Page 79 of Resisting Royal

CHAPTER 39

ROYAL

I was just putting on my coat, preparing to leave the office when I got a call from Troy telling me to meet him at the pier on Twenty-Fifth street. I agreed, grudgingly, even though I would rather be home with Bianca.

I found him on the pier twenty minutes later, staring out at the water. I approached him lazily, knowing that whatever reason he had me here could never be a good one. I just prayed it was nothing linked to me.

I stood next to him, watching the scene across the water unfold. “What do you have for me?”

“It isn’t ours if that’s what you think. I’m smarter than that.”

Shit, I would hope he was smarter than that, I paid him enough. “So, why am I here? I’m just about to head home. Maybe pop some popcorn and watch a movie with Bianca.”

He turned to face me, a spark of sadness in his eyes. “You might want to hold off, at least for a little while.” I tilted my head in question, and he answered automatically. “It’s not official, but word is they found Frank’s wallet in the body’s pocket.”

I reeled back, suddenly feeling my knees go weak. I scraped my hands over my face. “Shit. How reliable is your source?”

“PD,” he confirmed, only solidifying the sinking feeling.

“How soon before you know for sure?” Who was I even kidding? He knew. I knew. There was no disputing the fact that a body washing ashore with Frank’s wallet in the pocket after he had been missing, could mean anything but a confirmed identity.

“Within the hour. But Royal?” He swallowed hard, “Chances are, they are going to come after you. It’s no secret that everyone suspects your certain activities. But the father of your wife? That’s more suspicion than they can turn their heads from.”

I took a deep breath, trying to absorb the irony in getting put in the slammer for a crime I didn’t commit—for once. “We’ll work through it. We always do.”

He nodded. “Just be careful and think wisely.”

I turned and leaned against the rail. “I need to tell Bianca.”

“I agree. Best of luck to you.”

I left him with a promise to talk later tonight and keep him posted, then I got back in my car to break the news to my wife. Shit, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. Hell, I would have given anything to not be the bearer of bad news, but to let someone else tell her would make me a coward.

I might have driven an extra block or two before parking in my driveway. After getting out of my car, I trudged up the steps slowly, trying to prolong the inevitable. I was weak. But, we were doing so well together that the thought of breaking her this soon into our marriage ripped my heart in two.

She was sitting at the table when I walked through the kitchen door. A smile beamed toward me as she stood to remove the foil from the loaf pan sitting in front of her. I swallowed, trying to work past the sand grinding down my throat. “I’m sorry I’m late. Last-minute business.”

Loosening my tie, I sat across from her. “I hope you like meatloaf.”

I did not, in fact, like meatloaf. But, now wasn’t that time for that piece of information. “I love meatloaf.”

“Good. It’s a special recipe my dad used to make. Well, on the few occasions he cooked that wasn’t from a box or frozen meal.”

Her words felt like a knife twisting in my heart. Fuck me. I couldn’t tell her now. So I waited, and I suffered through the admittedly delicious meatloaf. Swallowing the mashed potatoes like I couldn’t get enough and forcing the green beans down my throat like it was the best food I’d ever let past my lips.

My pocket buzzed, and I slyly removed the phone and peeked at the message. Confirmed.

Shit. I suspected it. I took a deep breath. “Bianca. We need to talk.”

She paused from scraping the leftovers into a container, fear causing tension in her posture at my tone. “What’s happened? Is it me?”

My chest tightened. “God, no. It is never you, Bianca.”

I stood close to her, unsure if I should pull her in my arms and tell her or just lay it all out there. Ultimately, she deserved to look me in the eyes when I delivered the news that would, for sure, devastate her. “It’s Frank.”

She dropped the spoon in her hand, it clinked hard against the granite. “Is—is he alright?”

“When was the last time you talked to him?” I asked, hoping it was recently, wishing she had a few last words with him before he passed.

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