Royal Affair

by Marquita Valentine

  He doesn’t let go of my hand, but his look of admiration and curiosity is quickly replaced with unease. “This isn’t a good time to tell me that, sweetheart.”

  “I was only teasing her, you know?”

  He nods, but the unease remains.

  Quickly, I kiss his cheek and then lean up on my toes to whisper in his ear, “Will it be a better time to talk later?”

  “Everything will be better later,” he promises.

  —

  True to his word, Brooks whisks me away as soon as we clear the dishes from the table and load them into the dishwasher. I think I shocked his parents by helping, not because I’m a princess but because I’m a guest and Brooks didn’t explain that I wasn’t to lift a finger.

  “Did you get a picture of me placing my dishes in the dishwasher properly?” I ask with a teasing smile. The wind whips through my hair as we drive, windows down, toward downtown Wilmington. “I’m sure someone would pay at least a dollar for it.”

  Brooks smiles in return, but I can’t see if it reaches his eyes or not because he has on a pair of sunglasses that hide them from me. “I should have told you ahead of time, but it’s been so long since I’ve had a guest that it slipped my mind.”

  We blow past the exit for Wilmington.

  “I think you missed your—”

  “Not going there.”

  “But you said…”

  “I lied.” He shifts gears and the nondescript pickup picks up speed. “Did I tell you this was my truck when I first got my license?”

  I look around the cab. “Is it?”

  “Had to share it with Briggs because my parents said it would instill gratefulness instead of entitlement.”

  “I can only imagine sharing a car with Gen. Colin forbade either of us from driving alone, so I didn’t bother to purchase one. Who wants to own something you can never use?”

  “Makes sharing with Briggs sound better and better.”

  I grin, pushing back my sunglasses so that my hair stays out of my face. “Did you go to school here?”

  “Yeah. All three of us did. I think our teachers were glad to see us leave, too, but I like to think we made their lives entertaining.” He laughs, a sound that makes my heart warm. He loves his brothers and it endears him to me.

  “Did you and Briggs switch places so you could go to class for each other?” I ask, eager to hear more.

  “Uh, yeah, that’s exactly why we switched places.” His cheeks turn pink and I blink.

  “Why Brooks—what’s your middle name?” I ask, stopping in the middle of the lecture I’m set on giving him. In good fun, of course.

  “Eugene.”

  “Why Brooks Eugene Walker, I can’t believe you would trick girls into thinking you were your twin. As if you needed that to even make a girl like you.”

  “I didn’t do it for that.”

  “Why did you, then?” I ask, confused.

  Looking over at me, he allows his shades to slide down his nose so I can see the very wicked look in his eyes. “Think about it, Princess.”

  “Oh…oh. Never mind,” I say primly, and he bursts out laughing, turning his attention back to the road.

  “It was only for a kiss and we were like thirteen.”

  I lightly smack his shoulder. “You are so naughty to let me think the worst of you.”

  “My reputation didn’t clue you in on that?”

  “On what?”

  “Everyone thinks the worst of me.”

  “I’m not everyone.” Slowly, I take his hand in mine and lace our fingers together, squeezing gently before letting go. I want to hold his hand the entire way but he not only has to steer but also shift gears. “Seems to me, the only ones who think badly of you are the ones who were caught doing something illegal.”

  “That’s nice of you to say.”

  Ugh. I hate when he says I’m nice, like being nice means I’m only placating him in order to spare his feelings. “It’s true.”

  “People are becoming less and less interested in the truth.” His voice is strong, but he seems so very far away right now.

  “Still, you have to keep trying to tell it,” I say.

  “You and Imogen ever switch places?” he asks, and my heart slams against my chest. “Let you be queen for a day?”

  “We’re not identical,” I remind him.

  “Too bad. I think it would be fun to rule a country.”

  “That’s because you’ve never had to worry about the possibility of it,” I counter. “It’s not all diamonds and tiaras.”

  “Then count me out.” He takes the next exit, one marked Smith Island. “So if you haven’t guessed it by now, I’m taking you to my home away from it all.”

  “The one you gave me a key to?”

  He nods, one arm propped on the door as we slow down. “The very one. We’ll have to park and take the ferry over. Only golf carts allowed.”

  “That sounds brilliant.” I sit taller in my seat, trying to spy the ferry that will take us away. “No wonder Peter approved. Only one way in or out.”

  “That helped.” He drums his fingers along the steering wheel. “I’m putting him up in the only hotel on the island. Friend of mine owns it.”

  “I get an entire house to myself?” I almost swoon at the thought of so much privacy. “I won’t know what to do first.”

  “Hopefully me,” Brooks says wryly.

  “Naturally, you are first on my list of priorities.”

  After another twenty minutes of chatting as we inch along the two-lane road, behind a long line of vehicles, Brooks is finally able to park. We get out and he takes my hand, holding it protectively in his, as we walk to the massive boat.

  “How long is the ride?”

  “Only fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s not long at all—oh dear.” I start to walk back to the truck but realize how futile it is. “I don’t have my travel bag.”

  “Whatever you need, I’ll get it for you,” Brooks says, a possessive look in his eyes. “Like my shirt for you to walk around in.”

  “What about for bed?” I ask, knowing his answer but wanting to hear it just the same.

  “There’s a no-pajama rule at my house. However, you can wear me if you get cold.”

  “I doubt very much I’ll be cold with you in my bed.” I glance coyly at him, trying to be flirtatious.

  “I like this side of you, Princess.” Taking off his sunglasses, he slides one side inside the collar of his shirt. “Keep it up.”

  I accidentally on purpose brush my hand across his groin. “Does this help keep it up?”

  He sucks in a breath. “Wait until we get home, Charlotte.”

  “And then what?” My tummy quivers in excitement and I know if he were to touch me right now, he would find me incredibly wet.

  “I’m going to finally give you that birthday spanking you deserve.” He pulls me behind one of the small buildings and yanks me to him, covering my mouth with his. “You drive me crazy, Princess.” He’s rough and tender, his tongue seeking and demanding while his fingers touch my skin with such reverence that I suddenly want to cry.

  And then I am crying because I think that perhaps my entire family is right. I’m a foolish romantic, one who went in with her eyes wide open and forgot to lock away her heart.

  “Why are you crying?” Brooks asks, his voice rough. He rubs his thumb over my cheek.

  “My family thinks you’re very bad for me, and I think I might be making a mistake…again,” I say, hating the look of that comes into his sexy blue eyes. He’s not shocked at all by my confession. He looks…resigned.

  “Do you want me to drive you back?”

  I shake my head, unable to speak because it will only make me cry more useless tears.

  “Have you considered how bad you are for me?” He smiles at my shocked expression. How in the world can I be bad for him? “You’ve made me take an unscheduled vacation when I should be working. I haven’t updated my fucking social me
dia platforms in almost two weeks. I’m spending time with my pain-in-the-ass twin instead of busting his balls over who he’s backing for office.”

  “That’s a good thing,” I whisper. “You need a break. You work too hard and family is very important.”

  With a groan, he cups the back of my neck, applying gentle pressure until I rest my forehead against him. “Sweet Charlotte, what I am going to do with you?” He runs his free hand up and down my back, comforting me like a boyfriend would.

  Or like one would do for a child who can’t handle an adult relationship.

  “Oh dear.” I push away from Brooks, taking him by surprise. “I’ve made a mess of your shirt.”

  “My shirt can handle the mess,” he says, his mouth twisting. “Want to tell me what else is bothering you?”

  “Just ignore me.” My gaze skitters away. “I’m always emotional around my birthday.” Not a lie. My birthday has always reminded me of our last days on the Isle, my last day of childhood innocence. The last time I had two parents, parents who mostly ignored us but were at least present.

  “Because you miss your parents?”

  I try to answer him, but nothing comes out at first.

  Not once has anyone ever asked me that and meant it. Not once has Colin or Theo imagined that Gen and I have always been jealous of the extra time they had with our parents. Not once have I actually allowed myself to admit that despite how awful everyone says they were, I would give anything to see them again.

  Finally, I fix my gaze on him and say, “Actually, yes.”

  Chapter 12

  Brooks

  In the space of time it took for us to get to the ferry and then arrive at my Smith Island house, things have changed between Charlotte and me. For the best or worst, I’m not sure.

  Or maybe I do know.

  We’re getting in deeper, revealing the vulnerable sides of our souls that we normally keep to ourselves. The worst thing about this happening with her—it wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was just an obsession of mine—one with a family whose secret made me a star once I revealed it to the world. My phone didn’t stop ringing. My in-box swelled to almost capacity with thousands and thousands of emails.

  Suddenly, everyone wanted to know me, wanted me to give talks, attend parties….I was granted more access than I ever had before, even as a U.S. senator’s son.

  Maybe it all went to my head.

  Maybe I simply couldn’t stop wanting to know more about the Sinclairs, Charlotte in particular. My twin is right, though, her sister appealed to me first. We’d frequented the same parties and I watched her from a distance. She was a wild child determined to give some unforeseen enemy the finger with her form of rebellion. It made no sense to me because I assumed the oldest brother, Colin, was destined to be king.

  My research proved otherwise.

  Six years ago, I stumbled across Charlotte’s blog by pure luck, or maybe it was the WordPress algorithms that made her little blog, Maiden in the Tower, pop up in my feed. In any case, after a shitty day at work, I read her post about a war between fish and worms over flowers.

  I can’t imagine, as a fish or a worm, devoting my very short life to something so silly. Naturally, there are a great many things worth fighting for, but to argue over flowers is pointless. Then again, I’m human and don’t depend on flowers for shelter, air, or food.

  Perhaps flowers represent more than that to them and should mean more to me as well because without them, the world would be devoid of beauty.

  Devoid of bees and butterflies.

  Of fairies.

  Of daisy chains.

  Of little girls who wish to pick bouquets for their parents’ headstones.

  Perhaps…the war between worms and fish over flowers isn’t so silly after all.

  Raw, real, and heartfelt words all but bled from the post. Hell, her words made me reconsider just how shitty a day I’d had. Made me reconsider a lot of things…it also made me use my hacking skills, skills I’d stopped using once I decided to go legit, to discover where she lived.

  Who she was.

  Or rather who she used to be.

  Imagine my surprise to discover a royal family of siblings living in a suburb of Charlotte. Imagine my shock to discover that no one else knew. For all intents and purposes, the Sinclairs didn’t exist on the Internet.

  Later I would discover that she’d posted about the war on the ninth anniversary of her parents’ death. By death I mean assassination.

  I glance at Charlotte and my gut clenches.

  She’s sitting in one of the comfortable chairs on the top deck of my beach home, her legs tucked to one side. The wind blows her dark hair around, the strands free and long, hanging to her waist.

  She looks sad, reminding me of the story of a somber princess who never even smiled until a jester came along and won her hand for the very simple act of making her laugh.

  While I’ll never marry the princess, I can be a fool for her.

  I am such a fool when it comes to her.

  “Dinner’s ready,” I call out from the doorway.

  She turns slightly, her gaze crashing with mine. Her brows furrow. “I would have helped you.”

  “Told you I was taking care of everything and that includes you, Princess.”

  Unfolding herself from the chair, she moves to me, walking gracefully on bare feet. With another gust of wind, the pale purple sundress she’s wearing molds to her body, highlighting the sweet curves of her hips and the fullness of her breasts.

  “I’m not helpless, Brooks.”

  “I don’t think you are,” I say quickly. Too quickly because it’s partially a lie. I don’t think Charlotte could survive more than a day in the real world.

  She frowns. “You’re not quite so handsome when you lie to me.”

  “But I’m still handsome, so…” I wink at her, to let her know I’m teasing, but her frown doesn’t leave. “Come inside. We’ll eat and do whatever you want. I’ll even let you do the dishes.”

  A faint smile appears on her lips. “Do you promise?”

  I tap my chin. “To let a beautiful woman have kitchen duty so I can sit on my ass in the living room and watch television…yeah, I can promise that.”

  “Fine,” she drawls out with a roll of her eyes. “It smells amazing.”

  “You said you loved seafood,” I remind her, earning an even bigger smile that makes my chest puff out with pride. “I made it happen. Also, they’re all orphans. No family that will miss them.”

  She laughs. “You remembered my rather silly problem.”

  “I don’t think it’s silly at all.” I pull out her chair and she sits. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to keep a family together. Even if your family is tasty.”

  “I think I’ve just lost my appetite.”

  I sit down in the chair beside her and serve her first, then fix my own plate. We eat in comfortable silence. Charlotte doesn’t look so sad anymore and I consider that a goal achieved.

  “After dinner would you like to go to Shell Island?” I ask.

  She nods. “Is it very far?”

  “Nope. Low tide’s coming in, so we can walk to it.” I take a sip of my beer. “We’ll have about thirty minutes to explore before we’ll need to head back.”

  “Sounds lovely.” She sets down her fork. “Why did you tell the entire world about us? Bring their deaths up again?”

  I stare at her for a good ten seconds before I can think again. While ten seconds might not sound like a lot of time, when you’re asked to explain what you did to hurt the woman you care about, it’s a fucking eternity.

  “Because I wanted to make a name for myself,” I answer truthfully. And really, saying that now sounds so…wrong somehow, but it happened a while ago and I’m not going to make excuses…because I’d do it again.

  I know it and she knows it.

  “You didn’t consider that making a name for yourself might hurt us?” she asks.

  “It wasn�
��t my intention to hurt you, Charlotte. I told the truth. The world needed to know the truth.”

  She pushes back from the table. “Don’t lie to me. You got it right the first time. You wanted everyone to know you. You didn’t give a damn about who you hurt in the process.”

  I place my palms flat on the table and stand, leaning toward her. “Listen to me, Princess. I’m not fucking lying. You weren’t real to me then. You were just a girl with a stupid blog that I couldn’t stop reading.”

  She shrinks back from me. “A stupid blog?”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “I don’t mean that what you wrote was stupid. I only meant that—”

  “Do shut up.” She stands, as composed as a princess can be. “You always say what you mean. The entire world knows it. You pride yourself on it.”

  “Are you telling me it wasn’t a good thing? You should thank me for unlocking the door to that fucking tower you lived in.”

  “Thank you?” Her voice rises, then falls. “I will never thank you for making me relive their death. For making us learn that our father isn’t even ours. For nearly breaking my family apart.”

  “What did you say?”

  She slaps her hand over her mouth, face whitening, her eyes widening. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean any of it.”

  “The hell you didn’t.” She starts to walk away, but I grab her arm. “Charlotte, talk to me.”

  “Please, don’t,” she whispers, her lips quivering. “If you care about me at all, you’ll pretend that I never said a word.”

  Slowly, I shake my head. “I can’t do that, Princess, not even for you.”

  “You’ll share what I said to you?” she asks, her voice small and scared.

  “It stays between us, sweetheart, but I won’t pretend that you didn’t say it. I only hope that one day you can trust me enough to share every part of your life with me,” I hear myself say.

  Meanwhile the evil part of me, the famewhore who would do anything for clicks and money roars its displeasure. I can imagine the headlines, the viral nature of such an article…the Campbell-Booth Award. The very thing Davies promised would happen if I were to share the contents of the envelope he gave me.