Royal Games (Dating Games Book 5)

by T. K. Leigh

  I nod, swallowing through the tightness in my throat. Feeling compelled by Anderson’s actions, I grab a match and light two candles. He doesn’t press me for details. Just wordlessly acknowledges my own gesture.

  Several moments pass as we stare at the flames dancing in front of us, representing three lives cut too short. Representing loss. Representing a moment in time we’ll never be able to return to.

  But in this moment, I feel a connection to this man, stronger than I have all week. In our heartache, we’ve become bonded, our lives intertwined.

  “I was in the car,” I admit softly.

  Anderson brings his gaze to mine. He doesn’t appear surprised, just processing.

  “When Hunter crashed. I was six months pregnant.”

  He closes his eyes, hanging his head as he draws in a deep breath.

  “Ember.” I say the name I haven’t been able to in years. “That was going to be our baby’s name.” I look back at the candles, a heaviness settling in my heart.

  “Nora…” His gaze glosses over with unshed tears. “I am so sorry.”

  I swipe at my cheeks. “And you know the truly awful part? Not only did I lose my fiancé and baby in the accident, but I had to continue carrying her. She didn’t have a heartbeat, but the staff at the hospital didn’t give me an option, didn’t tell me I could stay and be induced right then. They made it sound like I had to wait until either I went into labor naturally or the baby posed a risk to my health. I was in my third trimester, so I just assumed that was why. For two weeks, I had to carry my baby. My dead baby. I had to go out in public where people would ask me when my baby was due. If it was a girl or boy. If I was excited.” My words become louder and more incensed, thinking back to the injustice of it all.

  Maybe if I weren’t dealing with the aftermath of the accident that took my fiancé’s life, I would have known to fight harder. To insist they induce me before leaving the hospital. But I wasn’t thinking clearly. All I could think about was everything I’d lost. How I could possibly keep living without Hunter and Ember.

  “I had to go on with my life as if nothing had changed. And I blamed myself.”

  Anderson whips his eyes to mine, his gaze intense and powerful. “What Why?”

  “How could I not? I’d convinced myself it was my punishment.”

  “Punishment for what?”

  My chin quivers as I struggle to admit the awful truth. “Because it’s my fault he crashed. We were on our way to a going away party. I’d intended to take a nap that afternoon so I wouldn’t be tired, but I never did. So I took a little nap in the car. If I had just stayed awake—”

  “No.”

  Anderson clutches my cheeks in his hands, his grip painful yet invigorating at the same time, making me forget about the ache of being responsible for Hunter’s and Ember’s deaths. I blink, the passion and magnitude in his gaze stealing my breath.

  “Don’t you dare say that.” His voice echoes in the now empty space. “Don’t you dare blame yourself.”

  “But if I hadn’t—”

  “No,” he interrupts. “I’ve been living with regret for years now, too. Years, Nora. Believe me when I say you have no blame in what happened. Nothing you did or didn’t do made any difference. I need you to believe me.” He brings my head closer to his, his mouth a breath away again. “Say you believe me.”

  “I believe you,” I whimper, the words falling from my mouth of their own volition.

  He expels a long sigh, tension rolling off him in waves. He rests my head against his body, pressing a soft kiss against my forehead. We remain in this position, the candles flickering before us, his arms wrapped around me, my head buried in his chest as I inhale his familiar scent. In the past few days, this place has become my solace, my serenity…my salvation.

  He clears his throat, releasing his hold on me and stepping back. “We should probably get going.” He extends his arm, allowing me to walk in front of him.

  I start toward the exit, glancing over my shoulder when I don’t immediately sense him beside me. I watch as he stares at the large cross in the center of the altar. Then he bows his head and murmurs, “God, forgive me.”

  It could mean nothing, just a man of faith seeking forgiveness for recent sins. But I can’t shake the unsettling feeling in my stomach that there’s another reason for it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Nora

  Santa Fe is vastly different from where we stayed last night. Where Tucumcari was on the kitschy side and overflowing with Route 66 nostalgia, this place is more steeped in history while staying current at the same time. A trendy downtown area boasts eclectic food options, boutique shops, and even several art galleries. It draws into focus the difference between Hunter and Anderson, too. Hunter loved Americana. The quirkier the better. While Anderson appreciates the history behind many of these tackier tourist attractions we’ve stopped at, he has a more refined taste. And that’s what Santa Fe is. Refined history.

  Luxury surrounds us as Anderson leads me into the lobby of a hotel a few blocks away from San Miguel Mission. Just like everything else in this city, the pueblo influence is strong in the architecture. My sandals slide against the clay tile beneath them, fragrant desert flowers filling the air with a refreshing scent.

  “Good evening,” a woman in a black business suit greets from behind the reception desk. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “I do,” Anderson answers proudly.

  I whip my head toward him, furrowing my brows. “You do?”

  He shrugs, reaching into his wallet and pulling out his ID and credit card. “I wanted to make up for last night’s mix-up.” He hands his cards to the clerk, who smiles, then types on her keyboard to pull up his reservation.

  “I think you’ve already made up for it.” I wink, hoping to get a laugh out of him, but he’s still distant.

  “Here it is,” the clerk says. “The two-bedroom vista suite. Beautiful accommodations.”

  Normally, I’d be thrilled to find out that not only had Anderson thought ahead to book a room at what appears to be a lavish hotel, but he also reserved us a suite. Instead, all I hear is that it’s a two-bedroom. I try not to read too much into it. Maybe he didn’t want to presume anything. But after his somewhat cool and aloof demeanor today, I can’t stop that tight ball of dejection from forming in my stomach.

  “Here you go.” She hands Anderson his ID and credit card, as well as two keycards. “Just head out those doors and through the courtyard. You’re in the next building. The Mesa. Elevators will be on your left when you enter. Take them up to the third floor. If you need anything else to make your stay more comfortable, or any local information, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Will do,” Anderson says politely, then places his hand on my back, steering me out of the main building and through the courtyard.

  But this isn’t like any courtyard I’ve ever seen. We’re in the desert, yet this looks like a lush rainforest, oversized green leaves interspersed with vibrant pink and yellow blooms. An Aztec-tiled fountain sits in the middle, wrought-iron benches surrounding it. Overgrown trees provide shade on the lawn, the perfect spot to relax and read a book. If I had more time here, that’s exactly what I’d do.

  We follow the directions the clerk provided and, within a few minutes, find our room. Anderson unlocks the door and holds it open for me, allowing me to walk ahead of him. When we first arrived here, I knew it would be nothing like the motel from last night. As I step across the threshold and onto the hardwood flooring, I confirm that fact.

  Southwestern-style tapestries adorn the furniture and floor. It’s not overdone, just a subtle nod to the culture of this city. A traditional New Mexican kiva fireplace hugs the far corner of the living room, a faint aroma of burning wood wafting through the air.

  With wide eyes, I continue into the suite, checking out the master bedroom. An enormous four-poster bed sits in the center, everything about the room oozing romance. The bathroom is just as p
osh. Large, marble-tiled shower with several showerheads. Jetted tub that beckons me. Lush robes sporting the hotel’s insignia. There are even fluffy slippers.

  Once I finish my inspection, I head back into the living room, Anderson hovering near the doorway to the second bedroom.

  “What do you—”

  “I’m going to go for a quick walk,” he interrupts before I can finish my question about our sleeping arrangements tonight, something I didn’t think I had to discuss with him. Maybe I was wrong.

  Averting his gaze, he spins from me, bolting to the door.

  “Do you want any company?” I call after him, feeling like I’m losing him. Then again, he’s not really mine to lose.

  As he’s about to turn the knob, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I just… I need to be alone for a minute.” He looks past me. “Remembering Kendall can sometimes be—”

  “Say no more.” I force a smile, pushing down the uneasy feeling building inside me. “I understand. Go do what you need to.”

  He nods slightly before opening the door and disappearing through it.

  I don’t move for several moments, a part of me holding out hope that he’ll come back, apologize for being daft, as he’d call it, then we’d have hot, crazy, four-poster-bed sex.

  But he doesn’t. Not after a minute. Hell, not even after five minutes.

  Trying not to overanalyze his behavior, I shuffle into the master bedroom and flop onto the mattress. I can’t help but notice that this would be the perfect bed frame to be tied to. And I can’t even appreciate that fact. All I can think of is Anderson’s strange demeanor, and this premonition in the pit of my stomach that something’s wrong. If there were a time I wish my girl gang was here with me, it’s now. But if they can’t be here with me physically, at least I can have the next best thing.

  Grabbing my phone, I find Chloe’s contact and start a FaceTime session. It only rings once before her face pops up.

  “So you are alive.”

  “Yes, Chloe,” I groan playfully. “I’m alive.”

  “Is it true you picked up a hitchhiker?” Evie interjects, grabbing Chloe’s phone from her, walking around what I recognize to be Izzy’s Gramercy Park townhouse. I imagine Chloe and Evie are keeping her company while her boyfriend, Asher, is out touring the world, melting thousands of hearts with his music every night.

  “I didn’t pick up a hitchhiker.”

  “I may have exaggerated a little when I told them about your British prince,” Chloe shouts.

  I wince. When I first told Chloe about him, I laughed when she called him a prince. Then again, she calls anyone who’s hot and British a prince. It’s remarkable how accurate her description turned out to be.

  Izzy squeezes her face next to Evie’s, noticing my reaction. “What is it?” She pushes a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, and a sparkle catches my eye.

  “Wait a second!” I shoot straight up. “Do that again.”

  “Do what again?” Izzy asks.

  “Let me see your hand.”

  Fighting the grin crawling on her lips, she raises her hand, revealing a stunning diamond on a very important finger.

  “You’re engaged!” I shriek.

  “I am,” she answers excitedly.

  “When did this happen?”

  “The night before you left on your trip. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wanted to wait until you came home. Let you focus on your journey. So let’s do that. What’s going on? Who’s this British prince, as Chloe calls him?”

  “Yeah. Spill it.” Chloe swipes the phone from Izzy and heads over to the couch, setting it on the coffee table. “I want the dirt.” She sits in the middle, Izzy and Evie flanking her, leaning close so I can see everyone.

  “Before I say anything, I want both of you to promise this stays between us.” I point toward Chloe and Evie, since they both work for the magazine and this information is most certainly news-worthy. “This is off the record. For your ears only. No one else.”

  “You got it,” Evie agrees.

  “We’d never do anything to break your trust. You know that,” Chloe reminds me.

  Content in their guarantees, I draw in a deep breath, unsure whether I should do this. But to get my friends’ advice, they need to understand. And learning about Anderson is all part of this.

  “So my British prince… Turns out, he’s not actually British. He’s from Belmont, which is right across the channel from the UK. Hence the accent. He did go to prep school in London, though.”

  “Oh, Belmont.” Chloe waggles her brows. “Talk about another hottie prince.” She fans herself. “He’s taken the number one spot since Prince Harry got hitched.”

  “Chloe, you’re married,” Evie reminds her.

  “I can still look. You guys can’t sit here and tell me that Prince Gabriel isn’t hot. That man is sin in a perfectly tailored suit.”

  My cheeks heat at how accurate her analysis is. Based on the photo I saw last night when Anderson had me Google him, he certainly does look amazing in a suit. But I like his casual look, too. And towel look. And naked look.

  “Holy shit.” Chloe’s voice cuts through my growing inappropriate thoughts. I dart my gaze back to the screen to see my friends peering at me curiously. “Why are you all flushed? And why do you have this look on your face like you just got caught with your hand in a cookie jar? But instead of a cookie jar, it’s some guy’s pants.”

  I straighten my spine, steeling myself for what I’m about to do, wondering if they'll believe me. I still have trouble believing me.

  “Actually, Prince Gabriel prefers to go by his middle name.”

  They all blink simultaneously.

  “Anderson.”

  It’s silent for a moment as they stare at me, mouths agape.

  “You’re shitting me,” Izzy states.

  “No fucking way,” Evie adds.

  “Are you saying what I think you are?” Chloe asks, practically bouncing off the couch.

  “I didn’t believe it myself at first.”

  My friends share a look, then return their attention to me.

  “Photos,” Evie orders.

  “Now,” Chloe adds.

  I navigate out of FaceTime and bring up my photos. Finding a selfie we’d taken outside a mural wall in Kansas that reminded me of the movie Cars, I send it to our group chat. I hear the pinging of my incoming text sound in the background of the FaceTime call. Evie grabs her phone and brings up the message, showing it to Chloe and Izzy. The three of them scream, and I wince, lowering the volume.

  “You met a fucking prince!” Evie exclaims.

  “This is unbelievable,” Izzy adds.

  “Only you would meet a guy who’d end up being a prince,” Chloe remarks.

  “Did you not recognize him?” Evie asks.

  “Well… No. It’s not like he walks around in his royal uniform or whatever and people bow before him,” I say in my defense. “Plus, his hair is longer and a lot messier than he wears it during public events. And he’s sporting a really sexy goatee and mustache.”

  “I can see how you wouldn’t recognize him,” Chloe states, studying the photo I’d sent.

  “But the eyes,” Izzy coos. “They’re so…”

  “Soulful,” Chloe finishes.

  “They sure are.” I blush, the memories of getting lost in those soulful eyes last night returning, which only causes my heart to squeeze.

  “When did you figure out who he was?” Izzy asks, my three friends hanging onto my every word.

  “I didn’t. He told me. Last night. We went out drinking because yesterday was so awkward after I kissed him the day before and—”

  “Wait a hot second.” Evie holds up her hand. “You kissed him?”

  “I’m hoping she did more than just kiss him,” Chloe mutters.

  “Yes, I kissed him,” I admit, my gaze focused on Evie before shifting to Chloe. “And last night we did more than kiss. And again this morning.
And again on the side of the road.”

  The girls hoot and whistle, as I knew they would. Then Chloe returns her analytical stare to me, scrutinizing me. “But there’s something bothering you, isn’t there?”

  I blow out a breath. “Last night was hot. Hotter than hot.” My skin burns from the memory of how he slammed me up against the exterior wall of the bar. How he made me come right there where anyone could see. How no one had ever brought me so much pleasure.

  “But?” Chloe urges.

  “But he’s been…off all day.”

  “How?” Evie scrunches a brow. “You just said you had sex this morning. How is that being off?”

  “More like getting off,” Izzy deadpans.

  “It’s hard to explain. He was with me last night. Well, obviously he was with me, but he was with me, you know? Like totally in the moment. The intensity in the way his eyes speared through me—”

  “As well as his cock,” Chloe mutters under her breath.

  I roll my eyes, unable to stop the smile from tugging on my mouth. She’s not far from the truth.

  “He was there. He was present. He was only thinking of me and nothing else.” I worry my bottom lip, considering my words. “But this morning, he was…different.”

  “How do you mean?” Evie inquires.

  “I heard him walk back into the room after fetching us coffee, so I stirred in the bed. He just stared at me for a while, this haunted look about him. I can’t explain it better than that. Then, with barely a word, he came to me, like he physically needed me to breathe. And the sex was incredible.”

  I chew on the inside of my cheek, deciding to leave out that we didn’t use a condom. It was a lapse of judgment on both our parts, one I hadn’t even thought about at the time. All I could think about was the agony I felt coming off Anderson’s body.