Page 13 of Once Upon a Royal Billionaire

“Not anymore.” Rhett stepped closer. “I don’t know anything except that I am never letting that happen again.”

“Friends?” Her eyes were filled with hope, so he hid his own disappointment that she wasn’t interested in anything more.

“Friends.”

He tugged at the front of her shirt and pulled her closer. She stepped into his arms, her softness pressed up against him. As his arms circled her back and his chin rested on the top of her head, he realized again how precious she was. Her strength was a cover for the tender, sincere woman he’d known almost all his life. As he hugged her, his protective instincts kicked in and he wanted nothing more than to shelter her for as long as she would let him. “Come live here.”

“What!” She stepped away. “No.”

“I just meant…”

“Look, Rhett, you can’t think this friendship is going anywhere. We’re friends, that’s it.”

“You don’t need to be blunt. I get it.” Hurt shattered him. He tried to bury it, but he could feel the resentment building anyway.

“Rhett, I came here for two weeks, on business. I’m happy to see you—”

“But I’m not the reason you’re here.”

“Right.” She reached a hand out to rest on his arm. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy to mend things, to be friends again.”

“I’m just saying I think you might be happier here.”

“With you?”

“Yes—no. Yes, with me, your best friend—with all your friends. This isn’t a marriage proposal, don’t flatter yourself.” The words came out before he could bite his tongue.

“Believe me, I’m not.” She stepped away. “I don’t need you that way, Rhett. I need investors. Come to my meeting. Support my efforts. That’s what you can do for me. Otherwise…leave me alone.” Her face was pinched in pain and she turned away.

“Emily, don’t.”

She paused. Then shook her head. “We’re fine. We’re friends. That’s the best place to leave this.”

“Understood.”

She nodded and turned from him.

The next few hours, alone in his office, passed slowly. And no matter how many scenarios he reviewed in his mind, he couldn’t come to one that didn’t end in the same disastrous way. He and Emily had never been able to successfully be anything but friends. So, friends it would be. If that was the only way he could be close to her, he would be happy—he thought about Brooks and gritted his teeth—even if he would once again have to watch while she married another.

6

Emily knew she should be reviewing the pitch she was about to give to a room full of some of the wealthiest people in the world, but instead she was scrolling through old photos. Albums of her and Rhett and the guys when they were all young. She zoomed in on their earliest photo—it was the earliest one she had because that was the year she got her first camera phone. They were sitting on towels and holding lime popsicles, and their skin was as brown as she had ever been. Sun-kissed in every way, she’d fit in with most of the Mediterranean royals in color and in the careless recklessness of youth, particularly youth with unrestricted wealth.

They held up their treats, Rhett’s impish smile making her laugh even now, so many years later. Right before the photo was taken, they had thrown their towels over the proof of their prank on the royal house of Torren. They were sitting on cans of shaving cream and rolls of toilet paper, bumpy and uncomfortable under their backsides.

She went through the images, and she saw in her and Rhett’s faces the moment when they started to feel differently for each other. His spark was more protective, hers more self-conscious. And then the picture she should have buried long ago. Someone had caught a snap of her watching him give a speech. Her face said it all, adoration in every feature. She remembered clearly the day he had addressed his nation about the deep environmental problems facing the Mediterranean and how proud of him she was. He’d even used some of her words. They’d agonized over the phrasing before it went through PR. She sighed.

There weren’t many images after that one. Their phones had been replaced by assistants and extremely busy schedules as they finished up doctoral programs and began their responsibilities as adults.

She whipped through some of the press shots she’d saved in the early days when she’d missed him like crazy and he’d seemed too busy to care. There weren’t many the next year. And she knew what filled that hole—pictures of her and Jackson. She kept scrolling through the remaining images she’d not deleted from that terrible time in her life, and then stopped on one she’d never seen before. At least she didn’t remember it being there. Her wedding. But this photo was of Rhett. He’d been there—a lot of the guys had come—and someone had taken a shot of him watching Emily and Jackson dancing.

Emily zoomed in on his face and then looked away, clutching her heart. Her face squinched in pain. She looked again, the lines of sorrow on Rhett’s face breaking her heart. He’d thought himself unobserved in a quiet corner, and the pain was obvious as he watched the dance that they both thought would separate them forever. She ran a finger over his face, and the image shifted under her touch. “I’m sorry, Rhett.”

“What did you do now?”

She sucked in her breath and wiped her eyes. Brooks stood in the doorway.

“Brooks?”

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