by Geneva Lee
He might as well have crossed the room and thrown a punch. His words sliced through me but even as blood heated, I couldn’t deny the truth in his words. Was that were I was headed? Was I doomed to become a man I despised?
“Edward,” Norris began gently, sensing I was on edge.
I held up a hand. It was time to show that I could be reasonable. “It’s okay. He’s right.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Edward dropped onto the sofa and folded his hands into his lap. “It’s okay to worry about her, Alexander. I do, too. But you can’t lock her away—or you’re going to lose her.”
That was the heart of the issue. Allowing her away from here, away from me, away from safety, felt like a terrifying risk. Why couldn’t he see that?
“But if I don’t protect her, I lose her forever. How many times has someone tried to take her away from me?”
“That could happen. No one can control the whole world—not even you. But if you keep levelling demands at her, keep blocking her way, keep presuming to know what’s right for her, you will lose her without question.”
“But she’d be safe,” I said in a small voice I rarely allowed to speak. This was the voice of my fears, the one I tried to force deep inside until it was so distant, so hidden, even from myself, that I could barely hear it.
“Either way, it would be a life without her.” He paused and gave me my answer. “There’s only one chance at keeping her.”
I knew I could no longer win. Not the way I had wanted. In the end, there was no decision to be made. Everyone seemed to have conspired to make it for me. I turned to Norris and sucked in a deep breath. “Cancel my meetings. Call Brexton and Georgia.”
CHAPTER NINE
CLARA
A half dozen cars flew past, and I clapped my hands over my ears as the deafening roar of the engines pounded in my head. Next to me, Belle bounced up and down on her heels. I stole a glance at her, wondering if this was some weird pregnancy thing. I never realized that she was into cars before. Maybe she could explain what was happening later, because I wasn’t getting anything except that cars were going around the track very, very fast. It was making me nauseated to watch them.
I hadn’t known what to expect at Silverstone, except the obvious: fast cars and a hovering security team. I still couldn’t believe I was here. My new role as official host of the Sovereign Games came with a few unwanted perks, though. Alexander had been perfectly clear on that.
At one end of the stands, Georgia’s attention was on everything but the track. On the other side, Brex was doing the same thing. I couldn’t help but notice they’d been keeping their distance from each other the whole time. Splitting up meant they could cover more ground, but it wasn’t as if they were the only two members of my security team. Alexander had sent an embarrassing number of people to the track with me today. I felt like I was heading off to war, not to deliver an official invitation to participate in this year’s Sovereign Games.
For the most part, my husband had stayed out of things. Ever since he gave in and told me the games would proceed—and that he supported my decision to be part of them—he’d holed up in his office. I suspected his focus was on matters of national and personal security, like studying every entrance and exit at the Silverstone track. As far as I could tell, he’d covered them all. It would take another nation’s entire Armed Forces to reach me.
I didn’t argue with him. After all, this was the most flexible he’d been since we were married. It might have seemed like a small step, but I knew it was huge. I hoped it was a sign of things to come.
The screech of rubber yanked me back to the present moment and I leaned against the guardrail to see a driver’s backend slide off the track. It was particularly icy this morning and my breath caught as the car spun in a wild circle before narrowly clipping its rear bumper on a cement barricade.
I turned to Belle, who seemed to know what was going on, and yelled over the noise, “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” she called back. Then she yelled something about opposite lock at the chicane.
I suspected I’d heard her wrong or she was speaking another language.
The other racers finished their race and pulled into the pit, instantly dropping the decibels in the stadium to normal levels. I made a mental note to bring earplugs to drown out the sounds of the race next time.
“That was impressive. Your guy managed to keep from flipping when he spun out. Icy track and slick tires don’t mix.” She whistled as she watched the crew inspecting the vehicle. “Of course, he was out ahead of the others. That’s why he lost control. He kept hitting that corner faster and faster. He stopped accounting for the conditions. He’s good, but reckless. Of course, he is young.”
My mouth fell open and I closed it quickly. “When did you learn so much about cars and racing and racecar drivers?”
I didn’t even think she had a driving license. I couldn’t remember her driving during the entirety of our university careers. It was like she’d just revealed she had an entire secret life. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
“I’ve always loved cars,” she said, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. It vanished, replaced by a sad one. “My dad loved them.”
I reached out and rubbed her shoulder. She didn’t talk about her father often. Belle had been the one to discover his body after he’d committed suicide. She’d been young, robbed of the chance to really know him. Instead, her memories of him were colored by the unimaginable. “I didn’t know that.”
“Most people don’t.” She shrugged, her grin looking a little forced now. “When I met Smith, I discovered he loved them, too. He gave me a chance to enjoy them again, outside memories of my father.”
I understood that. Love gave us the courage to be the person we were afraid to be.
“Smith drives some fancy car, doesn’t he?” I’d seen it on occasion when we’d gone out. Unlike Belle, though, I knew very little about cars. I could drive, of course. Part of me was still American, so it was practically ingrained in my DNA. But apart from knowing where the ignition was and what to do when the oil light came on, my knowledge was limited. I’d driven very little in the last year. Alexander wasn’t a fan of me being behind the wheel. In all fairness to him, I’d nearly killed myself in an accident on our ill-fated trip to Scotland. He didn’t need to worry, though, I wasn’t about to take up racing.
“It’s a Bugatti,” she told me as if I should know what that meant. When I didn’t respond, she rolled her eyes. “It’s a really fancy car.”
“Like a Ferrari?”
“Not quite, because a Ferrari probably has a poster of a Bugatti on its wall. And you can’t just buy one. You have to know a guy, be worthy, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, like a Birkin Bag?”
“Exactly.”
I appreciated the translation. My eyes strayed to her midsection, which even under her coat was still deceptively flat. Now that she was pregnant, I wondered what Smith would drive. “Isn’t it a two-seater?”
“Don’t remind me,” she groaned. “He wants to get rid of it.”
“That’s true love—coming between a man and his car.” Alexander had never been one for cars himself, but I had been raised in the States. There, a man’s car was almost as important an extension of his masculinity as his dick.
“What I mean is, he wanted to get rid of it, but I wouldn’t let him,” she added fiercely. “He wants to put it in the garage. He keeps talking about a family car.”
I laughed at the obvious distress in her voice. Sometimes, it was hard to imagine Belle or Smith as parents, even though I knew they both wanted this baby more than anything in the world. “I can’t imagine you in an estate car.”
I’d learned to use the proper British slang when talking to Belle, who had a habit of screwing up her face when I sounded too American. Somehow, though, an estate car sounded even worse than the American term: station wagon. Maybe it was a toss-up.
“Th
e next thing you know I’ll be a footballer mom. Taking the kids to practice and popping the recycling up to the tip on weekends.” She shook her head, sending her blonde locks swinging over her shoulders. “Things really do change.” She bumped against me, her eyes darting to my security team, who were watching us closely. “Oops! I touched you. Are they going to tackle me?”
“Don’t remind me,” I said. We both knew all too well that our lives had changed. My security team was a pretty stark reminder. Despite that, I knew neither of us would change any of it.
“Mind if I join you?” Henry asked as he sidled through the bench seats and came up to us.
“Is everything okay?” I tipped my head in the direction of the racing team who were looking over the car.
“They expected it with the ice.” Henry’s voice was muffled by the scarf he had wrapped tightly around his neck, but there was no denying the excitement in his eyes. It seemed I was the only one out of my element here. I was determined not to show it. This week I’d read up on racing stats, so I had some idea what was going on.
“So who is this guy?” I asked. Given Mary’s demand that the games move forward on schedule, there had been very little time to go over initial invitations if we planned to start in March. A stack of candidates had landed on the desk of my private office yesterday. I hadn’t reached the S files yet. All I knew was that the driver’s name was Anderson Stone. I’d planned to dig into his file before we left when morning sickness had sidetracked me. “I’m afraid I haven’t made it through his file yet.”
Henry waved off my apology with a gloved hand. He tugged down the top of his scarf. “He’s young. Very popular and he’s made his way into the world’s top three. They’re predicting he’ll be number one by year’s end.”
“And he’s hot,” Belle added.
I didn’t bother to hide my surprise. In fact, I did my best to look scandalized.
She shook her head with an impish grin. “I’m married, not dead.”
“He is considered quite attractive,” Henry confirmed. I wondered for a moment if Henry had more in common with Edward than I thought. He was unmarried and of a certain age. I didn’t know him well enough to ask. “It’s one of the reasons why we landed on him, actually.”
“Is that why you’re inviting him first?” Belle switched into business mode. “He would be the perfect face for the new Sovereign Games.”
“That’s exactly what we were thinking. The monarchy is younger now, social media is more important than ever, and if we’re going to get national support for continuing this program, we need to have everyone’s attention,” he said.
I nodded. That made sense. I had worked on a number of similar, but smaller, campaigns. It always worked best when I had a celebrity backing up our efforts. “I’m excited to meet him.”
Henry scanned me for a moment as if trying to ascertain if I was serious. After a moment, he relaxed. “Sorry,” he explained. “My family rarely says what they mean. I can’t tell you how thrilled my mother and I are to have your support on this.”
I didn’t bother to hide my incredulity, it was probably written all over my face. I sincerely doubted that Mary cared how the games continued, so long as they did. But I didn’t kid myself that if she had her way, I would have nothing to do with them.
Henry seemed to sense what I was thinking, and added, “My mother will come around.”
“Miracles do happen,” I allowed.
The car’s engine roared to life again, but this time, Anderson didn’t peel out at speed. Instead he drove it off the track into the pit.
Next to me, Belle released a frustrated sigh. She was probably hoping for more action. I, on the other hand, was happy for the reprieve.
“I think this might be a good time to catch him. Hold on a moment, the team will bring you over when we are ready.” Henry darted off to talk to Brexton.
I nodded, my stomach bottoming out. It wasn’t like me to be nervous. Then again, this wasn’t something I was used to doing. The last time I’d been asked to deliver good news, something terrible had happened. I shook off the memory. I couldn’t live the rest of my life expecting a bomb to go off.
“You okay?” Belle asked, seeming to sense the shift in my mood.
I didn’t want to spoil her mood, but I also knew I’d feel better if I talked about it. “I can’t help but think about what happened the last time I was asked to do something like this.”
“You can’t live your life in fear,” Belle said.
“I know that.” It was easier said than done, though. Plus, it didn’t help that my husband had the exact opposite opinion. I kept that to myself. “Was it hard to convince Smith to let you come?”
“Not really.” She paused as if considering it. “Of course, he knows how much security Alexander keeps around you, so that probably made him feel better. He wanted to come himself, but something is holding him up in Scotland.”
My stomach dropped another level. They had just gotten back from that trip. Now Smith was back there again? I didn’t like the sound of it. Smith was Scottish and he’d made no secret of his desire to get the hell out of London. Given what the city had put him through, I couldn’t blame him. But I couldn’t handle the idea that Belle might be leaving.
“I almost had to cancel on you,” she confessed, rubbing her flat belly. “My morning sickness has been a little bit more active. I’m hoping that’s a good sign.”
“It is,” I promised her. Even after her ultrasound had come back with good news—the baby had a heartbeat—she still seemed worried. I wanted to wait to share my own news until she felt more confident, but I was running out of time. I hesitated and then decided to dive in. I couldn’t keep this from her forever. “At least you don’t have it all day.”
She nodded vigorously. “I don’t know how I would deal with that. As it is, I’m constantly sucking on ginger lollies. It’s the only thing that settles my stomach.”
“Try mint,” I suggested. “It works for me.”
“I don’t remember you having much morning sickness with Elizabeth,” she said slowly.
“I didn’t have much with her,” I said, taking a deep breath.
In the time it took me to steel myself for the final reveal, Belle’s eyes widened. “You have one in the oven?” It was more accusation than question.
I bit my lip, to stop the sheepish smile creeping onto my face. “Yes. I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”
“Clara Bishop, how could you keep this a secret from me?” She cried as she grabbed me and pulled me into a hug. The sudden movement attracted more than the usual amount of attention from the security guards around me. I pulled back and waved them off before they could interrupt the moment. Then I hugged her again.
“I was worried you would be upset,” I confessed.
“Why would I be…”
“I wanted to wait until after your doctor appointment,” I explained. “Then everything happened.”
“And I went to Scotland,” she said. Her eyes narrowed and for a second, I thought she really might be angry. It was never a good sign when she called me by my maiden name. Finally, she snorted. “Look, I know you were looking out for me, but don’t feel like you have to keep secrets from me. I love you and I will always be happy for you.”
“I love you, too,” I said, giving her another hug. My stomach flipped over, even relief made me queasy. Of course, the noxious combination of burnt rubber and motor oil hanging in the air probably didn’t help. This was going to be a long pregnancy.
“Are you okay? You look green,” she said when she released me.
“I think I need to find the loo,” I admitted.
“Okay,” she said, waving for someone to come over to us, “but then I want to know everything.” She eyed my stomach suspiciously, but it was well hidden under a sweater, a coat, and scarves. I’d made it purposely hard to spot my bump.
I was grateful Brexton was the one who caught Belle’s wave. He rushed over, and I told him
in a whisper what I needed. Belle listened without speaking, but I had no doubt she was putting two and two together. She would figure out that others had found out about my pregnancy before her. I would have to remind her she had been the first one to know about Elizabeth and then beg her for forgiveness.
Brex led me beneath the grandstand and into a maze of corridors, some of which ran out towards pit lane. “There’s a few down here,” he explained. “You’ll have more privacy than you will out there.”
I was grateful he was thinking clearly. The press was out in droves. While none of them had been allowed inside to watch the practice laps, I knew how far a camera lens could reach. It was better to play it safe than to have someone catch me tossing my cookies in the bleachers. But the time it took to reach the pit was another problem altogether.
“Here,” he said. “I’ll be close.”
That was the benefit of a male security guard. I tried the handle and found it locked. My eyes darted around, looking for another one. We were in what looked like a makeshift garage, and the fumes were even worse. My stomach heaved as the door opened and I took a few stumbling steps. But it was too late. I grabbed the rubbish bin the unlucky stranger held out and lost the little bit of breakfast I’d hoped would stay down.
“Whoa!” a surprised voice said.
I looked up, eyes watering, into a familiar set of blue ones. I relaxed for a moment, almost instinctively, before my embarrassment overtook me. I stood up shakily, apologies pouring out of me. He was about my age and far too good looking. A horrible thought occurred to me.
“I am so sorry,” I continued before needing to vomit again. This time, I realized I was clutching a helmet, not a garbage can. Oh God. Tracksuit. Handsome. My age. I forced myself to look up. “You’re Anderson.” I tried to think of a way to smooth over this situation, but there was no helping it. I decided I could at least be polite. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m—”