Page 70 of Thrones We Steal

“Isn’t that the truth.”

He sits back down and throws a red hotel at me. “Be nice.” He holds up the Scottie game piece questioningly. I swipe it from his hand and toss him the top hat. “Not much has changed, I see,” he says with a grin.

I forgot how much fun it is to spend a relaxing evening around a board game. For just a second, I don’t have to think about the responsibilities and future awaiting me. “I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve played,” I say and add another house to Boardwalk.

“Not long enough apparently.” Henry frowns at my growing empire and stands up. “I think it’s time for something stronger than wine.” He takes the empty wine bottle back to the bar and pours two glasses of whiskey, liquid gold in the dim lighting.

Now is my chance to leave, to find some excuse that prevents me from staying any longer. I need to go, before things become even more dangerous. So why do I have the strongest urge to stay?

“I really should be heading to bed,” I say.

“We haven’t even finished the game yet.”

“It’s Monopoly. Does anyone ever finish?”

“Come on, you’re so close to obliterating me. The least you can do is complete the job,” he says and hands me a glass.

“Okay.” The whiskey burns a hot trail down my throat and joins the butterflies in my stomach, now fluttering in a pool of warm gold. My backbone melted into the same pool a while ago.

We play until Henry declares bankruptcy. “You kill me. I don’t see how you do it,” he says.

“I’ll never tell.” The alcohol is making me bold. I need to go. But my body isn’t listening. Again.

He reclines on the couch, his face shadowed and hard to read in the dim lighting, but he looks relaxed.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” If my words surprise him, they can’t have shocked him more than they do me. I face him and tuck my feet up under me.

“Uhh,” he says and laughs, slight discomfort evident in his tone. “What do you want to know?”

“Your deepest, darkest secret.” I take a sip of liquid courage. “What’s the biggest skeleton in your closet, Prince Henry?”

He stares at me for a moment, then into his glass. “Some things aren’t meant to be shared.” The amusement has bled from his voice.

I stretch out my leg and nudge him with my bare toes. “Come on. We’re friends tonight, aren’t we?”

He takes hold of my bare ankle. His fingers heat my skin in spite of their coolness. I forget to breathe as he strokes it with his thumb, sending tremors into my core. Finally, he releases me, leans forward, and clasps his hands in front of him.

“Henry? What’s wrong?” I set my drink down and scoot across the sofa until I reach him. Touching him feels like the most natural thing in the world, and I rub my hand across his back, relishing the feel of the thick muscles under his T-shirt.

He looks at me then, and I hardly recognize the mournful look that’s crept into his eyes. He shakes his head, then kneads the furrows in his forehead. “The past can be a dark, ugly thing, C.”

My eyebrows pull together in sync with my stomach. “Now you’re scaring me.” I tuck my hand back into my lap. It still tingles.

His eyes are dark and stormy, a vortex pulling me in. I feel myself drowning. The hurricane begins to rage inside, and my heart fractures the longer I look at him.

Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.

He rips his gaze from mine and rubs his hands together. “I think you should go, Celia.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t tell you, okay?” he snaps.

It’s as harsh as a slap and I flinch. “Can’t or don’t want to?”

I should take his advice and leave. I should stand up and walk out the door. But something about this unseen side of Henry draws me like a slot machine after a small win.

“You don’t know what you’re asking. You’d never look at me the same way again.”

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