The Bad Royals Box Set: The Complete Royally Unexpected Series, page 178
“To be fair, for them to print photos of you drinking with a new woman every night, you have to actually be drinking with a new woman every night,” I counter, arching a brow.
Silas laughs, shrugging. “Not necessarily. I’ve seen photos from years ago reprinted as if they’d just happened. A lot of the things they say about me are lies. I’m not saying I’ve been an angel.”
“Does the Queen know?” I ask. “About the dyslexia? Did she know you would struggle on this tour?”
“She knows,” Silas says. “But I don’t think she really understands—and I probably haven’t done myself any favors with all the bad press I’ve created. I…” He bites his lip. “I don’t really talk about it with my family. With anyone. She probably would have given me more help if I’d asked for it, but I…I guess I’m just a coward. I don’t ask for help because I’m afraid of being pitied.”
It’s shocking to me that Prince Silas is so…self-aware. So open. He’s not denying his actions or telling me that he deserves to party and grace the cover of tabloids. It’s just an explanation of who he is. What he’s been through.
The Prince takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “You know the first night we met, at that party?”
I nod.
“When I realized who you were, my heart just sank, but not because you want to abolish the monarchy and you hate my family.”
“I don’t hate—“
“You just hate what we stand for,” he says, smiling sadly. “I know. But I realized who you were and I just felt so completely inadequate in your presence. Because you’re right, Jazz. I have no right to be here, lording over everyone else. People shouldn’t be bowing to me and calling me highness. I’m the dumbest person in that room, and they want me to stand up in front of them and pretend I’m not.” He snorts, shaking his head. “When I realized who you were, I felt so fucking stupid, because…I am stupid. I’ll never be an intellectual. Not in the way you are.”
“That’s not…” I trail off, heart squeezing. “What about Lady Connaught? She didn’t seem to think you were dumb.”
Silas laughs, shrugging. “She’s just an old cougar. She likes flirting with me.”
“She said you helped create a new curriculum for the Farcliff Learning Center and even sponsored a new photography class.”
He slides his hand over my back, spreading heat across my skin. My breath catches, but I just wait for the Prince to speak.
“I guess you could say that’s a pet project of mine.” He glances at me, winking. “I’ve had so many specialists work with me that I have extensive experience with what works and what doesn’t in terms of learning disabilities. I just try to share that information with people who need it. I have the money to do it, so why not? And photography was the only thing that felt natural to me, so I figured there might be other kids out there like me, too.”
My throat grows tight. “I think I’ve judged you a bit harshly, Silas.”
His arm drops from my back, hand finding mine. When his fingers thread through my own, it feels so natural that I don’t resist. We walk in silence for a while, all the way down to the bank of Farcliff Lake. There’s a small bench beside a pier, so we sit down. Moonlight reflects on the still water, our breath escaping in small white puffs—but I don’t feel cold. With the Prince beside me and his jacket on my shoulders, the only thing I feel is heat.
“Like I said,” he finally answers, “I don’t like talking about it.”
“People wouldn’t call you the playboy prince if they knew what you were doing for children with learning disabilities.”
“They’d think it was just another royal endeavor. They wouldn’t understand that I actually care. If I do it in the background, it feels more…honest, in a way.” He turns to face me, resting his arm across the back of the bench. Every movement brings us closer together. When I shift on the bench, my thigh touches his. When I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, my arm notches into the crook of his shoulder. It’s like with every movement, every moment, we find ourselves drawn to each other.
With Silas’s arm on the back of the bench, this feels…intimate. His fingers trace small circles over the shoulder of his jacket, still wrapped tightly around my body.
“You’re not dumb, you know.” I turn to face him.
“How would you know?”
“Well, I’ve spent a bit of time with you. I’ve seen how you navigate these parties and situations. You’re incredibly intuitive.”
“Doesn’t mean I can read without needing special font and about ten times as long as a normal person would need.”
My heart clenches. As I stare at this man—strong, handsome, privileged—I see his weakness for the first time. His struggles. I see him as a person and not a symbol of the monarchy. Reaching a hand up to his face, I let my fingers drift over his cheek and up to his temple. “I saw the photos you auctioned off at that photography exhibition.”
Silas, who had closed his eyes when I touched him, opens them again. “That was ten years ago.”
“You’re very talented.”
“How did you find those?”
My lips quirk. “Maybe I have been reading up on you a bit more than I’ve admitted.”
A smile ghosts over his lips, and he shifts his body closer to mine. I feel the heat of his body like a bonfire. The whole side of me is pressed against him. We’re alone here, in the gardens, with nothing but the trees and moonlight for company.
I shouldn’t be here—and I definitely shouldn’t be alone with the Prince—but I can’t help shoving all my hesitations aside. I can go back to my work tomorrow and submit articles to my boss for publication. I can document the royal tour like I’m supposed to, but tonight…
Maybe tonight, I could just be a woman in a beautiful dress sitting beside the only man who makes her heart thump. Tonight, he could be more than just a prince with me. We could be open with each other. Honest.
“Jazz,” Silas says, his voice nothing more than a rasp.
“Yeah?” My heart beats harder at the heat in his eyes.
He drops his gaze to my lips, then closes his lids as if he needs to compose himself. The hand on my shoulder tightens around me, and I find myself falling against his chest. “Tell me I can kiss you right now,” he begs.
I should say no. I’m on this tour for work, and my job is to criticize the royal family. To promote my stance on the abolition of the monarchy.
But we’re so alone here, and the Prince is so different from what I’d imagined. I’ve spent the past few weeks fighting my attraction to him, and I…I’m tired. And really, really horny. And damn it, I just want to kiss the man and feel like a woman, for once.
So, gulping, I dip my chin. “I’d like that,” I whisper.
The Prince’s tongue slides out to lick his bottom lip, and I swear—I swear—my panties are drenched within a second. I let my hand slide over his chest, running my fingertips over the little strip of skin at his neck.
I don’t care that he’s my sworn enemy. I don’t care that I shouldn’t be here. I need to kiss this man. I need to feel his lips on mine. I need—
“Jazz?”
I stiffen, shifting away from the Prince. That voice… Turning my head, I see the cruel smirk that tortured my teenage heart. A cold hand grips my throat, and all the heat in my veins vanishes.
“Liam,” I croak. “What are you doing here?”
He runs a fine, soft hand through his thick hair. “Now, now, Jazzy, where are your manners? It’s Lord Birchal to you.”
14
SILAS
What in the…?
“Liam?” I frown, standing. Jazz does the same, shuffling her body so she’s partially behind me. Shielded by me, I realize. My gaze flicks from her to the man before us, and unease clenches at my gut. I take a step to the side as I reach out to shake Liam’s hand—mostly to put myself in between the two of them.
The tension pouring off Jazz tastes acrid on my tongue. I can feel her stress. The ice that jets through her veins. It’s like we have a connection that requires no words at all. She doesn’t like Birchal, and I want to know why. My muscles lock up as tension winds its way through my body.
“I was wondering where you two disappeared to,” Liam says, looking bored. He glances at his fingernails for a moment, then flicks his gaze between Jazz and me. There’s something predatory about the way his eyes sharpen on us.
“Just enjoying the warmer weather before we head back up to Nord,” I reply, my voice a bit frostier than I expected. My muscles are tense, coiled. Senses heightened, as if my brain is blaring, Threat ahead!
Liam stares behind me at Jacinthe, and I ball my hands into fists to stop myself from putting my arm around her shoulders. There’s something between these two. History. A past I don’t understand.
Jazz takes a step forward and straightens herself up. She slides my jacket off her shoulders and hands it back to me with a polite smile. “Thank you very much, Your Highness. I should be getting back.”
She’s leaving?
I want to scream. Or maybe throw Liam Birchal in the lake and watch him sink to the bottom. Or both.
She wanted to kiss me. She was going to kiss me. After all these days of torture, I was finally going to get to taste those lips, until this asshole barreled in here and ruined it.
I don’t miss the lecherous look on his face as Jazz steps around him, her gown no longer hidden by my jacket. His eyes drop down to her chest, and I want to claw them out. He stares at the hip-high slit in the red fabric, and I swear I see his pants twitch.
I’ll cut his fucking dick off if he tries to touch her.
It scares me, the violence inside me. I’ve never been like this. Never felt just on the edge of control, as if the faintest breath of wind will throw me off the edge.
“I’ll accompany you back to the gala,” I say, taking a step in Jazz’s direction.
She shakes her head. “No need. Thank you.” There’s a finality in her words. The moment we had is over. She’s not going to kiss me tonight—maybe not ever.
Both Liam and I watch Jazz leave, then he turns to me with arched brows. “Was I interrupting?” He grins, patting me on the shoulder as if we’re sharing some inside joke. As if Jazz is a piece of ass, and it could have been him sitting out here with her instead of me.
The bitter taste on my tongue grows stronger, and I swallow down bile. I shake my head. “Just came out for some fresh air.”
“I’ve known you a long time, Silas, and you’ve never been one to enjoy fresh air. Now the company of a beautiful woman, on the other hand…”
“How do you know her?” The edge in my voice is razor-sharp.
There’s a glimmer in Liam’s eye I don’t like. His thin lips curl into a smirk, and he shrugs one shoulder. “Her father was our gardener,” he says. “We grew up together.”
There’s something he’s not telling me. I’ve known Liam for many years, and we’ve had more than one night of debauchery together. He drinks and parties as much as I do—well, did—and has been with at least as many women as I have.
Growing up together doesn’t sound as innocent as it should when it comes from Liam Birchal’s mouth.
The thought of him with Jazz… I think I’m going to be sick, and that in itself worries me. Liam’s slept with plenty of women that I’ve been with. There are only so many models and socialites in Nord. Stirling is basically an overgrown small town, and the circles we travel in are even smaller. Some overlap is inevitable.
But Jazz…
“What’s going on with you two?” Liam’s eyes are sharp as he stares at me, even though his face is the picture of disinterest. He glances away from me, staring after Jazz.
I shrug. “You know,” I reply, hoping my noncommittal answer will satisfy him.
He laughs, and we start walking back to the gala. I think he might change the subject, but Birchal says something that makes my stomach fist. “You fucked her yet? Because if not, you’re missing out.”
My throat tightens. The urge to commit unspeakable acts of violence gets stronger. Is this how he talks about all women? Is that how I used to talk about women? “No,” I croak. “When did you…”
“A while ago. Few years,” he answers, grinning. He knows he has the upper hand. It’s probably written all over my face how much this is bothering me. The image of Liam Birchal with his hands on her…his lips…his…
I’m definitely going to throw up.
“She didn’t seem too happy to see you,” I manage to say.
“I’m sure I could change her mind.” Birchal lets out a braying laugh, nudging my elbow just as we enter the main gala space.
From across the room, Jazz meets my gaze. She sees Birchal laughing with me, notices the way he leans in, shoves his elbow against my ribs. Her lips turn down, and I think I see tears forming in her eyes. I’m too far away to tell. All I know is within seconds, she’s slipped through the crowd and disappeared from the room.
Gone.
Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. My collar is tight and my whole body feels clammy. I…I need to see her. I need to make sure she doesn’t think I’m like him. That she doesn’t think I’m his friend. I start toward her, heart thumping. I need to make sure… I don’t even know! That she’ll still look at me the way she did on that bench. That she still wants…
Fuck.
I can’t see her anywhere. I hear Birchal call out behind me, but I don’t stop. I keep wading through the crowd, pushing people off me and ignoring the protests and stares. I’m making a scene—but isn’t that what I’m good at? Isn’t that why photographers follow me around? For the chance at some juicy headline?
I don’t want a headline right now. I just want Jazz. I want to tell her I’m not like Birchal. I don’t think of her as a piece of ass. Being so close to kissing her…it feels different, this need. Deeper.
She’s there, just in front of me. I catch a glimpse of wine-red velvet. Black hair. My heart’s in my throat as I speed up, opening my mouth to call out her name.
Prince Damon looms in front of me, a big, friendly smile on his face. “There you are. We’ve been looking for you. You’re late for your speech.”
“Not now,” I say, peering over his shoulder. I duck around him and start jogging, then sprinting. I run through the marble hallways and out the big double doors leading outside.
A car door slams closed, red velvet disappearing behind it. “Jazz!” I call out, jogging down the steps. My heart is beating so hard I can hardly breathe. I want her to stay. I need her to stay.
But the car drives off, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust fumes. My shoulders drop, arms hanging limply. I stare at the back of the car, wondering if she’s turning to watch me through the rear windscreen. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I let out a groan.
Dejected, I head inside to see Liam Birchal staring at me over the rim of a champagne flute. There’s a cruel smirk on his face and a teasing arch in his brow, but I don’t have the energy to face him. My whole body feels on edge, like I need an electric shock to the heart just to calm me down.
She’s not here—so why would I stay?
Fuck the speech. Fuck this stupid gala. The only reason I came here was to see Jazz.
Spinning on my heels, I ignore Prince Damon calling my name and head for the valet to ask for my jacket. I’m gone within minutes.
15
JAZZ
My hands are still shaking when I get back to my hotel room. I lean against the closed door and let out a long sigh, squeezing my eyes shut. I’m a grown woman. My teenage crush shouldn’t be knocking me off-balance.
I haven’t seen Liam in years, not since I left the Birchal estate to go to college. I thought I was over everything that happened. I thought I’d moved on.
Guess I was wrong.
It feels a bit pathetic to be so worked up over something that happened when I was a teen. I was barely seventeen when Liam broke my heart, but seeing him there…it still felt like it happened yesterday. It’s not like I’d want to be with him or feel any sort of attraction to him—it’s the shame.
Seeing him tonight reminded me of all the ways he ruined my reputation. How he turned the townspeople against me and made them look at me as some sort of morally depraved, sex-addicted harlot. How he isolated me with his lies and pretended like nothing had ever existed between us. He lied.
Even now, I refuse to believe that. I refuse to think he felt nothing for me, but maybe that’s just evidence of my own delusion. Maybe he did play me for a fool.
Sighing, I shuffle to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I tie my hair back, pull the false lashes off my eyes, and reach for my makeup remover. It takes me a full ten minutes to scrub all the makeup off my face, and then I treat myself to a long, hot shower.
I want to wash the memory of Liam off my body. Maybe I want to wash off the embers that Silas sprinkled over my skin. I want to feel like myself again, not have everything I believe called into question. Ever since I met the Prince, I feel like my worldview has been shifting. My convictions aren’t as rock-solid as they were before.
Do I really hate the monarchy, or is that some latent bitterness because of Liam? Am I really happy living a simple, luxury-free life?
What happened on that bench is something I’ve been avoiding thinking about. We almost kissed. I wanted to kiss him. The Prince, for crying out loud. I was seconds away from tasting his lips—and what kind of person does that make me? How can I pretend to be all for Nord becoming a republic when I swoon over the first royal I meet?
A cloud of steam billows out of the bathroom when I exit, twisting a thick white towel around my hair. I hug a robe around myself and walk to the desk, finding a room service menu tucked in an information folder. Dialing reception, I order half a dozen appetizers, a big, juicy burger, chocolate cake, and two bottles of wine. Just in case one isn’t enough to drown out the memory of what just happened.
