by Nora Flite
“You alive in there?” I grabbed a towel and dried my skin vigorously. “Just cleaning up.” There were drops of dried blood on my shirt. I yanked it over my head and threw it to the floor in a crumpled heap. “Tonight I want to explore what this country has to offer.”
He chuckled thickly. “You mean see what the girls are like.”
The instant he said it, a worm of guilt started to eat through my heart. Thinking about girls made me think about Nova. “Sure,” I said, trying to sound chipper. “Don’t know how much longer we’ll be here, should get while the getting is good.”
“Yeah, your father hasn’t told me when we’re flying home.” I heard him pacing the room. Again, I wondered if he was spying on me. But I decided it didn’t matter. Let him spy, let him tell my dad what I was up to. It wasn’t like anyone was going to stop me from going out. Though if I lingered, there was a chance my mom or dad would show up and try to corner me.
After sliding on some gray jeans that sat low on my hips, I stretched my arms upward with a grunt. My reflection showed off the fit muscles that had remained even with my “easy” club job. Tattoos ran from my throat down to my wrists, and all the way across my torso and stomach. They were on me back to front. I was pretty much wearing a bodysuit made from ink. The only free spots were above my neck, my hands, and my feet.
Oh, and my cock. I hadn’t gone that far yet.
Tattoos were something I’d always been obsessed with. You’re never more of a focus to a person than when they’re stabbing your skin with needles. I loved the precise pain . . . the carefulness that tattoos demanded.
The art was smooth and dark. I preferred black and gray; the only pop of color was on the right side of my ribs. There the red-and-black crown stood out sharply.
I touched it, exploring the ridges of muscle where the crown sat. I’d probably pressed my fingers to that small piece of art a million times since I’d gotten it when I was eighteen. It was customary in my family, a tradition—one of the few that my father had brought back with him from Torino. It made me think, again, about the situation I was in.
“How is your dad holding up?” Rush asked.
I paused in strapping on my gun’s holster over my clean white shirt. “He’s about as fine as can be expected,” I said slowly.
“Must be hard for him, losing a brother and all.”
I yanked the last strap tighter than I’d meant to. “Yeah.”
“Did you get to see her? I mean, I imagine you did.”
“Who?” I asked, straightening my collar.
“The widow, the queen.” Rush stopped walking over the rug. “I got a look at her in the papers, but it was a photo from a year ago. People say she hasn’t left the castle in that long.”
“Didn’t take you for much of a gossip reader,” I said smoothly.
He laughed. “I’m not some meat-headed ox. I do read. Occasionally.”
Studying myself in the mirror, I brushed my fingers through my hair. “So what did the paper say about our widowed queen?”
“A lot of things. I don’t get the idea that many people like her. Seems to be some talk about a conspiracy, guess a lot of people think she might’ve been the one to kill the king herself.”
“She didn’t seem the type,” I said softly. “She just seemed . . . sad.” No one was to blame for cancer. I didn’t want to tell Rush that I’d already heard the details of how my uncle had died, though, in case it was supposed to be classified.
When I came out of the bathroom adjusting my shirt, Rush looked me up and down. “Was she hot?” he asked bluntly.
Caught off guard, I gave an uneasy laugh. “I don’t know, she’s like twice my age. Plus most of her was covered in black lace, didn’t exactly get a good look at her face.”
Rush nodded slowly. “I feel pretty bad for the next guy in line that ends up with her.”
I stopped midgrab for my jacket. It took me a few seconds to breathe again. “What?”
He checked under his fingernails, but made no indication that he knew he’d set my nerves on edge. “That’s how it works, right? The king is dead so the queen’s gotta marry another guy and make him the new king. I don’t know much about this whole royalty thing, and your dad hasn’t really given me any lessons on this system. I just assumed.”
Picturing myself marrying Austere Valentine, a woman I knew nothing about, a woman who was certainly my enemy and my uncle’s widow, left me icy. Was Rush right? Was this also part of the plan no one had let me in on?
“I don’t know how it works, either,” I mumbled. “I do feel for the poor bastard, though.” I grabbed my dark gray jacket off the back of the chair and slid it into place over my gun. After being attacked by Larchmont and Richard, I wasn’t going to walk around without protection. Torino also seemed to be in turmoil. A lot of that was probably from the king’s death, but I was getting a good, strong idea that these people didn’t like Austere.
The woman I’d just learned I was expected to marry.
“I’m going,” I said, opening the door.
Rush followed me out into the hallway, returning to his station next to my room. “Have fun tonight. Don’t get into too much trouble.”
His advice echoed my mother’s from the other day.
But this time I didn’t have a charming response.
Tonight, if it meant some relief from the pressure that had been put upon my shoulders, I’d seek out all the trouble that I could.
- CHAPTER NINE -
HAWTHORNE
Evening fell quickly. I killed a lot of time by simply wandering around the city. I strolled along the water, I kept pace with people heading to work, or back to their homes. I had no direction, and I was happy to float, seeing where I would land.
But when the sun began to set, and a darkness brought the lights out across the overhangs on the buildings, I let instinct lead me toward a more sinister path. I’d worked in my family’s strip club for a very long time. I knew where to find the seedy sort of fun that I was chasing. I had a sixth sense for it.
Long, skinny alleys threaded through the town, pushing me toward the red-light district. This section of the city was nothing like the rest of it. There were no sweet-smelling cafés, no children jumping across aged wood as they chased each other on the docks. It was a whole new dimension.
Flickering lights hung above doorways; GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS declared one in pink. Another just had a gigantic red blinking X above the door. And God, the women themselves. They posed in the windows or strolled along the sidewalks in lingerie that left their best features on display. They were impervious to the cool evening air.
There was no pretense here. That was good.
I was done dealing with dishonesty for the day.
Outside one of the clubs, I slowed to get a better look. There was a trio of women gathered by the entrance. On the other side of the door was a huge man wearing sunglasses even though the sun was long gone. He said nothing, acting like some sort of stone gargoyle.
One of the woman, a redhead with her hair hanging loose and wild, turned to face me. She threw her hips sideways, exaggerating the dip of her waist. “Hey there, honey,” she purred. “Looking for something even sweeter?”
I inhaled the scent of the air, the familiar energy that reminded me of the Dirty Dolls and the dent I’d left permanently in the VIP couch. I knew it would be so easy to reach out, take this woman’s hand, and let her lead me into the club. I was under no illusion that this would be anything but a transaction. I didn’t mind. I liked things to be straightforward.
The woman smiled at me, and I found myself thinking so oddly, so out of the blue, of another woman’s smile.
Nova.
I shook myself, trying to clear the clinging memories of that girl, of her connections to my enemies. And how plush and effortless our first kiss had been.
“Come on, big boy,” she said, taking a step my way. She even looked a bit like Nova. Her tall heels clicked on the cobblestones. When she re
ached for me, I saw her nails wore a glossy, chipped pink polish. Her hand brushed down my shoulder, across my chest. She must have felt the shape of my gun, because she stopped with her palm right on top. “You seem like a dangerous man. I like them with some bite.”
“I don’t know if I’m dangerous,” I said dryly. Swallowing, I tried to dig deep and find the natural, flirty sarcasm that had long been my defining feature. “Just stressed out.”
She puckered her mouth, cooing at me. “Poor baby.” She brushed my sleeve up, revealing my tattoos. “I can definitely help relax you. But it might involve getting you a little more tense first, if you get my drift.”
Picturing myself—how this evening was about to go—made me feel wooden. And not in a good way. Everything I’d set out to do tonight was abruptly pointless. The idea of hooking up with a stranger didn’t appeal . . . it actually unnerved me.
Stepping backward, away from the woman, I caught the flash of disappointment in her eyes. “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to waste your time.” I turned, nearly running back up the street. I power walked away until the flashing lights of the clubs stopped bouncing off the street under my feet. What the hell is wrong with me?
I didn’t owe Nova anything, but I couldn’t stop feeling like a piece of shit for considering paying for some play tonight. It didn’t make any sense! And besides, even if I did feel guilty, even if I would rather have been around Nova, it didn’t matter. She was a Valentine . . . part of a plot to get me to marry her damn aunt. I didn’t have all the information, but I was smart enough to know I was a fucking pawn.
Rush had helped me realize the full truth: The Valentines needed me to marry Austere. If I did, they could keep their control of this country. Having the queen in their pocket would give them access to enormous wealth, I was sure of it. They’d do whatever was necessary to maintain the status quo. That included working with my father to arrange a marriage between the royal blood—my blood—and Austere.
And if I refused . . . I knew they weren’t above killing my whole family.
I’d been called lazy in the past. Unambitious. And it was probably all correct.
But I’d never risk the lives of the people I cared about.
Wearing the crown and marrying Austere is my only option.
Fuck.
Frustrated, I walked with my head down low. The constant, low roar of the ocean on my left pulled me along. I hadn’t gone far before I saw the yellow hue through the windows of a large ship moored at the docks.
The Sandpiper, I thought, remembering the ship that Nova had pointed out to me. Again my mind was attacked by the memory of her eager kiss. She wanted me to see that ship. Not knowing what else to do to distract myself, I stepped over the old wood until I was standing in front of the huge vessel.
Frayed ropes held the ship in place. A long plank was set into the open door in the side. It was dark, but with the spotlights attached to the hull, I could tell the white paint needed a fresh coat—badly.
“Hello?” a gravelly man’s voice said. The speaker leaned around the doorway; he was stocky, dressed in a plum-colored jacket that hid his knees and made him seem even shorter. “We’re closing up, son. Sorry about that.”
“It’s all right. I was just passing by.” From my angle on the ramp I could see inside the Sandpiper. A heavy net was looped beside a shellacked, motorcycle-size swordfish. There were framed pictures bolted to every surface.
The man considered me. I felt his curious stare as he retreated into the ship. “Still time to take a look, if you don’t mind not getting the full tour.”
I was close to saying no thanks, but one of the photos caught my eye. “What’s this?” I asked, stepping up the plank into the wooden belly of the ship. The picture was faded in its frame, but someone had stamped an official-looking wax seal to the top corner. Imprinted in it was the telltale crown I had tattooed on my ribs.
In the photo were several sailors gathered around a young man who stood beside a shark so big it could have eaten him twice over in one bite. “That would be Hansel Fredricson, father of our recently departed King Hester, may they both rest in peace.” He pulled his flat brown hat off his head in reverence. Beneath, his hair was thinned to oblivion. “Name’s Mikel, by the way.”
Squinting at the photo, I said, “Hawthorne.” This is Maverick’s dad? The young boy looked so damn happy. I wondered if my father had ever looked so cheerful. “Did you know them?” I asked, helplessly intrigued by the history.
“What, the royal family? Yes and no.” Putting his hat back on, Mikel waved me deeper into the ship. He took me over to a huge book strapped down to a long table. “When I was small I met the king. Hester was a nice enough boy. Shame what happened to him.” Flipping the pages, he pointed. “It was his older brother, though, that came here the most. He signed . . . right there, day he caught that swordfish.”
Glancing at the big fish attached to its plaque, I nodded slowly. When I was younger, I did recall going out on the ocean a few times with my father. But I’d thought he’d done it to entertain and win over powerful men with big wallets. Not because he actually liked fishing.
Mikel sighed into his thin beard. “Terrible what that family has gone through. First Hansel’s wife passes away when the boys were just teens, then their father goes a year later. Don’t think Hansel was able to hang on without Luca around.”
Luca? My lungs seized up. I’d been given that as my middle name, but I’d never known it was to honor my father’s mom.
He eyed me suddenly. “You go to the funeral?”
He has no idea who I am. Why would he? Looking at Maverick’s name scrawled in the book, I said, “Yes. I stopped in.”
He nodded like he approved. “Me too. Once it opened to the public, I went and said my piece. Can’t more be done than that by us common folk. Whatever happens after this is out of our hands.”
My fingers fell away from the book. “Thanks for showing me this.”
“Ah, my pleasure.” He winked. “Showing people a slice of history is good for my soul. Doing my part and all.”
Backing up, I glanced once more at the photo of Hansel. Then the giant swordfish. My father seemed to have had some of the same tastes as his own dad. I wondered how similar they’d been.
Leaving the Sandpiper left me plagued with new, but just as heavy, thoughts. Nova had wanted me to see the ship—she’d wanted me to see as much of Torino as possible before I left.
I’d thought I would try, because I’d expected the trip to be short.
I didn’t know if I had to be in such a hurry now.
- CHAPTER TEN -
HAWTHORNE
On the air floated a floral scent. Searching the street, I saw that I’d absently wandered back toward the cathedral where the funeral had been. Like I was possessed, I climbed the steps.
The flowers were all still packed in the entry. There were more of them than before. Thanks to Mikel, I knew the residents had been allowed to pay their respects once those closest to the king had cleared out.
Candles lit up the inside of the church. There were no people, and no casket. Right, they buried him. It was obvious, and I felt odd for forgetting they would do that. Had my father watched in silence? I pictured my mother holding his hand like she had earlier. As terrible a dad as he’d been, it left me raw to think about him seeing his younger brother put in the cold earth.
On impulse I wandered out toward the cemetery. I was compelled to find the fresh grave. I’d gone this far; attending the funeral without seeing the headstone of my uncle made it feel like a half measure.
It was dark outside, the only light coming from the street beyond the metal fence and the two small sconces on the wall of the side door. It was enough for me to descend the steps to the cemetery grass . . . and enough for me to see what was waiting for me among the graves.
Nova was leaning up against a tree, staring at one of the huge marble squares carved with names and dates of people long forgotten. The
wind was tossing her hair, looping it around her ears and her delicate throat.
My mind ran back over everything that had happened today. How she’d seen me fight her brothers . . . how she’d chased me down, desperate to talk to me, and I’d just shrugged her off. I’d been so on edge I was acting like more of an ass than usual.
Steeling myself, I approached her across the soft grass. “You planning to rob some graves?”
She jolted upright. The moon reflected in her open eyes; they were dark as molasses at that hour. “Hawthorne?”
“Listen,” I started to say, lifting my foot, closing the gap between us. “About earlier . . .”
“Stop!” she cried.
Stunned, I held up my hands with my fingers spread. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She pointed down as her whole face went red. “Sorry, I know. It’s just that you were about to step over a king’s grave. It’s bad luck.”
Running my fingers through my hair, I laughed without any humor. “Do you know what can give me good luck? I’m topped off on bad.” Carefully I walked around the grave. Doing so brought me close to her, closer than I’d intended. The trees around us were shedding flower petals like red confetti.
Nova inhaled as she noted our proximity. But with the big monument on one side and a tree on the other, there wasn’t any way to create more distance. When her gentle cinnamon scent invaded my nose, I was happy for our predicament.
She ended the silence first. “He’s over there.”
I followed her slim finger. On the opposite side of the cemetery was a large block of granite. Marigolds and roses had been arranged around it. Hester’s grave.
“I can give you some privacy,” she said gently.
My attention flew back to her. “What?”
“That’s why you’re here, right? For your uncle?”
“No. I . . . no.” Palming my neck, I felt my pulse pounding. “I just wanted to see where he was buried. I wasn’t planning to talk to a bunch of dirt.”
A hairline of a wrinkle wrapped over her brow. Then it was smoothed away. “How’s your jaw?”