The Bad Royals Box Set: The Complete Royally Unexpected Series, page 35
“Hey, Dad,” Dahlia says, glancing at me before turning away. “What’s up?” She runs her hand through her hair to try to smooth it down.
I flick through old archives, not seeing anything.
“She what? Is she okay?”
I glance at Dahlia, who’s frozen with her hand on her forehead. Her eyes get wider and wider and they start to fill with tears.
My heart thumps. Something’s wrong.
“Okay… Yeah. Why didn’t you tell me?” She takes a deep breath and nods, even though her father can’t see her. “Love you too. Bye.”
Holding her phone in her hand for a few seconds, Dahlia stares at the floor by her feet. Then, with a deep breath, she lifts her gaze up to mine. “I have to go.”
“Is everything okay?”
“It’s my mom,” she says, throwing her phone into her bag and slinging the backpack over her shoulder.
“Can I do anything?”
Dahlia looks at me, wide-eyed. She shakes her head. “No. I’ll see you around.”
“Can I see you before the dinner party?” I hate how needy I sound. I clear my throat. “I mean, we could try to find more information on what happened with our mothers.”
Dahlia’s face twists. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Maybe this is a sign. I have to go.”
“A sign of what?”
She steps over to me and places a hand on my shoulder, brushing her lips against my cheek. Then, without another word, she hurries down the hallway.
She’s gone, and bitterness sours my stomach.
I’m alone in the National Library Archives with a boner tenting my pants. I can still taste her lips on mine. I blow out the air from my lungs, slumping back into my chair and covering my face with my hands.
That girl drives me crazy. I don’t know what it is about her, but she’s different…
…and completely fucking wrong for me.
Our pasts are intertwined in ways we don’t even understand. I want her, and she wants me, but if we got involved with each other, would there really be a future for us? Do I want a future with Dahlia Raventhal?
When my heartbeat slows down again, I stare at the microfiche reader and frustration bubbles up inside me.
My mother’s death didn’t make any sense to me. All I knew at the time was that the events of that night made me feel wrong.
Guilty.
Now, my memories play tricks on me. Was I ever really there? Did I see the hatred in my father’s eyes when he sent me to her? Did I really bring her that cup of tea, or am I only imagining it? I’ve spent so long ignoring the twisting in my gut when I think of her death, that I don’t even trust my own mind to remember it.
After she died, our whole family almost fell apart. Aunt Malerie came to stay with us for a few months. I remember hating when she hugged me because she smelled like onions. I used to run away from her and my father, and stay in my room for days at a time.
My brothers and I all reacted differently. Charlie got angry. I became a recluse. Gabe was so young that he was mostly just sad and confused. It was only later, in his teens, that he became the wild child he is now.
When I threw myself into schoolwork, it helped. I started having dreams of being a doctor and being able to save my mother, and I decided that’s what I wanted to do—royal duties be damned. I can never go back and save my mother, but maybe I can save someone else.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my chin in my chest. This dream of going to medical school… Is that a way for me to atone for what happened to my mother that night?
What did I do to her?
Inhaling sharply, I straighten up and interlace my fingers over my head. My heart is thumping. Sweat beads on my neck, a drop of it trailing all the way down my spine. I suck another breath in through my teeth and try to contain my swirling thoughts.
I was eight years old. I was a child. I can’t be guilty if I don’t even know what I’m guilty of doing.
The tightness in my chest eases, and I talk myself down from the ledge.
I’ve always felt like there’s something missing from my life, like I was robbed from some universal experience that everyone with a mother has. The only thing that ever makes that feeling go away is pain.
Pain… and the feeling I get when I’m with Dahlia. She’s the only one that makes me feel like things aren’t all wrong, like life isn’t some long, drawn-out, awful joke.
What was it Dahlia said about a joke? Death is an old joke, but it comes like new to everyone.
It doesn’t feel like a joke right now.
My mother’s death was swept under the rug. Now, I’m here on my own, looking through old newspaper clippings for any clue as to what really happened over fifteen years ago. I’m trying to untangle the memories of my eight-year-old self, wondering if it was all a dream. What kind of sense does that make?
My blood pumps harder and I slam my hand down on the microfiche reader. I let out a yell in the silent, stuffy space and slam my hand down again.
Gulping down deep breaths, I try to regain control of myself. I know this feeling. I’m on a precipice, and if the darkness wins, it’s a long, hard fall to the bottom. If I keep spiraling, I’ll need a release. I’ll need bright, sharp agony to relieve the pressure building inside me.
I slam the base of my hand against the side of my head, grunting as pain explodes across my temple. Once, twice, three times I hit myself. My thoughts stop spiraling and I can breathe again.
Pain has always helped get me back on track. It’s not that I enjoy hurting myself, but it jars my mind back into line. Whenever I need it, pain is my most reliable companion. With another deep breath, I’m able to think clearly again.
I take stock of my surroundings—at the archives, the books, the microfilm, at my jacket on the floor. I start to calm down.
I’ll do what I can to find out what happened to my mother. And when I do, I’ll know why Dahlia is so hesitant about coming to the castle. I’ll know what happened between our families, and where the bad blood stems.
I’ll know if I need to blame myself, and I’ll find out if I should stay away from Dahlia.
Snorting to myself, I shake my head and stare at the ceiling.
Who am I kidding? I’m going to pursue her no matter what. The instant I saw the multicolored bush between her legs, I knew I wanted to dive head-first into it. I’ll chase after her to the ends of the earth. I’ll uncover whatever happened between our families, and while I’m at it, I’ll make Dahlia mine.
That girl doesn’t know it yet, but she’s woken something up in me that isn’t going to go away. I need her like I need air. Seeing her is the breath in my lungs. Tasting her is all the sustenance I need.
Dahlia Raventhal may have the wrong last name—but I don’t care, because she’s the one I want.
7
DAHLIA
My suitcase is half-packed when my father calls again. I’m sweaty, worried, and my mind is racing. I can’t even begin to process the kiss with Prince Damon.
“You’re packing, aren’t you?” My father chides.
“I need to be there, Dad. If Mom is in the hospital, I need to go.”
She fell down a short flight of stairs and broke her hip—probably at the exact moment I was locking lips with Prince Damon. It’s the curse—I know it is. Whenever I think something good is on the verge of happening, my life starts to crumble to pieces.
“What you need to do is make sure you do well on your midterms,” my father says. “You need to focus on school and not worry about your mother. She doesn’t need surgery, and she’s doing fine.”
“You should have called me sooner.”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
“All you’ve done is make me feel even worse about not being there. What happened?”
“Your aunt called after her visit with you.” My father takes a deep breath. “She… She told your mother that she encouraged you to go to the castle. You know how your mom feels about that…”
“So, Mom freaked out because I’m in Farcliff? Again?”
“Dahlia, listen to me.” My father takes a deep breath, and I can imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your mother didn’t want you to go back to Farcliff, but I convinced her to let you go because I think it’s what’s best for you. You need to make your own way in this world and stop letting the past hold you back.”
“What past, Dad? All I know is that I was sent away from here years ago, and I spent fifteen years in the fucking forest with my aunts! I don’t even know what happened with mom when she was in Farcliff. I don’t know anything about the past.”
My father sighs. “First of all, watch your language, Dahlia. Second… Listen, when you come back to visit, I’ll tell you everything. Until then, you need to do well at school, and not worry about your mother.”
“Dad…”
“Dahlia, I’m serious.”
I throw one last shirt in my suitcase and sink down to the floor. “You promise you’ll tell me everything about Mom and the Queen?”
“I promise.”
“Everything?”
“Yes, Dahlia, everything. Now unpack your suitcase. I’ll call you tonight from the hospital, and you can speak to your mother. Just… Don’t mention anything about the royal family.”
I bite my lip. My mother accidentally broke her hip because of the mere idea that my aunt would encourage me to go to the castle. What if she found out I was going for a private dinner party?
What if she found out I kissed Prince-freaking-Damon?
I take a deep breath. “Okay, talk to you later. Love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, kiddo.”
I hang up the phone and flop down onto my bed. My roommate, Elle, pokes her head in. Her eyebrow arches.
“Going somewhere?”
“No.”
“You just pack your suitcase for fun?”
“I like to be prepared.”
Elle grins. “You weirdo.”
“Weird people are the best people.”
She laughs and then tilts her head to the side. “Prince Damon seemed pretty into you yesterday.”
“What makes you say that?” I answer, averting my eyes. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and get off my bed again, turning to my suitcase. “I thought he was pretty casual.”
“Casually checking you out as if he’s been stuck on a desert island, and you’re the first woman he’s seen in ten years. If that’s what you meant, then yeah, I’d say it was pretty casual.”
“It’s not like that,” I respond, waving a hand. “I’m just doing this for you.”
“And I appreciate it, Dahlia. More than I can say.”
“How are things going between you and Prince Charlie?”
Elle sits on the bed and watches me unpack my suitcase. She folds her arms behind her head and stares at the ceiling, sighing.
“That bad, huh?” I grin.
“No, they’re that good. It’s perfect. I mean, it’s too perfect. What am I doing, Dahlia? I should be focusing on my studies, and on the rowing team. Not some doomed relationship.”
“You keep saying that,” I smile. “Whether you think it’s doomed, or you think it isn’t, you’ll end up being right either way.”
Elle nods her head and my thoughts flick back to Prince Damon.
Maybe I should take my own advice. Every time I’m in the same room as him, he sucks the air out of my lungs. He makes me blush, and laugh, and makes my whole body burn up.
But… it can’t be real. I’m a Raventhal. My family was exiled. How could I possibly have a future with Prince Damon?
I’m like Elle—completely, utterly doomed.
Elle is talking, but I don’t hear a word of it. I put the last of my clothes back in my dresser and take a moment to compose myself.
I am a sexually liberated, open and honest young woman. I do what I want. So how come one little itty-bitty kiss with Prince Damon has me thinking about a future with him? I practically have baby names picked out and everything.
This isn’t me.
“What do you think?” Elle says, leaning her head on her fist.
I snap my head toward her. “Sorry, I missed that last part. What did you say?”
“I knew you were a million miles away. What are you thinking about?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, forcing a smile. And I mean it. It’s nothing. Whatever happened with Prince Damon, and whatever happens at this dinner party, it means nothing. It’s going nowhere. It’s bad enough that I’ve come back to Farcliff—my mother can hardly handle the thought of it.
Before I get involved with anything to do with Prince Damon—before I even think about it—I need to know the truth about what happened between his mother and mine.
“What should I wear to this dinner party?”
Elle scoffs. “Don’t ask me. You’re the fashionista here. I live in sports bras and sweat pants.” She flashes a smile at me and I laugh.
She’s right. Elle is an athletic, no-nonsense person—the last thing she thinks about is fashion. I practically had to force her to wear a dress for the Prince’s Ball last month.
“I was thinking something a bit more demure,” I say, opening my closet.
“Do you own anything demure? I’ve only ever seen you look like a rainbow.”
I throw her a glance over my shoulder and purse my lips. “I’ll have you know my wardrobe is very versatile.”
“Oh yeah? You had me fooled.” Elle laughs.
I try to go back to how things were in my mind before today—before the kiss. I try to let my shoulders relax and not worry about this dinner party at the castle, not think about who the royal family are or what they did to my mother…
…or to the Queen.
But I can’t.
Questions fly around my head until I feel dizzy. If Elle notices that something’s wrong, she doesn’t say anything. She’s probably too busy worrying about her own whirlwind romance with Prince Charlie.
At least she has a romance to speak of. I’ve only kissed Prince Damon once, for Farcliff’s sake. I force a smile and drag Elle back to the living room, where we stuff ourselves with food and watch bad TV until our brains turn to mush.
When she goes to bed, I lay back on the couch and listen to the silence of the night. I decide that whatever this feeling for Prince Damon is, it’s wrong. Even if there is a spark between us, I can’t pursue it.
Not until I know the truth about what happened with our mothers. Not until I know it’s safe for me and my family in Farcliff. Not until I shake this stupid curse, and I know that I won’t put my mother in the hospital by seeing him.
But when I close my eyes, I see the Prince’s face. I feel the whisper of his lips over mine, and my skin burns where he touched it.
I let out a long sigh. I already know I can never have him.
8
DAMON
The next time I see Dahlia, she’s exiting the royal car that picked her up, stepping lightly up the wide palace steps.
She looks incredible. I thought Dahlia would be wearing something crazy and colorful, but instead, she’s wearing a curve-hugging black gown. It’s cut high on her neck, but all I’m picturing is what she looked like with nothing on. I’m dying to rip that dress off her the moment I see her.
I thought she was sexy before, but I had no idea. She’s a goddess. Pretending to be interested in her tonight won’t be a problem.
“You ready for this?” Charlie glances at me. His eyes are dark, and I know he’s worried. If our father doesn’t believe that Dahlia and I are together, Charlie will be in trouble.
But right now, as Dahlia flashes a bright smile at me, I’m not worried about Charlie at all. I extend my arm to her and she slips her hand into the crook of my arm, and nothing exists except her.
“Dahlia.” I nod, pulling her a bit closer.
Her cheeks flush pink, and my heart races. A sharp current zips down my spine and I resist the urge to run my hand down to the small of her back.
I lead her to the formal living room, where my father awaits. Dahlia does all the right things. She curtsies when she’s supposed to, addresses him how she’s supposed to, and never hesitates when she’s speaking about her supposed relationship with me.
I just sit here, wanting her.
Before dinner even starts, I know my father believes we’re really together. I catch him looking at me when I’m busy staring at Dahlia. I’m not even trying to pretend—I just can’t stop looking at her. My father’s brow arches and he exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair. His eyes turn back to Dahlia.
“Studying chemistry, was it?” The King asks.
“Microbiology,” she responds. Dahlia’s hands are folded on her lap and her back is straight as a rod. Apparently, her aunts in Colorado gave her formal etiquette training while living in the woods. I’d have never guessed that she grew up with only her aunts and forest animals as company. I’d have guessed she was raised in a palace like this one.
I take a seat next to her and she leans into me ever so slightly, as if there’s a magnetic attraction between us. It feels right having her beside me. My fingers itch to slip that dress off her body and run my hands over every bit of her. The thought of dragging my tongue between her thighs makes my cock throb.
I’m not sure she feels the same way. Other than saying and doing all the right things, Dahlia doesn’t give me any sign that she’d like a repeat of what happened in the archives. She’s distant, and I don’t like it.
As the conversation moves away from Dahlia and on to current events, I see Charlie breathe a sigh of relief. We might actually pull this off. If Father believes that Dahlia and I are together, it gives Charlie a chance to figure his own shit out.
We’re past the hard part—getting my father comfortable. Now all we need to do is make it through a twelve-course dinner. As long as my father has a few more glasses of wine, everything should be fine.
