by Vivian Wood
“Take the fucking money, or I’m not even getting in the car.”
Jack turns and looks over his shoulder, drawing my attention to the numerous other racers. All Tamil Boys, all glaring at me like they want me dead.
“I don’t think that’s an option anymore,” Jack says, but he takes the envelope and nudges Rafe to do the same. “Besides, you got something to live for, yourself.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, running my hand over the Porche’s hood.
“Lady Katherine?” Rafe says with a slow grin.
I scowl, though I don’t mean to be a dick. Kitty’s the last topic I want to discuss right now.
“It’s like that, huh?” Rafe says, his grin going wider. “That’s how Jenny used to make me feel before I finally locked her down and put a ring on it.”
“Can we just talk about the race?” I ask, shaking my head. “I thought it was going to be a straight one-on-one, not this…”
I wave at all the cars surrounding us.
“Yeah, I got the race map here. It’s a cannonball, every man for himself,” Jack says, spreading a single sheet of paper on the car’s hood. Standard rules: stay within two blocks of the route, no intentional damage of other cars, etc. First one to reach the gates of the palace wins.”
I roll my eyes. “Nice choice, ending at the palace.”
“That was my idea.” I turn to find Charles approaching. Despite his face still being black and blue from the beating I gave him earlier in the week, he’s looking even more smug than usual. He’s wearing a three-piece suit in this trashy back alley, for god’s sake.
“Why are you here?” I ask, already impatient.
“To secure my investment, of course.” He arches a brow. “Katherine, come on out!”
And of course Kitty walks around the corner, looking around with wide eyes like some innocent baby deer stumbling into a den of lions. She’s wearing this pale pink dress and these tall white heels, with her hair done up so she looks like some kind of 1920s movie star ingénue.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Jack grabs my arm and gives me a warning look. “Be cool. Don’t play into it, whatever he’s trying to do.”
He doesn’t let go until I give him a nod.
Charles strolls up to us and runs a finger down the hood of the car.
“Fuck off with that,” Rafe says, shooing him back. “This car is worth more than your miserable fucking life.”
Charles gives Rafe a sour look, then turns to me. “Don’t forget what we’ve agreed, Alasdair. You play by the rules all the way till the end, make sure it looks like you’re going to win. Then I want you to fake a flat tire before the finish line.”
“You know that if they realize you’ve fixed the race, they’ll kill you,” I tell him. “You’d just vanish without a trace and turn up in the river a week later, dead as a doornail. Not that I’d be upset.”
“Ha, ha. If I get caught, so do you. And since I’ve got Katherine down here, hanging out with both of us, you can be sure that she’ll be on their list, too.”
“Are you trying to get me to kill you? Is that what you want? I genuinely can’t tell,” I snarl.
Kit walks up to us, looking between us with an anxious expression.
“Can I talk to you?” she asks me.
I glance at her, and of course all I can think about is the secret that Charles leaked. Shame fills me, and I can’t even look Kitty in the eye. Lucky for me, a three-minute-warning whistle sounds.
“Can’t. Out of time,” I tell her.
Charles has this amused look on his face. I can tell he’s enjoying the rift he’s caused between me and Kit, which makes me feel a new level of fury.
“Rex,” she says, stepping close to me and catching my hand. I can’t pull away. I turn and look down into her face, at those big gray eyes brimming with tears. “Please don’t do this.”
“He told me,” I say.
She bites her lip and looks down, a tear breaking free to roll down her face.
“Hey,” I tell her, lifting her chin with a finger so that our gazes connect once more. “I’m sorry that you didn’t think you could tell me. Then, or now. I’m not going to let anyone else know your secret, though. It’s our secret now, ours together.”
“I don’t want you to race, Rex. Let Charles go to the press,” she says, giving her head a shake. “My reputation isn’t worth risking your life.”
“Come here,” I say, drawing her into my arms. I hug her tightly, then kiss her lips. The kiss is much too brief; they always are, with Kit. I always want more, always.
“Do me a favor, get out of here as soon as you can, okay? I have a bad feeling about what Charles is planning,” I tell her.
She gazes up at me and nods slowly. “Of course.”
“Very sweet,” Charles snarks from the background. “Good to know that she probably would have left me eventually, anyway.”
I sigh and step back when the one-minute whistle sounds. Charles takes a phone call and slinks off into the corner, leaving us alone for a few moments.
“Go home,” I tell her.
“No, no way,” she says, shaking her head. “I’ll meet you at the palace gates—”
She never gets to finish her sentence, though, because the thirty second whistle goes off.
“See you at the end,” I say, giving her one more kiss before I slide into the driver’s seat and fasten my seatbelt.
Kit moves off and I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. Before I know it, the checkered flag comes down and I’m slamming the car into drive, peeling out after the first car. The familiar smell of burning rubber fills my senses.
We fly out onto the open streets, tires squealing on the wet pavement. My pulse pounds as we fly through a big intersection, narrowly missing a couple of sedans that are trying to run the yellow light.
Too close, already. It’s funny, this doesn’t feel nearly as good as it used to.
Maybe because I have something to live for now, I think.
I grab the map off the passenger seat and check it, which slows me down. Another racer passes me as we round a sharp right turn, and I curse.
It never occurred to me that I genuinely might not be good enough to win anymore, but I’m rusty and out of practice. It’s close between me and the second place driver for a while, then I overtake him and challenge the driver with the lead. We drive in a wide arc, cutting around the more populated streets of downtown Valencia City.
We’re neck and neck practically the whole next ten minutes. I’m sweating and tense, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Muscle memory takes over, and I start to really gain on my challenger. I could win this, maybe. If I’m super aggressive, I think I can.
We come up on Queen’s Bridge, this narrow steel bridge that’s going to dump us out mere blocks from the palace gates. It’s only got one lane going each direction, and almost no room for error; two cars can barely pass each other on the bridge at low speeds without a sense of danger.
I glance at the bridge, then at the car just before mine. I put the pedal to the metal and pull up beside him, glancing over to see his scowl.
Good, be fucking mad.
I swing wide to avoid an oncoming car, then arc down the wide street to pull in front to take the lead in the race. I hit the bridge first, the other guy right on my bloody bumper, and we fly down the bridge.
I nearly choke when I see the other driver pulling into the lane next to mine, trying to overtake me.
Is he fucking crazy? If a car comes up that lane, this guy and the other car are fucking dead.
He paces me almost all the way down the bridge, but I won’t let him overtake me. Then I see the telltale bouncing flash of headlights. Someone is on the bridge now, heading right for my competitor.
I glance over at him, and he’s grinning at me.
Fuck. He’s going to play chicken with this other car, try to get me to drop back and give up the lead to save the oncoming driver’s life.
I flo
or it, trying to give the Tamil driver enough space to get over behind me, but the headlights are coming closer, closer. Then the other car is on us, horn blaring. If the other driver panics and spins out, we’re all fucked.
Then I remember, in a sudden flash, that I’m supposed to throw the fucking race.
I slam on the brakes, dropping me back, back. The Tamil guy pulls in front of me just in time for us to pass the innocent driver in the other lane with an audible whoooosh and a blare of his horn.
To my surprise, when we shoot off the bridge and onto the street a few seconds later, my challenger slows way, way down and gives up the lead. Since I’m supposed to lose at the last second, this means that I have to slow down in order to lose to him.
Three more racers are on our heels before we know it, and one of them overtakes all of us. We hit the finish line at the palace gates in an awkward gaggle, unlike anything I’ve ever seen in a street race before.
Something bad is going down, I just can’t quite figure what. I pull up on the sidewalk behind a couple of my competitors, only a few hundred yards from the palace gates. When I get out of the car, Charles and Kit are already there.
Charles is on the phone, his expression sly. Kit runs over to me and throws her arms around my neck, but I’m distracted, watching this fight that’s about to pop off between the Tamil guys and my blackmailer.
“You think you’re smarter than Tamil?” an outraged male voice shouts.
Everyone’s staring at this huge tattooed Asian guy who’s stalking over to confront Charles. Charles’s mouth moves, saying something to the guy, but I can’t make out what he says. The scheme has been uncovered,
“No one fixes a race with Tamil, not even the fucking Prince himself!” the guy screams pointing at me.
Fuck.
“Kit, run!” I tell her, but of course she just shakes her head.
Two big guys jump Charles and another three storm toward me and Kit. I glance around, then start hauling ass toward the palace gates. The Queen’s guard will be there, and they’ll protect us if it comes to blows.
Then I hear the screeching of tires as several white news vans pull up, their doors opening to spew camera crews and reporters. They’re all looking right at me, which means that they were expecting me to be here. The paparazzi aren’t far behind, and soon they’re chasing me and Kit.
Fucking Charles has ratted us out to the press. Of course. Of course he did.
“Prince Magnum! Lady Katherine! Are you involved in this illegal street race? Is it true that you’ve had a secret relationship for half a decade?” I tow Kit along toward the gates, but even I stumble at one particular question from the crowd. “Charles Ford’s new tell-all alleges that Lady Katherine aborted your baby, Prince Alasdair! Is it true? Did it break your parents up?”
I look at Kit, who’s in tears now. I turn around to the crowd.
“No comment! If you get any closer to the Lady, I will make your lives very difficult,” I warn them.
Then I sweep Kitty up into my arms and jog up to the gates, which are already opening just wide enough to admit me. I step into the palace’s protection, leaving the press behind, hugging Kit to my chest.
Inside though, my heart is heavy as lead. All our secrets are out on the table. We’ve done all our blackmailer asked, and still been sold down the river. And worse, Charles has twisted and spun our story to his own sick imaginings, making the tale as inflammatory as possible.
I carry Kit over to the small guard house, out of sight of the photogs, and set her down in a desk chair. She’s not crying anymore, but she’s not responsive when I squeeze her shoulder and tell her everything will be all right.
We’re in a blank, windowless little box, and it feels claustrophobic. Still, there’s nowhere else for us to go unless we want to face my grandparents’ rage. I, for one, would rather walk back out into the screaming press.
“We’re just going to wait it out for a bit,” I tell the head guard. “Could you call down an SUV to run us home in half an hour or so?”
The guard nods, and I walk over to take a seat beside Kit. I take her hand, and she looks at me, anguished.
“I didn’t,” she says woodenly. “I didn’t do what he said, Rex. I miscarried.”
Her voice breaks on the last bit, and though my hands are gentle when I pull her into my arms, cradling her on my lap, inside I’m beginning to fill with rage.
I don’t know how I’m going to do it yet, but I’m going to make Charles Ford feel a world a fucking pain. No one hurts Kit and gets away with it, no one. He’ll be lucky to escape with his fucking life.
As for Kit and me… I can’t even start to imagine what will await us in the coming days.
It seems dire, but at least we have each other. We haven’t exactly said our feelings aloud, made a commitment to each other through words, but I’m sure Kit is every bit as entwined as I am.
Together, we can face nearly anything.
Right?
16
Kit
I am gutted. Hollow.
One of the most physical and emotionally painful events in my life has been exposed, offered up to the press like chum to stir up sharks. There’s going to be a feeding frenzy, with me right in the center. And what’s worse is that Charles has added a layer of lies, making the story more tantalizing to the media and more damaging to me.
I have to hand it to him, Charles really wrecked my life while earning himself a no doubt tidy sum of money for selling his story.
Rex and I are silent, sitting in the back seat of the SUV on the ride home.
Me, I’m stuck in this endless loop, remembering the moment I heard the word miscarriage.
Sitting in the doctor’s office at Planned Parenthood, shivering in that thin paper gown. Terrible pain, worse than anything I’ve felt in my whole life. Worse, I know, I just know that something is wrong. The pretty brunette doctor gives me a sympathetic look, puts her hand on my shoulder, and says the words that change the course of my life.
I’m sorry, Miss Saville, but you’ve lost the baby. You miscarried. It’s very common…
She goes on, but I hear nothing. All I can think is, I lost Rex’s baby… I lost it, I lost it.
Now I’m sitting in the car beside Rex, wondering if I’ve lost him.
Does he believe the lies Charles made up about me? Will he force me out of his life?
God, I haven’t even considered what Prince Archie and the King and Queen are going to say. They’re going to look at me the way you’d eye something you found on the bottom of your shoe.
Lost in a downward spiral of shame, sadness, and uncertainty, I follow Rex up to his apartment. I toe off my heels and take my hair down while Rex rummages in the kitchen. He saunters out with two wine glasses and a dusty bottle.
“Balcony?” he asks.
I nod, leading the way outside, throwing the doors open to the brilliant night sky. I take my usual place, he takes his. He hands over the glasses and I hold them as he uncorks the bottle.
“This bottle is from my parents’ wedding,” he tells me.
My brows arch. “It’s that old?”
“Mmmhm. I’ve been saving it.” He pours a little into each of our glasses. “It’s probably got a lot of sediment, so don’t be surprised.”
I eye him, wondering just what occasion he’s opened this wine to celebrate.
“To Charles,” he says, surprising me again. “For driving us all the way out to the edge of the cliff together. A true test of our strength, if ever there was one.”
I smirk and take a sip, closing my eyes as the bold, complex red wine floods my senses.
When I open them, Rex is refilling his glass, looking at me with a terribly serious expression.
“I didn’t have an abortion,” I tell him, though I said as much earlier after the race.
He sighs. “I know. Even if you had… what could I say about that? I wasn’t there for you.”
I open my mouth, then close it. “You
’re full of surprises tonight,” I manage after a moment.
Now it’s his turn to look surprised.
“You thought I’d be upset with you?” he asks, then shakes his head. “Not for that, no. For leaving in the first place? That, I am still struggling with.”
My lips thin. The last thing I expected was to be back in this place, taking up arms in this same fight once more.
“Put yourself in my place,” I tell him. “Your family’s fallen apart. You’re scared and immature, forced into this very grown-up situation. You’re alone in the world, except for your equally immature boyfriend, who says he’s not sure what your future together will be. Not to mention your family, the way they’d react if it came out…”
I sip my wine and tilt my head, watching him carefully. “What we’re about to go through now, with the whole ordeal five years in the past? It’s nothing to the ruckus that the knocked-up shotgun Saville-Westwood wedding would have caused back then.”
Rex sets his wine glass down, brows drawing together in anger.
“You should have trusted me,” he says.
“To what, Rex? Deal with it yourself, somehow? It was bigger than both of us, and there wasn’t a single adult in our lives that would have advocated on our behalf. My mum, your family… anyone would have taken me off to the countryside, and it would have been the same result. Not just that, but afterward they would have kept us apart, just as surely as the distance between Courtland and the States.”
“We don’t know that,” Rex sighs.
“I do! Rex, I know that. I would have ended up the girl in disgrace, and you would have gone right on with your life. What I did, Rex, when I left? I protected myself. And if I hadn’t miscarried, I would have protected the baby just the same.”
“Alone? With no resources, no family?” His voice begins to rise, and I can tell his temper is passing the point of no return.
“Lots of women do that. It’s not a bloody miracle.”
“And you would have, what? Just never told me I had a child?” Rex roars. “My girl and my kid, out there in the world, alone? Making do with fucking scraps while I’m sitting in the palace, playing roulette and slowly drinking myself to death? What kind of fucking life is that, Kit?”