Royal Rebel: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Flings With Kings)

by Jessica Peterson

  “You were offering it for the wrong reasons,” I said, wiping my nose on my shoulder. “Which shows you’re not ready for that stuff yet. You don’t understand it. I think you will one day. But right now…” I looked at the ceiling. Tears leaked out of my eyes and down my throat. “I need you to go.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I’m serious. I have to get ready for work.”

  Rob reached for me—reached for my face so he could wipe away my tears—but I dodged his hand.

  “But you’ll call me, right?” he said. “I can see you later?”

  I shook my head. I knew if Rob and I stayed in contact at all, I’d be tempted to let him back in. Tempted to give him another chance, even though I’d already given him one too many.

  But that was our relationship in a nutshell, wasn’t it? The back and forth. Hot and cold. The two of us coming together, Rob fucking up and pulling us apart. Making up with great little speeches and better sex. Rob pulling us apart again.

  Rinse and repeat.

  That was what I had to look forward to if I stayed with Rob.

  “No. No calls. Please.”

  The hurt in his eyes I saw then—the very real, very raw pain—made me hurt, too.

  I didn’t want to hurt anymore.

  “If that’s really what you want,” he said.

  “It is,” I replied. “I’m begging you, Rob. Please go.”

  And he did.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rob

  The Wedding Day

  I dug the thin gold band out of its velvet box. It looked tiny in my fingers; it was Emily’s wedding band, and my mother’s before that. The gold was smooth to the touch. Buffed so that it shone in the bright morning light streaming through the windows of Buckingham Palace.

  Aly would adore the ring. It was a classic, just like her. Pretty in an understated way.

  My chest tightened. I tugged at the collar of my uniform—I was wearing the Navy’s Ceremonial Day Dress—and reached for my coffee. I felt like shit. No surprise, considering I hadn’t slept or eaten in—what was it, two months now? I was always nauseous. Always thinking about the look on Aly’s face when she’d begged me to leave.

  I wanted to shrivel up and die out of embarrassment—out of shame—whenever I thought about what I’d done that morning. The misunderstandings. The missteps.

  I’d thought I’d finally been getting things right. But I’d been more wrong than ever. And it’d cost me the only girl who’d ever really seen me. Who’d ever pushed me to see myself as my own man.

  I watched Kit adjust his epaulet in a nearby mirror. We were in one of the bedrooms in the Queen’s private apartments in the north wing of the palace. The roar of the crowds outside rattled the windows and set everyone on edge. The lot of us were running on fumes.

  I wondered if Aly could hear the crowds. She was with Emily and her family at Claridge’s Hotel. Did she have on her dress yet?

  My fingers tightened around the ring. I had no clue what I was going to do or how the hell I’d handle myself when I saw her today. We’d managed to attend dozens of events together over the past week without saying a word to each other. We’d laughed, we’d toasted, and we’d smiled. Well—she’d smiled. I’d managed this sort of half-smirk, half-grimace rubbish that was so terrible I’d made one of the flower girls cry.

  Probably a good thing Aly hadn’t been pregnant. My parenting skills were clearly lacking.

  Other than that, I’d done as she’d asked. I hadn’t called. Hadn’t emailed or texted, even though I thought about doing it every damn day. I kept waiting for the hurt to fade. Kept waiting not to miss her. If what she’d said was true—if we really were too different to be together—then why did the memory of her still fucking haunt me like this?

  Maybe, on some subconscious level, I was doing what Aly asked of me to get her back. Maybe I wanted to prove I could be thoughtful, and deliberate, and mature. To prove I could still change. I’d done it before. I could do it again.

  Maybe then she’d take me back.

  Kit caught my eye in the mirror. I tried on a grin.

  “You ready for the ball and chain, old chap?” I asked.

  He tugged at a gold button on his cuff, his expression grim. “Not funny.”

  It wasn’t. Humor had been difficult to find after I’d stepped all over Aly’s dreams, right there on the floor of her hallway. Nothing seemed funny after that.

  “Mum’s ring looks good,” I said, holding it up. The lump in my throat—where had that come from? “I wish she was here. She’d love every minute of this.”

  Kit looked at me. “She’s here in spirit, Rob. Probably wishing you’d stop mainlining coffee so your head doesn’t explode when we’re up at the altar.”

  “Hey. At least it would make for some great TV.” I tucked the ring back in its box beside Kit’s. “Can you imagine Diane Sawyer’s reaction to an exploded head on live TV?”

  “It’d be epic,” Jack said in between bites of a gigantic breakfast burrito.

  Kit groaned, rolling his eyes. “You sure you’ll be all right up there today? I don’t mean to scare you, but literally half the world will be watching.”

  I knew he was talking about Aly. I’d told him everything. He knew how much I missed her. He also knew she and I would be standing side by side for much of the ceremony.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  Everything was going to be fine. I just needed a little more time to get over her, that was all. The infatuation would pass.

  It had to.

  “Emily feeling any better today?” I asked. She was almost out of her first trimester. It’d been tough going; her morning sickness had been relentless.

  Kit nodded. “I spoke to her earlier. Says she’s feeling quite good, thank Heaven.”

  “That’s wonderful news,” I said, and I meant it. Emily feeling good was a relief on many levels. Kit had confided to me that, while he was out of his mind with excitement about the pregnancy, it’d also made him feel helpless. There was pretty much nothing he could do to ease Emily’s discomfort other than hold back her hair. And every woman deserved to feel beautiful and well on her wedding day.

  It was also a relief because the Queen had decided we wouldn’t share the happy news with the world until after the wedding. If Emily had had to stop on her way down the aisle to vomit quietly into the flowers, the cat would’ve been out of the bag.

  Despite the less than perfect timing, I knew mum would’ve been out of her mind with excitement about the baby, too.

  But what would she think of the mess I’d made? Would she have any advice for me? I was controlling my impulse to reach out to Aly. I was still trying to do the right thing. But was I stupid to hope she’d take me back? Was I better off moving on?

  I just couldn’t. Part of me wanted to. But I couldn’t.

  Westminster Abbey

  The organ music blared in my ears as I stepped up onto the altar beside Kit. My bloody elbow kept catching in the braided loop of my aiguillette. Hopefully Diane Sawyer missed that bit. I’d never felt so out of sorts in uniform before.

  There was a lull in the music. A thunderous roar sounded outside the abbey. I glanced at Kit. Could only mean Emily had arrived.

  Emily and Aly.

  The Archbishop of Canterbury had kindly but firmly told us we were not, under any circumstances, allowed to look anywhere but at the altar when Emily was walking down the aisle. Kit seeing Emily for the first time when she joined him up here was part of the carefully coordinated drama of the day. That moment belonged to the Commonwealth.

  But I looked anyway. Which was a mistake. Because I somehow managed to meet eyes with Aly, whose head peeked over Em’s shoulder. She was performing her maid of honor duties with aplomb, carefully holding Emily’s train while smiling like mad. A genuine smile that touched her eyes. Despite everything—despite the disappointments she’d suffered because of me—she was happy for her friend.

  I don
’t know if it was that, or how beautiful she looked in her body-skimming ivory dress, but I felt like I’d been socked in the gut. Her smile faltered, just for a second, after our gazes collided.

  Bloody hell.

  I looked away. I’d be damned if I upset her today. I focused instead on Emily. I could just make out her expression underneath her veil. It was luminous, eyes flashing as she made her way down the aisle. My brother was going to lose his fucking mind.

  “You’d better prepare yourself,” I murmured, turning back to him. “Kit, she is so beautiful.”

  Kit blinked. His eyes had suddenly taken on a watery gleam. He looked up, focusing his gaze on the soaring stained glass windows at the front of the Abbey.

  “I never thanked you,” he said, rocking onto his heels. “For everything you’ve done for us. Me and Emily. You were the first to welcome her into the family. You love her like a sister. I won’t ever forget that.”

  Shit, now I was going to cry, too. I cleared my throat. Winced when the organ hit a particularly jarring note.

  “You’re welcome. I wish you both all the happiness in the world. Even if it means I’m knocked down a few pegs in the succession.”

  Kit cut me a glance. “You really want the crown?”

  “Not in the slightest. Meaning no offense.”

  “None taken,” he said, fighting a grin.

  Emily was at the altar now. Show time.

  Her father lifted her veil and pressed a kiss into her cheek. Then she turned to Kit, and Kit turned to her. There was this tiny pause—breathless—when they just looked at each other. Neither cried, but their eyes were wet, color high as they grinned shyly at one another.

  The whole thing was emotional and a little awkward and lovely. Not necessarily something out of a story book. But it was somehow better than that. The realness of it—the raw emotion these two showed for each other, even in the midst of an exhausting and highly choreographed day—was beautiful. They were so in love. So eager to start their life together.

  Aly was standing just off to the side. On cue, she stepped forward and took Em’s bouquet. I trained my gaze on my feet. I sensed her closeness, a warmth that spread through my body. My blood jumped at the scent of her perfume.

  I took a breath and squared my shoulders. I wouldn’t let my fuck-ups overshadow my happiness for my brother and his bride. Today was about them. Celebrating their love story.

  If I didn’t get a story like theirs, it was my own damn fault.

  Aly’s hand felt light and warm on my elbow. The ceremony had gone by in a flash, but the procession out of the Abbey seemed to go on forever. The organ blared, the voices of the choir echoing off the soaring ceiling. Aly and I aimed our careful smiles at opposite sides of the aisle, our bodies close but our faces turned away from one another’s.

  My heart was pounding. Sweat broke out inside my collar and along my scalp. I reckoned I was red as a bloody beet. Perfect.

  When it was time to finally let her go at the Abbey doors, I hesitated. We were both to do a lap around London to wave to the crowds, but we’d be in different carriages. Part of me was relieved. I was desperately in need of some oxygen; I couldn’t really breathe around her. But another part was sorely disappointed. I couldn’t escape her pull. Couldn’t seem to rid myself of the desire to be near her. Talk to her. Look at her.

  Just like I was looking at her now. She met my eyes. Up close, I still saw that happiness and excitement. But now I saw the exhaustion, too. The slight lines between her brows. The tiny blue thumbprints under her eyes.

  My hand curled into a fist at my side. Probably working herself to the bone, like usual. Aly didn’t need anyone to take care of her.

  I still wanted to.

  Still wished I could be the bloke who whisked her off on a much-needed vacation the moment this wedding ended.

  “You did beautifully back there,” I said.

  She looked away, ducking her chin in a nod. “Thanks. You did, too.”

  A photographer took one step too close to Aly. I shot him a glare. He backed away.

  “Are you coping okay?” I glanced at the crowds that waited just outside the doors. “With the attention?”

  She nodded again. Met my eyes. “I’ll be okay.”

  That was the least convincing statement I’d ever heard. But before I could respond, an usher was pulling her away from me, and I was put into my carriage and Aly was put into hers. She was gone.

  I swear to God, an invisible bare-knuckled boxer was following me around today, landing blows with swift, solid accuracy. This one hit me in the ribs. I sucked in a breath.

  And got on with the day.

  Chapter Thirty

  Aly

  By the time the reception rolled around that night, I was in a stupor. We’d had a five A.M. wake up call, with hair starting promptly at six and make-up at seven. Add to that the emotional freefall that gripped me every time I so much as glanced Rob’s way, and I was done. My feet hurt. My face ached from smiling. My weapons-grade Spanx had done their duty. Now they cut into my stomach, threatening to send the Yorkshire pudding I ate at the wedding breakfast back up.

  Of course I was seated at the same table as Rob in the grand ballroom. I was currently avoiding that table for as long as I could by lingering at the bar with some of Em’s friends from back home. Finishing my Chardonnay and turning to ask for another—an exquisite selection from Her Majesty’s cellar—the hair on the back of my neck prickled to life. My skin grew hot. I knew without looking that Rob was behind me.

  I don’t know if he glared at Emily’s friends or telepathically told them to fuck off or what. But all of them suddenly had a pressing need for the restroom, their partner, a dance—the band was just starting. They dissolved into the crowd just as Rob appeared at my elbow.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey. Sorry.” He held up his hands. God he looked handsome in his tuxedo (we’d all changed into black tie after breakfast). “I was just coming to get a drink. I’ll go to the other bar.”

  In that moment, Rob was stripped of all swagger. All cockiness. He was all pain now. Pain and…thoughtfulness. He was exercising self control. Self awareness.

  Since that awful morning at my flat, he’d done as I’d asked and kept his distance. Today he’d been helpful and polite and dashing as hell in his uniform. This morning at the wedding breakfast, he’d slipped Em crackers underneath the table. And tonight he’d been drinking. But he wasn’t drunk; I’d noticed he’d nursed his last whiskey over the past couple hours.

  Everything inside me softened, just for a moment.

  “C’mon,” I said. “You don’t have to do that.”

  He lifted his brows. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure,” I said, and offered him a tight smile.

  We waited in silence, side by side, as the bartender poured our drinks.

  “Thanks,” I said at last. “For looking out for me today.”

  He met my eyes. My stomach dropped. God, why did they have to be so blue? Why did he have to be so gorgeous and earnest and delicious tonight?

  “I’ll always look out for you,” he said.

  The bartender handed me my Chardonnay.

  I miss you, I wanted to say.

  But no matter how handsome he was, or how well he behaved tonight, I couldn’t forget that he was not real deal material. Maybe, someday down the line, he’d be someone’s forever.

  He wasn’t mine, though.

  His eyes were still latched on mine. That blue. It hollowed me out. “I knew it.”

  “Knew what?”

  “That you’d make a great best man.”

  His gaze lit up. His whole being lit up.

  I couldn’t deal with this. With him.

  So I turned and made for the dance floor.

  Aly

  Later That Week

  The restaurant was packed. Our tiny table for two was squeezed in between a line of other tiny tables, all of them filled with good-looking young coup
les shouting at each other over kombucha margaritas and overpriced small plates.

  I didn’t get why everyone went nuts about this restaurant. The food was mediocre. So was the conversation, considering you couldn’t hear half of it.

  “I’m sorry, what was that?” I said, leaning over the table.

  My date, a thirty-ish barrister, yelled something about how “ghastly” his rent was now that he lived in a two-bedroom in Chelsea.

  “Very posh building, too—completely refurbished. Came with its own car park, too. I’m thinking I’ll buy a Porsche. No clue where I’ll drive the bloody thing, but if I’ve got the parking spot, I figure I might as well fill it.”

  I nodded, finishing off the dregs of my cocktail. This was my first date with Gregory.

  He wasn’t terrible company. He was…okay. Better than others I’d had recently, that was for sure.

  But he didn’t make me laugh. Didn’t look at me like I was the only girl in the room. He definitely didn’t give me butterflies.

  In other words, Gregory wasn’t Rob. I compared all my dates to him. And they all inevitably fell short.

  After I’d kicked him out of my apartment, I’d given myself a month to wallow. Then I’d opened my Bumble app and started swiping. Rob had proved he couldn’t give me the relationship and the happily ever after I wanted. Which meant the guy who was The One was out there somewhere. And I was determined to find him.

  I said yes to every blind date I was offered. I even went out for drinks with the meatstick who’d hit on me at the gym. When he started picking apart the pizza we’d ordered “because carbs make you fat”, I politely excused myself to the restroom and never came back.

  It’d definitely been a low moment. The next day, though, I picked myself back up and kept trying. My person was out there. I refused to let my lingering feelings for Rob stop me from finding him. I wanted to let Rob go. Rob was my past; I had to look toward my future.