Royal Ruin: A Flings With Kings Novel

by Peterson, Jessica

  I hadn’t loved Luke for a long time. But some sick, sad, jealous part of me had still wanted to hear from him. I’d wanted him to send me the “I-made-a-terrible-mistake-take-me-back” text, just so I could have the satisfaction of shooting him down. I’d spent whole weeks fantasizing about what my reply would be.

  Now, though? Now the only person I wanted to hear from was Kit Thorne.

  * * *

  Right on cue, Kit sent me a text later that night.

  I was in bed, pretending to read a biography of Queen Victoria when really I was thinking about Kit.

  When my phone pinged on the bedside table, I’d thought it was Aly. The Pearce project was huge in every aspect—scale, budget, importance—and I knew she was drawing up some ideas tonight.

  When I saw that it was Kit Thorne, my heart pinged, too. A perfect echo. He’d sent a video. His caption: What would you call this move? Since you are the dancing expert…

  I was smiling like an idiot even before I hit play on the video. It was Kit in a kilt—say that three times fast—and he was on a stage, obviously at one of his engagements. He was trying to keep up with the men beside him, also in kilts, as they whizzed through an elaborate dance routine. The Georgia girl in me would call it “Scottish line dancing”. It was so cool.

  Kit was messing it up so hard.

  I laughed. And laughed. Kit’s expression—the half horrified, half amused smile he wore—was priceless. The camera shook. Whoever was taking the video was laughing just as hard as I was. It sounded a lot like Rob.

  I tried not to read too much into the fact that Kit had sent me a text. Which meant he was thinking about me. So what?

  Hm. I’d call that the rabid deer, I texted back. Or the armless knight.

  My heart lit up like a light bulb when I saw the three dots pop up at the bottom of the conversation.

  Armless knight? he texted.

  From Monty Python. The knight who gets all his limbs chopped off but still insists he could kick your ass.

  The black knight! Yes!

  You know when Arthur chops off his arms, and the knight keeps trying to kick him? And then Arthur chops off his leg? That’s what you look like up there.

  Like a bleeding idiot in other words. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Miss Kilpatrick.

  I was smiling so hard my face hurt.

  But Mr. Thorne, you’re the handsomest man in the room. You don’t need my vote.

  A pause. Then, from him: I don’t. But maybe I want it anyway.

  I bit my lip. He was flirting now. Being cute. Sweet. Did I flirt back? Yes. No. Yes?

  No. Ugh. Best to play it safe.

  How’s Scotland?

  Good. In Edinburgh now. Ever been? I think you’d like it. People very friendly. Brown liquor not bad either. Wish you were here to share a glass. Or four.

  My pulse skipped. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. Kit was not playing it safe. I loved it. Which was exactly why I shouldn’t respond. I knew where this road led.

  But I’d made Kit promise to be honest with me. Which meant I had to be honest with him. Right?

  Right.

  I wish that too, I typed. Then I sent it before I could delete it.

  When I get back, he responded, let’s grab a pint, yeah? There’s this great little pub down the street. The Rose & Thorn. No, not named after us. Although that would be cool.

  I smiled, rolling my eyes as I typed, Cool your jets, highness. Half this city is named after you.

  Fair point. It’s my favorite pub. Not fancy, just perfect. I want to take you there. You like pubs?

  Did I like pubs. What a question.

  One of my favorite things about this kingdom of yours. I love a good pub.

  Of course you do, he replied.

  I furrowed my brow. What does that mean? I texted back.

  The three dots appeared. Went away. Came back. Shit, had I struck a nerve? I was suddenly desperate for this conversation to keep going.

  The whole universe contracted to fit inside those three little dots as I waited. And waited.

  Chapter Twenty

  Kit

  It means you’re perfect.

  The words waited in the little box above the keyboard on my phone, ready to be sent. My heart beat loudly in my chest. It was the honest answer. But that didn’t make it the right one. I was no better than that dickweed ex of Emily’s, talking to her like this. I was leading her on. Yes, she’d known from the start we had no future. She’d read the contract and signed it.

  Still, I was doing her no favors by flirting with her. I’d texted her because I thought I’d finally be able to stop thinking about her. But it was doing the opposite. That Monty Python reference? I probably should’ve been offended by the comparison, but instead, I’d wanted to laugh.

  I just missed her. Literally everything I did and saw made me think of her. The castle where we were staying? I wanted to show her around the labyrinthine hallways and rooms. Where this monarch had been murdered, where that one had died on the toilet. The kilt I’d had to wear for three days straight? Em would love hearing the history behind my family’s emerald green plaid. The scotch I’d sampled as part of a distillery tour I’d attended earlier? I’d wondered if she’d like it as much as I had.

  “Christopher. What are you doing there on that mobile of yours?”

  I looked up at the sound of my grandmother’s voice. She peered at me from her perch by the roaring fire.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Just chatting with Jane.”

  It wasn’t a total lie. Jane and I had been texting all day about the upcoming gala for the School for the Arts. Yeah, our conversation had ended an hour ago. But still.

  Carlton tsked at me and shook his head. “Your generation is addicted to those horrid devices.” He turned to the Queen. “Hours every day, wasted on cat videos and the Snapgram.”

  I held back an eyeroll. The three of us were sitting in the parlor at the Palace of Holyroodhouse, the Queen’s official residence in Edinburgh. Today was the third day of our royal tour of Scotland. We were exhausted. I just wanted to go up to my room so I could keep texting Emily, but I knew better than to take my leave before Her Majesty did. Rob had come down with a sore throat and a fever and had been excused hours ago. Lucky bastard.

  “Oh?” The Queen was still looking at me. “And what does Jane have to say?”

  I froze. “Uh. Not much. The usual. We’ve got the gala coming up, so…”

  “So what?”

  The Queen wasn’t usually so pushy. But I’d caught my grandmother watching me a few times today. She was suspicious. Of what, though? Was I wearing my feelings for Emily on my sleeve? I’d been especially outgoing during our engagements, trying to stay busy. Trying to think about anything other than the real feelings I had for my fake fiancée.

  Maybe that had backfired.

  I straightened in my chair. I was a goddamn adult. I didn’t have to cower before my grandmother, even if she was the sovereign monarch of England. “So that’s it.”

  The Queen raised a brow. “How is Miss Kilpatrick? I was very impressed with the engagement pictures and interview. I imagine you were, too. The media is still going mad for them.”

  It took every ounce of control to keep my expression impassive. “I agree that Miss Kilpatrick is settling into her role quite nicely. There hasn’t been a story printed about Jane in weeks.”

  “Yes,” the Queen said. “Which is exactly why we brought Miss Kilpatrick on board. The only reason. Don’t forget that.”

  “Yes,” Carlton added. “Don’t forget that, Christopher.”

  Ah, Carlton. Always so helpful.

  Anger rose up in my throat. I swallowed it. I resented the implication that I was careless or stupid enough to forget such an essential fact. Truth was, though, I had forgotten. Maybe I hadn’t forgotten the reason why Emily was around entirely. But I’d certainly crossed a line or two.

  I needed to stop thinking about Emily. Texting her. Wanting her. I
knew I did.

  I looked down at my mobile. I definitely needed to not send this text to her. My eyes drifted over our conversation. The handsomest man in the room comment. I twisted my lips to keep from smiling when the image of the black knight appeared in my head, hopping around on one foot. It was not a kind comparison, and it was spot on.

  It was Emily being Emily. Talking to me like a real person. A friend. (Maybe more than a friend?)

  But it was reckless. Sending her a text like this was reckless. The Queen was right. She hadn’t survived six decades on the throne by being a fool in love. She’d done it by making one right choice after another. I’m sure she’d suffered her share of loneliness, too. That never stopped her from fulfilling her duty.

  Taking things with Emily any further was not the right choice.

  I hit the button on the side of my mobile and blanked the screen. The hard, small mass of my heart dinged around the hollow space inside my ribcage. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

  But I was right. I was doing the right thing. It just didn’t feel like it at the moment.

  I tucked the phone away in my pocket and turned to the Queen.

  “I thought the roundtable went especially well today, don’t you?”

  Her Majesty searched my face for another moment. Then she nodded her approval.

  “I do indeed.”

  * * *

  Two days later, and I was back at Primrose Palace.

  I was determined to keep my distance from Emily. I wasn’t sure what I’d do about the visit to the Rose and Thorn I’d promised her. I didn’t want to be a dick and fall down on her. Enough men in her life had done that, and I’d be damned if I joined their ranks. But it seemed I couldn’t spend five minutes with her without forgetting myself. What might happen over a couple pints? A couple of hours?

  The air felt different the moment I stepped through the door to my apartments. It hummed with anticipation. Electricity. There was a warmth about the place that hadn’t been there before. Immediately I was looking around.

  Looking for Emily.

  I smelled the faintest trace of her perfume in every room I moved through. Time held its breath, like Emily had just slipped out and we were all—the furniture and the drapes and me—waiting for her to come back.

  Fuck me, I was starting to think in Beauty and the Beast songs. I half expected a candlestick to jump off the mantel and ask me what I wanted for dinner.

  My room. I just needed to get to my room. Then I’d be safe from Em.

  I climbed the stairs, keeping my head down. I tried not to notice that the door to Emily’s bedroom was open.

  I tried, and I failed.

  My heart sped up. My legs slowed. I could hear the quiet, low tap of her typing. Emily sighed. I’d recognize that sound anywhere. It was so her. Feminine. Determined.

  I stopped at the door, leaning my chest into the frame. Emily sat at the secretary on the far wall, her back to me. The glow of the computer screen was especially bright in the dark room. I got the impression she’d been working for a while and had forgotten to turn on the lights as dusk fell.

  She had one leg tucked beneath her. Her hair was loose and a little wild. She typed furiously, stopped. Deleted, pounding on the delete key. Typed again. Was she churning through emails, maybe? Typing up a proposal?

  I suddenly wanted to know, quite badly, how she’d been. What she’d worked on while I was away. If she was okay.

  If she’d missed me as much as I’d missed her.

  “Hello,” I said, turning on the light. My voice managed to be soft and gravelly all at once.

  Emily turned, her head whipping around. Her eyes were uncertain, but her lips pulled into a tight grin.

  “Hey, Kit. Trip back went okay I hope?”

  “It was fine. Quick.” I nodded at her laptop. “How’s work?”

  “It’s good. Busy. Really busy.” Em slid her hand onto her neck and rolled her head. I watched, transfixed, as the sinews and strong lines of her neck appeared. “Aly came down with strep throat yesterday, so I’ve been playing catch up on my own.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Funny, but Rob has the same thing.”

  “Must be going around,” she said.

  I rolled my lips between my teeth. “Anything I can do to help? With your work, I mean.”

  She scoffed. “You can take me out for that pint you were talking about. I could use a beer. Many, many beers.”

  Emily was joking. I could tell by the noncommittal shrug she offered me. Still my heart leapt, even as the siren in my head screamed no over and over. I had my own work to do. Emails to answer. But the thought of spending the night alone in my room with only my inbox for company made me feel like flinging myself out the nearest window.

  “Give me ten and I’ll be ready,” I said.

  Emily started. “What? Kit, I wasn’t being—”

  “Do you not want to go?”

  She looked at me, her tongue poking at her bottom lip.

  That tongue.

  Jesus.

  “No,” she said. “No, I want to go. Yeah. Okay.”

  “Sheesh, Em. ‘Okay’? Way to make a guy feel special.”

  Emily smiled. A big, genuine, happy smile that touched her eyes and blotted out the uncertainty there.

  “Yes! I’d love to go.”

  I should’ve known then it was over.

  I was falling for this girl. And unless she was put in a rocket ship and sent to live on Mars, there was not a damn thing I could do about it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Emily

  The Rose and Thorn was tucked away on a quiet-ish street not far from the palace. It was nothing fancy on the outside. But inside, it was adorable. Well dressed locals crowded the bar and tables, chatting over pints of beer.

  I loved it.

  Kit wore a baseball hat—navy blue, no logo. I’d tucked my hair into a winter hat. Kit had laughed at the pink pom-pom on top. If we’d been recognized, I didn’t know it. No one paid us any mind as we stood at the bar and ordered our pints. Local ale for him, stout for me. I liked the bitter stuff best.

  I had a twenty pound note in my hand, ready to go. But like the gentleman that he was, Kit refused to let me pay.

  “I subjected you to a video of me dancing in a kilt.” He offered me my glass. “Buying you a pint is the least I can do.”

  I tilted my head. “But I was the one who made the armless knight comparison. That wasn’t exactly nice.”

  “Me. Dancing. In a kilt.” His blue eyes were laughing. “I think I win this one, Em.”

  Em. I loved it when he called me that. I didn’t want to smile. Smiling with Kit only made me want him more. But I found myself smiling anyway, because he was being just so freaking cute.

  “All right,” I said, reaching for the glass. “As long as you let me get the next round.”

  He cocked a teasing brow, pulling back the pint. “Next round? That’s awfully presumptuous of you, Miss Kilpatrick.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. Weird. I got the feeling that we were being watched. I looked over Kit’s shoulder and scanned the crowd. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  Huh.

  I turned back to Kit. “That’s rich, coming from the self-proclaimed handsomest man in the room.”

  Now Kit was smiling, too. “Fair point. Here you are then.”

  Our fingers brushed as I took the pint. Awareness bolted through me. My body was alive. Awake with desire. Kit stood close—close enough to smell his aftershave. It bowled me over. I wavered on my feet.

  No. I did not want to feel this. I’d been more disappointed than I’d wanted to admit when Kit had abruptly ended our text conversation the other night. It scared me. Scared me enough that I’d resolved to keep my distance going forward. I couldn’t go through another heartbreak again. I couldn’t do the disappointment and the depression again. And that’s exactly where Kit and I were heading. Heartbreak.

  But I couldn’t resist him. I w
as trying. Not as hard as I probably should’ve been. But I was still trying. He was just making it so freaking difficult.

  I nearly dropped my pint when someone draped an arm across my shoulders and pulled me in for a hug.

  “Well look who it is!” Rob said, planting kisses on both my cheeks. “Hello, love. So happy to see you. We’ve missed you, you know.”

  Jack appeared at his elbow, an empty pint glass in one hand and an empty shot glass in the other. “We missed you terribly.”

  “What a delightful little hat you’ve got,” Rob said, giving my pom-pom a quick tug. “You know, it looks like—”

  “Stop that right now.” Kit swatted away his hands. I was surprised to see him biting back a grin. He was usually so…growly with his brothers. But today he was grinning.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I asked.

  “This was our favorite pub first,” Jack explained.

  “Kit’s not nearly cool enough for this place,” Rob said, aiming a grin at his older brother. “We had to introduce him to it.”

  Kit’s grin widened. “You lot are the worst liars. Honestly.”

  The four of us set up camp at a high top table near the window. We talked about everything and nothing. Soccer (football to them), our schedules, stories about their foolish youths. When Rob and Jack told a story about the time Kit’s parents found a bottle of Wild Turkey in his underwear drawer, I laughed so hard I almost cried.

  I wasn’t really paying attention when a guy came to stand a foot or two from our table. But when my eyes caught on the man’s tall, lanky frame, his thinning mop of brown hair, my heart literally stopped beating.

  It couldn’t be. No. No way. I was imagining things. He wouldn’t.

  He couldn’t.

  He turned. The world seemed to crash down around me. Icicles of panic stabbed at my gut. I froze.