for her.

  “She usually leaves the office around six,” she tells me. “And Alexander?”

  I swivel to look at her as she steps inside the door frame. “If you fuck with her, I don’t care who you are, I will track you down, cut off your balls, and hang them from the Clock Tower’s little hand.

  My eyebrows lift in a combination of surprise and respect. “Noted.”

  Since I’ve never had any doubt I would hurt Clara, I might need to increase my security.

  “She needs to feel safe,” Belle adds softly. “Give her that.”

  I swallow. “I will.”

  Belle leaves me alone with my thoughts and the ghost of Clara’s absence, and I turn to keep vigil at the window. I’ll do more than make her feel safe. I’ll keep her safe—at all costs.

  I lose track of the hours I spend waiting for her to come home. Norris is near her, ready to see her safely to her flat. The last thing she needs is me showing up, not with the media circus it would cause. When a familiar Bentley drives past, relief floods through me. Soon. She’ll be here soon. And then we can sort out this mess.

  A door opens in the distance, but I don’t move. Footsteps in the hall slowing slightly the closer they get to her room. Finally, she fills the doorframe, dressed in a simple blue dress that hugs her curves—curves that make me mental. I frown, wondering if she’s self-conscious about them. If she is, I’m going to have to fix that. She stands for a moment, mute, her hair cascading around her shoulders before she moves to the bed. She still doesn’t speak as she plops onto it. Instead, she grabs a pillow.

  I wait for her to open up.

  She doesn’t.

  Make her feel safe. That was Belle’s advice.

  I only know one way to do that, but first, I need to know if this is just another exaggeration of the so-called press. I won’t make the mistake of believing whatever they print.

  It takes effort to go to her and keep my hands to myself. She blinks up at me, the evidence of tears smudged under her lower lashes. I want to reach out and wipe it away—wipe all of this away. But first.

  “Is it true?”

  Fear flits over her face, and I tense. “Yes.”

  Hearing her say it breaks me. It’s not enough that she’s had to live with it. The goddamn press believes they can drag it up to sell fucking tabloids. I turn away, afraid she’ll see my rage and feel anything but safe near me. But I can’t contain my anger. It bursts out of me, sending my fist slamming into the plaster wall.

  So much for keeping control of myself. I pull my hand out, watching the plaster crumbling. This sends Clara shooting to her feet.

  “I’m sorry,” she screams. “I’m not perfect. I’m sorry you didn’t know. But you need to leave.”

  I whip around to find tears streaming down her cheeks and realize I’ve made another mistake. “You think I’m angry with you?”

  “I have no idea how they found out about it,” she continues like she didn’t even hear me. Her hands twist together. “I was in therapy before university, and I saw a private counselor my first year of college. There was a relapse a year ago, but that was all confidential.”

  “You no longer have secrets, Clara.” I took that from you when I took you.

  “I realize that now. I realize I owe you an explanation, but—”

  “You owe me nothing,” I cut her off, doing my best to keep my voice soft. I want to soothe her, not add to her stress. I close the space between us and take her chin in my hands, directing her tear-filled eyes to mine. “Do you understand that? You owe me nothing.”

  Her head shakes, and I understand her a little more. I know what it’s like to cling to whatever control life gives you. I want to carry her away, somewhere safe where no one will ever touch her. But the only way to truly protect her is to walk away, and looking at her now, seeing her rise as they try to tear her down, I realize that’s impossible. I’ll never give her up. I want her too much.
r />   “I need you to understand,” she murmurs, still caught in her own thoughts.

  Do I tell her it’s not important to me? That seems wrong. It’s important to her. Do I tell her everything will be okay? That’s a lie. We both know it. I can only tell her the truth I feel as certainly as the beating of my own heart. “If you need me to, I will listen. But you don’t owe me an explanation. Nothing you say will change anything between us.”

  “Then go.” She yanks free from me, turning her face so I can’t see her pain.

  “I don’t want to go.” I step closer. I want to take away the hurt she’s feeling. I want to show her that she’s the one I want—that her flaws only make her so much more beautiful to me. “What do you think I’m saying to you?”

  “I understand.” Her eyes stay cast to the floor. “You don’t need more drama in your life. You don’t need a girlfriend who has to actively construct positive thoughts about her body and set alarms to remind herself to eat. I don’t blame you for that.”

  Fuck, is that what she thinks? That I want some plastic doll hanging from my arm? I never wanted anyone by my side until she stumbled into my life. I tried like hell to stop myself from falling for her, but how could I not? Why can’t she see herself like I do?

  “I’m not leaving you,” I tell her. “I never wanted perfection. I wanted you.”

  She sways, and I catch her. If only I could always be near enough to do that, maybe we could make this crazy situation work. I guide her to the bed, holding her close. Nothing will convince her that I want to stay—except staying.

  “I still want you to understand.” She turns into me, nuzzling closer, and for the first time all day, I relax.

  I nod, determined to listen.

  Clara begins her story slowly, her voice shaking slightly, and I tighten my arms around her.

  “It started at school. My mother insisted that I attend an exclusive academy in California, and as usual, my father gave in. I didn’t want to go. I was fourteen, and my friends were my life, but I had no say in the matter. I guess that made the transition worse, and I had a hard time meeting people.” She takes a deep breath before plunging forward. “Finally, an older girl took me under her wing. She taught me about makeup and boys. For some reason, I thought she was really popular. Probably because she seemed happy. And then one day, she went into the bathroom and threw up after lunch.”