Crown Jewels

by Ella James

  “You are,” he says, collecting my arrows. “Haar means fog, or sea fog. This loch is often foggy, so the name.”

  “So the name.” I smile, catching his eye as he puts the arrows back into the leather quiver.

  His lips curve up, a little slower than other times. “So the name,” he says again, shrugging.

  “You know, your accent isn’t as thick as some of the ones I’ve heard, but sometimes you say little things that sound really Gael-ish.”

  “Gaelic?” he smiles.

  “Gael-ish. Because I’m not meaning Gaelic like the language. I mean Gael-ish, like your country. Were you guys ever part of Scotland? You weren’t, were you?”

  “No. Gael was settled by the—people you might call the Irish,” he corrects, “in the twelfth century. People living in Gaelic Ireland who fled after the Norman invasion and all that trouble. Technically, there were some Scots here at that time as well.”

  I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t remember the historical details of the Norman invasion of Ireland, but Liam goes on.

  “King Henry II backed the Anglo-Norman invasion and the battling that went on after. Religious and other reasons. Henry and his crew wanted to control the Irish Church. Also, think of it as empire-building. Why wouldn’t Henry want to add Ireland to his empire?”

  “I guess he would.”

  “He would,” Liam says. “And Henry had the backing of the Pope. It was a rough time to live in Ireland. The people who set off and wound up here were peaceful.”

  “Your ancestors were peaceful?” I tease.

  “Some of them. Some not.” Liam stops off to store his bow in a nook inside the castle’s base, then leads me to a side entrance. “What do you think?” he asks as he pushes the door open. “Do you want to stay the night on Pirate Island?”

  “That’s the name of it?”

  He nods, and as we step inside, a delicious smell fills my head. I’m going to ask if there are pirates, but we’re in the kitchen. Not a dining hall, but the kitchen—same as last night. Only today, it’s bustling with people, including a tall, big-boned, gray-haired woman who marches right up to Liam and me with a ladle in her hand, looking at me first, and then Liam.

  “So here she is, the reason our vacation was cut short.”

  My mouth drops open, and Liam reaches out and slaps the woman in the arm. “Mora.” He laughs. “She’s joking, Lucy. Mora, go back to your stew.”

  “Is that an order, little king?”

  “It’s an order, big Mora.”

  It’s a struggle to keep my mouth from hanging open.

  “Big and beautiful,” the woman smiles.

  “Of course,” Liam says. He looks to me, as Mora steps back toward the stove, where three are three simmering pots. I watch her give orders to a few other people in the kitchen as Liam turns to me. “Mora is like a mother to me, if you couldn’t tell.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Fifty last month. My mother hired her when she was much younger. We’ve never let her go. She’s trained all over the world at this point. One of the best chefs anywhere.”

  “God, the smell.”

  “It’s a twist on Irish Beef stew, but Mora adds cheese.”

  “God. I love cheese.”

  Liam grins. His arm goes around me, and he leads me past the bar area where we sat last night. Today, two youngish looking guys are chopping veggies there. A blonde girl who looks a little younger than us is telling them an animated story while she works what looks like dough.

  “Hello, Liam,” she says as we pass. Her eyes jerk to me. “You’re the girl from telly. Rhodes of Concord,” she says in what I realize is an English accent.

  I nod.

  “Just Lucy while she’s here, Beth.”

  “Right.” The girl nods, then gives me a wink. “Don’t worry. Liam will have my head if I violate the NDA. Says so right there in the contract.”

  Liam snorts. “Beth is a bit dramatic, if you couldn’t tell.”

  She flings her arms out. “I’m exciting. Unlike Liam.”

  He shakes his head, and we walk into the hall. “Beth is Mora’s adopted daughter. Mora found her in an alley in London when she was four. She’s fifteen now. And don’t worry, they really do sign NDAs. No one will know you’re here.”

  “It’s okay.”

  I’m surprised when Liam’s hand closes around mine. His arm presses against mine as he leads me toward the stairs we took up last night.

  “I meant it when I said you’ll have a good time here. No worries, Lucy Su.” His eyes find mine as our fingers twine together, and I give him a funny look.

  “How’d you know to call me that?”

  “What, Lucy Su?”

  I nod.

  “Lucille Sutton Rhodes. That’s your name, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but Lucy Su?”

  He smirks. “How do you think?”

  “TV?”

  “Guilty as charged.” His hand squeezes mine.

  “Was that really on the show? I didn’t realize.”

  “Sometime in season two, I think.”

  “You watched more than one season?”

  “Didn’t everyone?”

  “But you?”

  “What’s so special about me?”

  He stops as we reach the landing to the second floor, giving me a cheesy smile that makes my heart pound slightly harder.

  “I don’t know.” I smile back. “Just seems like you’re always busy, traveling and stuff.”

  “Only this summer. Wanted to get away,” he says as we start down the lavish hallway.

  “Bored?” I ask.

  “Something like that.”

  TWENTY

  Liam

  “Is it stressful, all the royal stuff?”

  I look down at Lucy, finding her eyes bright and curious, her lips pursed slightly—so I want to kiss them.

  Is it stressful? My pulse races at the question. I have to fight the urge to shut my eyes and take a deep, slow breath. One of the ones I learned on the yoga video I’ve watched a few times in my rooms.

  “Sometimes,” I manage.

  Her thumb strokes the top of my hand. “I remember you said you had trouble sleeping.”

  “Did I?”

  “Well, you called me in the middle of the night. I think you said that.” She leans her head against my arm. “Every family has its stresses. I just figured yours might have more than average. Mine does too, in a way.”

  “I’m sure.” I can’t help leaning my down, so my cheek is pressed against the top of her head. Damn, she smells so fucking good.

  “Are you smelling my hair?” she asks me in a teasing tone.

  “What do you put in it?” My own voice is low and gruff.

  “Magic love potion. Is it working?” She looks up at me, batting her lashes.

  “No.”

  Her eyes widen in mock hurt. I give her a grin that lets her know I’m lying. Then I lean away from her and let go of her hand.

  “You want to take a nap or something? Read a book? I’m going to work out. You could come with me too. There’s a gym upstairs, right under the roof garden. Glass walls and stuff.”

  “Roof-top garden? That’s what I’m talking about. Is anybody up there?”

  “Only the birds.” I smile at her again, a stupid smile that I can’t stop. Why can’t I stop smiling at her?

  “Well, I think I’m going to lay out with the birds. I bet it feels amazing! I love a cool breeze. Don’t tell anyone, but I hate the heat.”

  “Why can’t I tell?” I flip a piece of her hair. Lucy grabs my hand, curling her fingers around it.

  “Because I’m from Georgia.”

  “Are you a traitor to the Confederacy?”

  “Yes, totally a secret traitor. I don’t do sweet tea or grits either, but those are also secrets.”

  I can’t help laughing my ass off at that. More so, because she actually looks guilty.

  “Fried okra?” I ask.


  “Now that I like.” Her brows rumple and her head tilts slightly. “How do you know about fried okra?”

  I tap my temple. “Smart like that. What about fried green tomatoes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fried Oreos?”

  “No way.” Her face sours. “That’s not a Southern food.”

  “I think it is, Miss Rhodes.”

  She scrunches up her nose. “That’s an artery-clogger. An imposter. Did someone offer you that on a trip to the South?”

  I shake my head. “I saw it on Instagram.”

  “Do you actually get on there?” Lucy looks skeptical.

  “I don’t have someone else do my posts, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  She shrugs. “I guess I just can’t see you scrolling through your Instagram, reading about fried Oreos.”

  “No?”

  She shakes her head. “I’m kind of surprised you’re on social media much at all, although I guess I shouldn’t be.”

  “When I was younger, people started making fake accounts. That’s how I started mine.”

  “You like to appeal to your fans.”

  She doesn’t say it in a derogatory way, but it makes me feel defensive.

  I shrug. I’d like to tell her that I don’t, but isn’t that what I’ve spent the last two years doing? Playing “Prince Liam”?

  “Don’t look so sad.” She claps my shoulder gently with her hand and smiles. “I know a lot of people who think social media is the bee’s knees.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “I think it’s a leash.” She shrugs. “I probably overdosed on it, though.”

  And now, what’s going on has got to make her want to run the other fucking way.

  “Stay off there,” I hear myself tell her. “Stay here with me. I’ll make you forget it.”

  I don’t even realize until I’ve said the words how goddamned sexed up they sound. How low my voice has dropped. How hard I am.

  I give her a cheesy wink and pray she doesn’t look down this time. When we part ways, agreeing to meet back in the hall in ten minutes, I hurry to my room, wondering how quickly I can jerk off.

  * * *

  Lucy

  ‘So how are things????’

  ‘I’m having more fun than I thought!!!!!’ The excessive exclamation points are my way of poking fun at her four question marks. For a professional writer, Amelia is not at all into grammar when she’s texting.

  She responds with the flipping-the-bird symbol. Then I see the dots indicating that she’s typing.

  ‘So you haven’t told him.’

  ‘Not yet. I thought I’d spend some time around him first. Get to know him more. Before he sends me packing,’ I add, feeling heavy.

  ‘How long are you staying? Are there a lot of people there?’

  I texted Amelia last night, but I didn’t give her any details.

  ‘Actually, no. It’s weird. No one is here. His cousin Heath is coming back tonight.’ I leave out the part about how Liam and I are spending the night on an island in the middle of a foggy loch. Nothing untoward is going on with us, but I’m not sure I can adequately convey that over text.

  ‘So it’s not one big, wild party?’

  ‘Nope. Just Liam here, and all the help.’

  ‘What’s he like?’ She adds a smilie with heart eyes. I smile back at it.

  ‘Honest answer?’

  ‘Yes, you hussy.’

  ‘He’s really sexy. I can see why people like him.’

  ‘Well that’s hardly a surprise, baby mama.’

  ‘Oh God, he’s going to flip when I tell him. How could he not?’

  ‘When are you going to?’

  ‘Tomorrow or the next day.’

  ‘What are you doing until then?’

  ‘Just exploring the castle and stuff.’

  ‘Is he a flirt?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is he being super nice to you?’

  ‘He really is.’

  ‘I’m so glad. You deserve it, Lucy Su.’

  ‘Thanks Ammie Lu. I love you.’

  ‘Love you more. Update me, k?’

  ‘Okay. XOXOX’

  I changed into my favorite red bikini before I started texting Am, so all I have to do now is pick a cover-up and put my hair in pigtails. I find it’s easier to lay out with them that way.

  At the last minute, I decide to go ahead and smooth on some sunscreen, just in case anyone is around up there on the deck. I hate putting on lotion in front of other people. I’m kind of shy about my body, and something about it makes me feel exposed.

  As I rub lotion on myself, I feel that flutter low in my belly that I remember from middle and high school. Liam’s across the hall—and I’m about to see him again!

  Silly.

  I smile at myself in the mirror.

  Fun.

  My smile disappears as I think of what he’ll say when I actually tell him. Will he feel betrayed that I spent time with him while I kept this secret? What if he somehow thinks I got knocked up on purpose? I can’t imagine that he would—I don’t need to dig for gold when I have my own gold, after all—but…still.

  I step into the hallway feeling anxious and unhappy. A few seconds after I shut my door, Grey watching from his haunches, Liam’s door opens and he strides out wearing black basketball shorts and a white t-shirt with cut-off sleeves. My eyes sweep quickly up and down him, taking in his ankle-length black athletic socks and his gray Nikes—but mostly the shape of his muscular legs.

  When my gaze reaches his face again, I find him smirking.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t say sorry, Luce. I like it when you check me out. It gives me time to check you out.” He reaches out and touches one of my pigtails. “I like these.” He smiles, cheeks rounding as it turns into a grin. “You look hot in pigtails.”

  “Are you trying to charm me?”

  “Is it working?” He lets go of my hair. “I mean it, though. It’s a good look.”

  I fold my arms. “Thank you.”

  Liam tugs gently on the shoulder of my plain white cover-up. “Have you gone shy, Lucille?”

  I shrug. “Maybe.”

  He gives me an apologetic smile. “I’ll leave you alone. C’mon, I’ll show you where we’re going.”

  I’m quite as I follow him into a square nook off the hall and up another, narrower, wooden flight of stairs that leads first to a short-ceilinged, attic-like work-out space with glass walls, then up to a thick steel door Liam pushes through. He holds it for me, and I feel the wind whip as I step onto the deck.

  “Whoa…” The place is gorgeous. Grassy, with a variety of small and medium-sized trees, and framed by a thick, gray-green stone wall that’s maybe four feet fall.

  I slide my loaner sunglasses from my head onto my nose and follow Liam onto the plush, green grass. “This is crazy.”

  “More yard than garden I guess.”

  “God…” I throw my towel down and stretch out on it, looking at the pale blue sky through the lenses of my sunglasses. “Well, I’ll just be here.” I grin at him. “You have fun with that work out.”

  He smiles. “Will do.” And then he’s gone—too soon. A few minutes later, a tall man with short black hair comes out the door, and I sit up. He’s carrying a tray with a lemon drop martini, a water bottle, and a bowl of grapes.

  I stand so I can get it. “Thank you.” I take the drink out of habit, and the guy nods at something over my shoulder.

  “You know there’s some chairs over there, with tables.”

  “No.” I grab my stuff and follow him over, and a few minutes later I’m set up at a reclining chair, sipping my water and munching grapes in relative silence. Cool wind washes over my body, prickling goosebumps on my skin. It feels amazing in contrast to the warm glow of the sun.

  I’m feeling slightly nauseated, so I snarf down nearly all the grapes and most of the water. In not too long, I need a restroom—but before I go in search of one,
I pretend to take a sip of the martini, then walk over to the wall and pour most of it over the side. This way if there are cameras up here and someone watching, they’ll just think I didn’t like the drink.

  Better than Liam asking why I didn’t try it.

  I leave my bag and set off down the stairs in search of a restroom. As I’m passing the small landing for Liam’s attic floor, I hear his voice and stop.

  “You know I’ll never do that, Dru.” His tone is firm, his voice is low and harsh.

  “Everything,” he says.

  I wait to hear a woman’s voice, and when I don’t, I realize Liam is on the phone.

  “No one said you were. Not on the outside.” He sounds pissed off. Kind of tired, too.

  “You really think there’s someone else? I wouldn’t put a fucking dog through this bullshit.” His voice lowers a volume. “I’m not sure how long I’ll go on putting me through it.”

  I swallow as I hear his footfall on the gym’s hardwood floor. “Maybe I don’t care, Drucilla.”

  Then another pause before he says, “Maybe that’s for the best.”

  When I hear him breathing hard, I think the worst—and I can’t keep myself from checking. The door from stairwell to gym is propped open. I creep closer and peek inside. I can’t see Liam from my angle, but I can see him in the mirror. To my shock, he doesn’t have his dick in hand.

  He’s kneeling with his back against a wall of mirrors and his forehead on his knees. His hands are folded over his head. I can see his shoulders pumping with the depth of his harsh breaths.

  Shit. It’s not easy to stay where I’m standing. I just want to go to him. To talk to him. I want to touch him, stroke the warm lines of his face and pull him up against me.

  Suddenly, he stands up, and I watch him walk to a small strip of counter. He pulls out a canister of whey protein, and then a glass. And then…a glass of liquor? I watch as he pours gold liquid into the glass. His shoulders draw up as he stares at it for a long moment. Then he downs the entire thing.

  He shakes his head once. Reaches for a turn-switch on a row of light switches. Music fills the room: the Rolling Stones. I hurry down a level, feeling strangely raw as I head to my room.