For King and Country

by Geneva Lee

  “I saw in the papers that you were seen with Alexander again.” Lola fluttered her lashes innocently as she abandoned her sandwich in favor of her newly-arrived martini.

  I swallowed hard and took a long drink of water. Of course, she would have seen the photos from Friday night outside of Brimstone. “I agreed to meet him. That’s all.”

  “That’s all?” My mother laughed, shaking her head. “My daughter met the Prince of England, but no big deal.”

  “He’s just a man,” I said, hoping she couldn’t see through my lie.

  “He’s far from just a man,” Lola opined. “He’s the most eligible bachelor in the world.”

  The vibration of an incoming text betrayed me, and my mother’s eyes flickered to my mobile. Obviously she’d been aware of the number of text messages I had received today. I grabbed it and dropped it in my purse.

  “That man is going to rule this country some day,” Mom said in a soft voice.

  “Mom, we’re really more of a democracy,” I reminded her. “Maybe I should set my sights on Parliament and sleep my way through them.”

  Lola choked on her martini, but Mom’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t be filthy, Clara. Is it wrong that I want to know details? You don’t tell me anything about your life. I only read about it in the papers.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. He asked me to meet so he could apologize.” At least I wasn’t lying about that part. They didn’t need to know I’d spent Saturday in his bed. Memories clouded my head for a moment and I was brought back to the present by the vibration of another text message. I snatched my phone out of my purse and read it.

  I need to have my mouth on you. I need to make you come.

  My thighs clenched together at the thought and I had to shake my head a little to clear my thoughts. Now’s not the time for this, I reminded myself. Mom was already suspicious, and when I looked up, her eyebrow was raised.

  “Who’s been texting you today?” she asked.

  I turned to my sister, hoping for some distraction, but Lola was glued to her own mobile. I obviously couldn’t count on her to come to my aid.

  “Belle. She’s having a fight with Philip.” I hated lying. Now I’d gone and sullied my best friend’s relationship, but if anyone wouldn’t mind, it would be Belle.

  “I hope it’s nothing serious.” Mom sipped her martini, her eyes still on me. I didn’t think I imagined the double meaning to her words. She didn’t believe me. She knew something was going on with Alexander, but how far would she press the issue? I needed our relationship to be secret for a while, even from her. At least until I’d figured out what our relationship was exactly. Without that, I wasn’t certain I was strong enough to continue seeing him.

  “It’s not,” I reassured her.

  “Good.” She gestured to our server for another drink. “Because I’d hate to see you get hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said with a sigh, somewhat relieved that we weren’t skirting the issue any longer.

  “I want you to be taken care of, Clara, but a man like Alexander...you’re too fragile for him.”

  I gripped my fork and stared past her. She meant well, she always did, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t tired of hearing how breakable I was. “I’m not a child anymore.”

  “I didn’t say you were. But Clara, you’re fiercely independent,” she said gently, “so much so that you don’t always see what the rest of us see.”

  “You mean Daniel?”

  “Daniel, and other things.”

  I couldn’t hold back a sigh. “I’m healthy, Mom. That was a long time ago.”

  “Clara, darling.” She stretched her hand across the table and took mine. “I want you to stay healthy. You’re an adult now. Just be sure that your decisions are made with your head and not your...heart.”

  I hated to think she might be right. Hadn’t my head been warning me away from Alexander all along? I’d let myself be led around by my body, and somehow now my heart had gotten mixed up in this mess too. But the last person I could talk about this with was my mother. Alexander made me feel alive. In university, I’d been focused on my studies or Daniel. I’d learned to push down my emotions and lock them away so that I could make it through the day. And I’d hated it. Graduation had been about more than a degree. It has been about liberation, and the arrival of Alexander into my world had reawakened me to life, even if it had been primarily on the physical level.

  My father had been protecting my mother from feeling too much for years. She couldn’t possibly understand.

  “Excuse me, I need the loo.” I stood, surreptitiously pocketing my phone.

  “I’ll go with you,” Lola said.

  “I guess I’ll stay here with the sandwiches,” Mom snapped, obviously aware that I was avoiding this topic.

  “I’m sure the gin will keep you company,” I said sweetly.

  Lola followed me to the bathroom, chattering away about her weekend and her hangover and some boy she’d brought home. The basics filtered in but my thoughts were elsewhere.

  As soon as we were in the bathroom, I found a stall. Shutting the door behind me, I checked my messages.

  I need to hear you crying my name as I fuck you.

  Yes, please. I heard the words spoken with his deep voice as I read them, tinged with a rasp that betrayed his physical yearning. It had barely been forty-eight hours since the last time I’d been with him, but I ached with desire reading his message.

  I shot back a response.

  But how can I scream your name with my mouth busy sucking you off?

  A trio of responses arrived lightning-fast.

  You won’t know until you’ve tried.

  Christ, I’m so fucking hard for you.

  Finish eating and get your pretty ass over to me.

  When I emerged from the stall, Lola was leaning against the bathroom counter. “So who’s really texting you?”

  “Belle,” I said, deciding it was best to stick with my lie, especially since Lola held the world record when it came to gossip. She continued to watch me as I washed my hands and checked my makeup.

  “You’re glowing,” she accused.

  I bit back a grin and shrugged.

  “Who screwed that smile onto your face?” she pushed. “C’mon, you have to tell me. We’re sisters!”

  “I don’t kiss and tell.” I headed for the door, but she blocked me.

  “Was it Alexander?” she asked.

  I went around her, ignoring her question. It was best to neither confirm nor deny, and I didn’t know if I could pull off a convincing lie when it came to the subject of Alexander and sex. That was something I was definitely going to have to work on.

  Lola pouted the rest of lunch, ganging up on me when Mom brought up the subject of dating.

  “And your father says that his new associate is single,” she told me. “He’s working on an app that allows you to follow people all over the world and text them.”

  “Sounds like Twitter,” I said dismissively. There was no way I was going on a blind date with one of my father’s web developer friends.

  “Clara’s seeing someone,” Lola said. She took a bite of cookie and smiled smugly as she chewed.

  “You said you weren’t!” Mom looked at me accusingly.

  “And I’m not. Not really,” I added.

  “What about you, Lola?” Mom asked, and the two of them fell into a discussion about the numerous men vying for my sister’s affection.

  “I do hope your sister meets someone nice soon,” Mom said to her when they’d finished their gossip.

  “I had a lovely afternoon,” I said, shifting the topic away from my personal life. Flattery always distracted her.

  Her hand clutched at her necklace in mock humility. “It was nice, wasn’t it? We need to see more of each other now that you’re out of school. Your father is working all the time. I’ve been lonely.”

  “I start work on Friday,” I reminded her for the tenth time today.<
br />
  She hesitated then took a deep breath. “You know you really don’t need to work. At least not doing something like social work.”

  I flinched at the audacity of her suggestion. I knew she disapproved of my choice of vocation, but this was the first time she’d really suggested that I not work.

  “You’re worth twenty million pounds,” she said in a low voice, so that the other diners couldn’t hear her. “You don’t need to work.”

  How could I explain to her that she was the reason that I needed to work? I’d watched my mother flit from charity event to charity event for years. She’d been deeply involved with the start-up when I was a baby, but as soon as it sold, she’d abandoned the notion of needing a job altogether. I had been too little to really know much about my mother before her and my father had sold their online dating site, partner.com, for two hundred million dollars in the mid-90s, but I’d heard stories. She’d been ambitious once, and she’d given it all up for a life of shopping and lunch dates. I might not have known my mother back then, but I knew her now and it didn’t take much to see she wasn’t happy. “I’d rather use my degree.”

  My degree was my one trump card, the one thing my mother always agreed with. The thing she felt I had to have to succeed in life. Maybe because it was the only thing that Madeline Bishop didn’t have and couldn’t buy.

  “Of course, you would,” she said, her eyes growing glassy. She looked away, pulling back her hand and I felt a pang of sympathy for her. How would things be different if she’d graduated herself? “And when you finally meet the right man, you won’t have to worry about money.”

  That struck me as an odd thing to say. I know her and dad had struggled the first few years of their marriage, but at least they’d been happy. It was strange that she couldn’t see how unhappy she was now that she had money. Of course, she was right. I would never have to worry about money. It was a bit of a relief, even if the money sometimes felt unwelcome. I’d toyed with giving it all away before, but there were provisions that prevented that in the trust fund arrangement. I wouldn’t have full custody over the money until I turned twenty-five.

  After the bill was paid, we rose to say goodbye. My mother flung her arms around me in an awkward show of emotion, which I wasn’t fully comfortable with, but I accepted the gesture all the same.

  “Call me and tell me how your first day goes,” she said as she collected her bags from La Mer and Louis Vuitton.

  “I promise.”

  “Lola.” Mom shifted her attention to my younger sister. “I picked up your eye cream.”

  We walked out of the restaurant together, and I braced myself as soon as we hit the front door, but there were no reporters outside. Mom squeezed my arm and gave me a knowing smile, before she kissed my cheek and got into a waiting taxi.

  As soon as it pulled away from the curb, Lola slipped her sunglasses on. “Have a fun afternoon.”

  “I’m heading home to an empty flat.” I paused, at war with myself, before forcing myself to add, “You could come over.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find something more interesting to do,” she said suggestively, pushing her sunglasses down to shoot me a wink.

  I clutched my phone and shook my head as she walked away. She wasn’t sprinting into adulthood, she was crashing into it.

  The weather in London had started to grow warmer, so despite my collection of shopping bags, I decided to walk to the Tube. I could only imagine what my mother would think of that, but it seemed silly to take a cab all the way to East London, and the weather was gorgeous. In a few more weeks, summer would arrive bringing heat and stickiness along with it. I might as well glory in the few remaining days of spring we had left.

  My purse vibrated and a thrill ran from my head to my toes when I saw it was another message from Alexander.

  I need to see you now. The Royal.

  At least my job wasn’t starting until Friday, which meant I could play as much as I wanted to now, and I’d been waiting all day for Alexander to ask for something more concrete. His texts had kept my body humming with barely repressed sexuality this afternoon. Now he was going to make good on that, and I couldn’t wait. I could use the stress relief after a day with my mom too. I texted him back and changed my direction, heading to the hotel where I’d last seen him. I couldn’t keep a somewhat silly grin off my face as I walked. Thankfully, I’d gotten made up for a day shopping with my mom, although I suspected Alexander would like me in anything. My phone alerted me to an incoming message and I checked it, excitement turning my stomach over. I would be with him soon. I would feel his hands on me soon. But when I saw the text, my heart dropped.

  Belle: I think you should see this.

  I read the post twice while standing in the lobby of the Westminster Royal, but it was the attached image that I couldn’t get out of my head. Alexander’s arms were around a beautiful blonde woman, the kind of woman that would make any other woman irrationally jealous. There had been no effort to hide it. Whoever had snapped this photo had been close enough to capture the full spectrum of what had been going on. I’d seen her before, in other photos that Belle had shown me, but the worst part was that from this angle I knew without a doubt that she was the woman Alexander had dismissed as a past mistake on that fateful day at the Oxford and Cambridge Club. She was obviously someone important because the caption read, “Alexander spotted once again with the stunning Pepper Lockwood.” She was all legs and blonde hair and bee-stung lips. She looked like a model, and her golden blond beauty complimented Alexander’s dark hair and muscular build.

  You have no claim over him, I reasoned. But didn’t I? Hadn’t he insisted—no, demanded—exclusivity? Apparently he didn’t hold himself to the same expectations. I shouldn’t be surprised, but still, I was, and more than that, I was hurt. I’d spent all day dreaming about being with him, but now I felt hollow, gutted by my foolishness.

  “Miss.” A porter came up to me and hesitated. “May I help you?”

  I’d almost forgotten that I was standing in the lobby of a five-star hotel. I started to shake my head, but then I made a decision, sliding my phone off. “The Presidential Suite.”

  “You must be here to see Mr. X,” he said. “This way, please.”

  The ex part certainly seemed fitting at the moment. I wanted to kick myself. He spent so much time here that he went by an alias. How had I gotten myself into this mess?

  The lift ride to the top floor was excruciatingly slow despite the private car reserved for guests of the suite. The photo had been taken last night at a private function. I wasn’t angry at him for not taking me, not when we were trying to keep our relationship quiet, but I was pissed that he held me to different standards than himself. If he thought I was going to sit around and wait for his calls while he screwed around with half of London’s female population, he had another thing coming.

  But what really scared me was that he clearly knew this girl. It was obvious from the embrace and from the story attached, not to mention his reaction to her presence on the day we met. The gossip site pointed out that the two were old friends but then speculated that something more was going on. Maybe he’d changed his mind about seeing me. He’d only been back in London a short while after all. He’d kissed me once to avoid her. Was he screwing me now to get back at her?

  It clawed at me not to know. It wasn’t healthy to be this attached already. I knew that, but I also couldn’t help it. My attraction to Alexander was inexplicable. While most women would have seen his godlike money and title and sexiness, what was underneath was even sexier. Underneath all the control and power, there was a soul so human and fragile that I’d been lucky to glimpse it only once or twice. But he’d shown himself to me. I was sure of that much. I had thought that meant something. Now I was no longer sure.

  Maybe it was all a game with him. He’d warned me he was dangerous. He told me that he would hurt me.

  Mission accomplished.

  My stomach twisted and I felt a too f
amiliar rawness creeping up my throat, the tears swelling there as I tried to hold them back. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to me. Maybe he got off on that, too.

  I was barely holding it together when the elevator stopped at our floor. His floor, I corrected myself.

  Get it together, Clara. I focused on channeling my hurt into anger and stepped through the sliding doors with my fists clenched.

  Alexander was on me before I could react. He lifted me up, hands cupping my ass as his lips crushed into me. I couldn’t think. I was intoxicated by him, my body betraying me, anger melting into desire as he slid a hand up to grip my neck. He pressed me against the wall and my legs wrapped more tightly around his waist. I didn’t want this moment to end, although I knew it had to.

  One last kiss.

  I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, and they spilled down. I tasted my sadness on his lips and he gasped, pulling back to stare at me in confusion.

  “Clara.” He caught my chin in his hands and tilted my tear-stained eyes to meet his. “What’s wrong?”

  I turned my head from his and pushed against his chest until he set me on my feet.

  “What’s going on?” he asked in a low voice.

  “This, Mr. X!” I held up my phone, so he could see the TMI article.

  “I’m not sure I understand what’s happening here.”

  “What’s happening is that you’re an asshole!” The words exploded from my mouth.

  Alexander ran a hand through his dark hair and walked over to the bar. “Drink?”

  I shook my head. It was intoxicating enough to be around him, I didn’t need to further jeopardize my good sense.

  “So TMI is reporting that I was seen with Pepper last night?”

  Hearing him say her name was like a punch in the gut. It confirmed all my greatest fears. He did know her, and he wasn’t even going to lie about it. I supposed that should have made me feel better, but it made me feel worse. As though I should have known this was going to happen.