Peter and the rest of his entourage melt into the shadows.
“The future of my country matters,” I counter.
“I was referring to your marriage.” He takes a sip from a glass of wine.
“If it means so little, why are you here?”
“If it means so much, why is your wife absent?”
Fucking asshole. “Answer my question.”
Cocking his head to one side, he smiles and set his glass down. “Because I want to know if you are serious, if you plan to remain married, or stick to your original three years as stipulated by the contract signed by Ms. Hughes.”
I lean forward, placing a hand on the table. “That was private. You have no right to my legal affairs.”
“When it involves our government and the monarchy, I do.”
My jaw works. “I rejected your proposal and married a woman of my choosing. Your precious government is safe from the machinations of the Sinclairs.”
“Your sister is still rightfully queen. There have been no votes on the matter…yet.” He says this like he’s dangling something I want.
“Perhaps I haven’t been as clear as I ought to have been, but I have no desire to be king. I was not born to be king, was not raised or schooled to be king. You can offer it up to me as many times as your ego will allow, but I will always say no. My duty has always been to protect Imogen and Charlotte. Nothing will change that.”
“Not even if we made the littlest Sinclairs legitimate?” Ah, there it is. That is what he thinks I want, that’s what he thinks every Sinclair wants—to be a prince or princess.
“Not even then. They are mine and that’s all that matters.”
“You are only their guardian, and a temporary one at that.”
I lift my chin. “Are you threatening my family?”
“Of course not.” His smile slides away. “You are proving to be quite the enigma for us, as well as the rest of the Sinclairs.”
“We are not our parents.”
“Indeed you are not, but that’s not enough. You put your wants and needs above the good of the country.”
Lifting my chin, I stare him down. “I did no such thing. I refused to be managed and to change the order of succession.”
“You managed to piss off the lot of them,” he says. “And I don’t mean Parliament. The people were counting on you to do the right thing.”
“I did the right thing.” I grind my teeth together to keep from lashing out at him. “It might not be the popular thing, or what anyone else thinks I should have done, but I refuse to be dictated to by nameless politicians who sway with whichever way the wind blows.”
“Annul the marriage while you can. We won’t require you to marry someone of our choosing, but we ask that you consider what is best for everyone, including your sister. If you do this, Imogen returns as queen, as is her right, and Sinclair Enterprises can be reopened. People will go back to work, feel pride once more in themselves, and support a monarchy that is willing to put them first.”
“What if Della is pregnant and that child is a girl? Our order of succession states that she would be third in line to the throne should Imogen fail to have an heir.” Although I used protection, it’s not entirely impossible that it might have failed. Stranger things have happened.
“You are speculating on things you have no control over.”
“You have no control, either.” It dawns on me that control is his goal. “And that’s what you want. It’s what your predecessor and his before him did not have with the Sinclairs. Control. You want to control us. You don’t give a damn about our personal lives. You just want to see us jump through hoops to maintain your position and influence. It’s slipping, isn’t it?” I can’t believe this didn’t occur to me sooner. “That’s why there is no one here tonight, why only one member of your council appeared at my home, and why not even a tenth of the members of Parliament were there to support you in London.
“All these years, I have done nearly everything you have demanded—kept everyone out of the spotlight and tabloids, built up Sinclair Enterprises in the States, sent the boys off to boarding school—”
“Which you blatantly disregarded,” he points out.
“Holy shit. That’s the reason why you demanded I meet with you. I stepped out of line, did what is best as a parent, and you couldn’t handle that. Parliament is not the problem—you are.” I stand, fully intending to leave without saying another word.
“If you leave, you will never come home—I won’t allow it.”
“You won’t allow it?” The most fucked-up thought in the world enters my mind. “Show me the papers that decree our exile.”
He pales ever so slightly, but it’s enough for me to question their existence. “I don’t have those.”
“They don’t exist, do they?”
“Your exile is in effect. You agreed,” he points out.
Fury boils up inside me. “I was a scared nineteen-year-old boy who’d just learned that his parents were assassinated and you took advantage of that fear, suggested that we were next.”
“Parliament—”
“Fuck Parliament,” I roar. “Fuck every last one of you. I did not ask for your wrath and neither did my siblings. We were children. You want a civil war, Prime Minister, I will give you one, but not with guns or violence. We will let the people decide, not a bunch of bureaucrats, when the new Parliament meets in two months.”
“Must be the American influence,” he mutters.
“Damn straight it is. We will be free and so will the citizens from your tyranny and oppression.”
“Everyone is happy to be rid of the Sinclairs.”
“Then why are you so bloody eager to make me king?”
He sputters an answer, but it’s so garbled that I can’t make sense of it.
“Until the constitution is amended, only my queen can keep me in exile.” I smile, leaning forward to brace my hands on the table and get right in his face, like a proper crown prince would do when faced with an adversary. “Prepare for a homecoming, the likes of which the Isle has never seen, because the Sinclairs refuse to be bullied any longer.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.” Pivoting, I stride through the dining room and shove open the double doors. “I’m ready to go, Peter.”
“Yes, sir.”
Out of the corner of my eye, nearly white-blond hair captures my attention. Well, it’s not the hair as much as the bloody mobile he’s using to record me. The bloke smirks at me from behind a pair of aviator-style sunglasses, but I have no idea who is he.
“Paparazzi, sir. He respected your privacy while you dined, but out here—”
“Fair game. Duly noted.” I march up to the journalist, my bodyguard muttering under his breath all the while. This close, the bloke’s more muscular than he looked in his expensive suit and is a couple of inches taller than my six foot one. “See something you’re keen to share?”
“Always.”
I can’t quite place his accent, but his smug attitude is easy to spot. “Make sure that whatever you report is the truth.”
“Scandals get more hits.”
“So do reporters who lie.”
He laughs. “One man’s lie is the public’s truth.”
God, I want to hit the bastard’s face, but that would go viral faster than any scandal he can dream up. I walk away, tossing over my shoulder, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, mate.”
“I sleep just fine, thanks.”
Peter all but shoves me outside and into the waiting car. “Beaumont is going to be pissed.”
“Why?”
He shakes his head, then directs the driver to go a different route home, which is pointless since I’m going to the biggest building in the entire town. “You have no idea who that was, do you?”
“Haven’t a clue.” I take out my phone and send Della a text. I need her, not just physically but emotionally.
Heading home early.
Della: Everything okay?
Let’s talk when you get back.
Della: On my way now.
God love her for that.
“Really?” Peter asks.
I don’t have the patience for this. “Spit it out.”
“That was Brooks Walker, the owner of Walker Media…the same guy who basically outed the royal family to the world,” Peter replies.
“Fuck,” I growl. “I should have clocked the bastard when I had the chance.”
Turning in his seat, Peter grins at me. “We can always go back.”
I’m sorely tempted, but I won’t be drawn in. I have bigger battles to fight. “Cheers, Peter, but I’d rather go home to my wife.”
Chapter 14
Della
“Thanks for having dinner with me tonight,” I say with a smile.
Beaumont nods curtly, as if he’s uncomfortable with sitting across from me instead of standing nearby. “Thank you for the invitation, princess.”
“Oh good Lord, you’ve known me since I was seventeen. Don’t get all uppity on me now.”
With a small smile, he inclines his head to one side. “It’s rather difficult getting used to you in this role.”
“I’m still me.” I spear a mushroom and pop it into my mouth. “Same girl who all but tackled Colin to the ground the first time I saw him, and not because I thought he was hot.”
That brings out a full-fledged grin. “I wasn’t worried.”
“Only because you grilled me for days before you’d let me get anywhere near him,” I remind him. “That should have been my first clue the Sinclairs were more than your average weird uber-rich people.”
His lips twitch.
“You’re allowed to laugh because you know I’m right.”
“And now you are one.”
I shrug. “Only by marriage.”
He says nothing to this, just resumes eating. Guess it’s up to me to keep up the conversation.
My phone buzzes with a text from Colin.
“Colin’s coming home early,” I tell him.
“Peter has already advised me.”
My heart skips a beat at his next text. “I hope everything’s okay.”
“I’m sure it is.”
Pushing away the butterflies that have tried to form in my stomach, I say, “Tell me about Colin as a kid before he gets here and can deny it all. Who was he more like, Aiden or Pierce? Was he a player like Theo?”
“Wouldn’t you rather ask him?”
I snort. “Uh, no. I want the real dirt.”
“Prince Theo is…very popular, as was Colin, but your husband has always been more reserved, more responsible, and took his role as the crown prince and protector of the throne seriously.”
“And his kids?”
“The boys are both like him, in different ways.”
“Except in looks.” I tilt my head to one side. “That’s not entirely true. They smile like him and—they must take after their momma.”
Beaumont nods, his blue eyes turning misty. “They do.”
“Did you know her very well?”
“Well enough.” He clears his throat. “I thought you wanted to talk about Colin as a child.”
“Oh, I do.” But now I want to know more about the woman he didn’t marry yet had his children. “Did he tell you about the time he borrowed the royal scepter and used it as a fishing rod?”
“No,” I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. “Did he catch anything?”
“A sizable fish, big enough to bend the gold handle.” Beaumont proceeds to tell me how he caught Colin and how he helped him repair the scepter, with the strict admonishment never to touch anything in the royal treasury without asking first.
“I bet he got in a lot of trouble.”
Beaumont chuckles. “That he did, but I have to admit that I’ve always had a hard time punishing him.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You punished him?”
“I’ve looked after Colin since he was a babe.”
“Not his parents?”
He wipes his mouth with a cloth napkin. “It’s not easy to be a royal and it’s even harder when you have children.”
I take another bite of my mushroom and pasta dish, mulling over his words while I savor one of the best meals I’ve ever eaten.
“Did he…how did he…why did he have kids so young?” I blurt.
“That isn’t for me to say.” Beaumont’s face turns red, then he shoots to his feet. “Your Highness. Is everything okay?”
With a smile, I turn to face my husband, but the dark look on his face gives me shivers. “We were just talking about you.”
“I heard,” he says crisply. “May I speak with you in private?”
Tossing my napkin in my chair, I nod. “Yeah, I can eat dessert later.”
“Not you.” Abruptly, he spins around and walks out of the room, Beaumont dutifully following behind him.
“Well, so much for learning about him as a kid.” I plop down in my chair and polish off the rest of the bread stick, two glasses of wine, and a thick slice of the wedding cake Charlotte shipped to us while I watch another episode of Stranger Things on my Netflix app.
I check the time on my phone. Thirty minutes have passed without a word or reappearance from Colin or Beaumont. I grab the mostly full bottle of wine, because I am an optimist, and head to our bedroom.
When I open the door, I half expect Colin to be lounging in bed with nothing but his birthday suit on, but he’s not there.
I make a face and grab a glass from the table situated near the fireplace, then pour a generous amount of wine in it. Setting the bottle down, I take a huge gulp and go to the bathroom to change.
In no time at all, I drink the rest of the wine and crawl into bed to watch the rest of Stranger Things. I promised Tressie I’d wait to finish the first season with her, but I’m desperate for the distraction.
“Pudding in a can?” I gag a little as the kids on the show open the first one. Who would eat that? Food in the eighties was so weird.
My eyes grow heavy and the next thing I know, I’m facedown on my pillow, with my phone plastered to my cheek. Peeling my phone off my skin, I put it on the nightstand and then turn over, hoping to find Colin in bed beside me.
He’s not there and his side is cold.
I frown.
The urge to go look for him wells up inside me, but I shove it down and punch my down feather–filled pillow. With a huff, I lie down and close my eyes, counting backward until I’m yawning.
Come tomorrow morning, I’m going to find out what’s bothering him and fix it.
—
I’m in the middle of cussing Colin up one side and down the other while I brush my teeth when he appears in the mirror. I scream, flipping my toothbrush over my shoulder and hitting him in the cheek. It slides down, leaving a satisfying trail of toothpaste and spit.
He catches it before it hits the ground. “I’ve had worse on my skin.”
“Sure you have,” I mutter, then remember he has kids and that time I changed Pierce’s diaper. Grossest thing ever and if I hadn’t wanted kids so badly, that would have changed my mind in an instant. “We both have.”
Wordlessly, he hands over my toothbrush and I rinse it off, then rinse out my mouth. He grabs a washcloth and scrubs off his face.
“Do you still want to go for a hike?” I ask, offering an olive branch instead of bashing him over the head with it.
“If you’re up to it.”
“Ready when you are.” I ruthlessly brush my hair and put it back into a severe ponytail, then leave to change into a pair of jeans and another sweater. As I’m putting on my socks, Colin drops a pair of leather boots beside me that are monogrammed with my new initials.
Don’t swoon. Do not swoon.
“You’ll need these.”
“Thanks.”
“I had them made earlier this week.”
I blink at him, my mouth parting. “That was very thoughtful.”
“I’ll have a basket prepared for us.”
A genuine smile pushes up my mouth at the corners as I pull the boots on. They fit perfectly, even with my thick socks. “We’re going on a picnic?” He knows I have a thing for those. How many have I taken the boys on?
“It’s our honeymoon, not just mine. I thought you’d enjoy eating at the hunting lodge once our hike is over.”
“Will you tell me what’s wrong then?” I ask, unable to stay mad at him a second longer. And not because of the boots—although they are perfect—but because he planned this and he planned for me to do something I liked, too.
“Nothing…everything.” He exhales and leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as his shoulders slump like they can’t take the weight of the world anymore. “Everything I thought to be true, everything I’ve worked and fought for for the past ten years, is most likely based on a lie.”
“You’re not really a prince?” Wincing a little, I shake my head. “Not that I care. I don’t. You know that.”
“I’m still a prince,” he says wryly.
“Awesome.” I give him a thumbs-up and he smiles. It’s the smallest smile I’ve ever seen in my life, but I’ll take it. “Look, you don’t have tell me right now. I can wait until you feel like talking, but you can’t shut me out. Or at least have the decency to let me know that it’s not something I’ve done or said to upset you. Unless I did do that, and then you should tell me.”
He takes my hands in his and pulls me to my feet. “I promise not to shut you out again.”
Rising on my toes, I kiss him softly. “Thank you.”
Chapter 15
Colin
The day is typical of the isles in the autumn—cool, crisp weather and, when the sun comes out from behind the clouds, a sight to behold.
We hike up the side of a large hill that once rose to greater heights than the castle behind us. I should have chosen an easier trek, and not because Della can’t handle the terrain, but because the boots are new and I should be more considerate.
“Just a few more minutes and we’ll reach the peak,” I say, gripping the picnic basket with one hand and her hand in the other.
Royal Scandal Page 11