Page 10 of The Wanted Prince

“My pearls.” Her voice cracked, all raspy from sleep. I handed them back to her and she held them to her hair, but with no clip to secure them, they wouldn’t stay. She sat holding them in one hand, my duvet in the other.

“I slept over,” she said. Then, “Are we dreaming?”

“I don’t think so.” I pinched myself hard on my leg. The skin went white, bloodless, then it went red. I was awake, all right. I’d spent the night with Laura.

“We should—” I started, but my phone cut in. I grabbed it to silence it, then saw it was Carlo. I had more missed calls too, from him, from Father. From Father’s chancellor, and his royal treasurer. I hissed through my teeth. “Shit.”

“What’s the matter?”

I held up my hand that she should be quiet. Laura’s eyes widened. I picked up the phone.

“Carlo. What’s wrong?”

“Where the hell are you?”

The bite in his voice made my blood run cold. It wasn’t much of a bite, but I knew my brother. Carlo was angry, or he was stressed out. Not a lot got to him, so if he was pissed?—

“I said, where are you?”

I swallowed. “At home. Where do you think?”

“We’ve been calling all morning. You didn’t pick up.”

I glanced at my phone, quarter past seven. “It was on night mode. Do not disturb.”

For a long moment, Carlo didn’t respond. I could hear him pacing, hard soles on marble. “Well, you need to get back here,” he said at last. “A car’s on its way for you. Be ready to go.”

I nearly choked. “What?”

“You heard me. Be ready. And for heaven’s sake?—”

“What?”

He exhaled. “Just get here. I don’t… Hurry up.”

A cold chill raced through me, something like panic. I felt my palm prickle where I was gripping my phone. I opened my mouth to ask Carlo what was wrong, but he’d already hung up on me. When I called back, he went to voicemail. Dom’s phone rang and rang, and then it went dead.

“What is it?”

I flinched at Laura’s hand on my arm. “I don’t know. I think…” It had to be Father. Something had happened. Another heart attack?

“Are you okay?”

“I think something’s happened. You have to go.”

I couldn’t tell if her frown was confusion or hurt, or maybe annoyance there wouldn’t be breakfast. Then she stood up, my sheet coiled around her.

“I need something to wear. I can’t leave in that dress.”

“In my closet, I—” I shut my mouth with a snap. I’d been about to tell her I had a few dresses, relics of conquests of days gone by. Instead, I pointed her to my dresser. “There’s sweats in there, should just about fit you.”

I picked up my phone again as Laura got dressed, calling my driver to wait around back. She had my pants on by the time I was done, and was tugging my sweatshirt on over her head. Her hair tumbled free, a mess of black curls, and their ruined tumble sparked sudden regret.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She combed her hands through her hair and smiled. “No, I get it. I never should’ve stayed over. Have you seen my purse?”

“I don’t think you had one.”

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