Page 57 of The Wanted Prince

“I never stayed at any Hotel Vila.” I made myself laugh, loud and crass as I could. “And, have you seen Laura? If I booked a hotel with her, I wouldn’t book two rooms.”

Sanchez consulted his notepad again. “I have it down here that she made the booking.”

“Well, if it’s in your notepad, it must be true.”

Sanchez’s partner made a strangled sound, maybe amusement. Sanchez tucked his notepad back in his pocket. “Let’s go back to the ball. You were seen around nine o’clock stepping behind this screen.” He pulled out a tablet to show what he meant. “Guillermo Sacri saw you step behind there, and he thought it was odd because you never came out. But there’s a door back there, isn’t there? A hidden passage?” He swiped the shot away to show me a blueprint. “You disappeared into the old servants’ quarters, and from there, circled back to the vault.”

I exhaled, relieved. Guillermo hadn’t seen Laura. If he’d mentioned her being with me, Sanchez would’ve pushed that.

“You circled back, didn’t you?”

I sighed. “I went home.”

“Awfully early, wasn’t it?”

“I’d made my rounds.”

“Your brothers both stayed till the end of the night.”

I scowled at him, bored now he’d moved on from Laura. I knew I hadn’t done it. I knew Sanchez didn’t care. All that was left was to get through his questions, a grunt here, a “nope” there, and at some point, he’d finish.

“Are you even listening?” He snapped his fingers.

“Not really,” I said.

“I’m sorry, are we boring you?”

“Frankly, you are.” I yawned rudely, gape-mouthed, right in his face. “I told you, I left the ball by myself. I spent the night at home, again by myself. I only heard of the theft when Father accused me. I can’t tell you anything beyond what I’ve said.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Sanchez said, standing. “Like I said at the start, this was a preliminary interview. If you’d helped us, we might’ve been able to keep this in-house. The minute I walk out of here, that’s off the table.”

I waved him away, too tired for politeness. Sanchez snapped his notepad shut and marched out of the room. His partner trailed after him, having said not one word. I guessed the man wasn’t Treasury at all, maybe police or Interpol. Brought in to supervise. The thought of Sanchez chafing under him made me smile for a moment, but mostly the whole thing just made me sad. Wasn’t this, at the heart of it, a family matter? Why hadn’t Father come, or replied to my texts? I checked my phone one more time: still sitting on read.

“Screw this,” I said, and tossed my phone on my desk. I straightened my jacket and strode out of my suite. My guards fell in behind me, but I held my head up. I marched through the palace, to my father’s wing… only to find myself barred from his rooms. His valet stood frowning, blocking the door, the guards on either side of him stiff, stony-faced.

“Move, Ruiz,” I said, fresh out of patience.

Ruiz bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

“Sorry for what? Tell him I’m here.”

“He knows,” said Ruiz. “He’s not receiving visitors.”

“I’m not a visitor. I’m his damn son!” I bellowed the last words to make sure they’d carry. To make sure Father heard them, wherever he was.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. Maybe write him a letter?”

“A letter?” I laughed. “Did you just say a letter? Would you make your son write to you? Get your valet to bar him?”

Ruiz said nothing, well-trained in discretion. I rolled my eyes at him and started away. Then I remembered my manners and paused, turned back.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “This isn’t your fault. Just tell him from me, this silence is childish. If he has something to say to me, he can come out and say it.”

Ruiz bobbed his head. “I’ll give him the message.”

I’d just reached my suite when my phone pinged. I scrambled it out and nearly dropped to my knees, all the fight going out of me at two lines from Father: Too angry to talk to you at the moment. I don’t want to say something I can’t take back.

I leaned on my doorframe, feeling low, grimy. I’d devoted my whole life to pleasing Father, all but one year. Was there no coming back? Bad enough he didn’t trust me, but to discard me? To refuse to see me or hear my side? How far had I fallen, for it to come to this?

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