Page 104 of The Prince of New York

I leaned over and pointed at the relevant section, which was written rather plainly for a legal document. “My sister likes you and wants you to be her sister.”

Madelyn stared at the section, and her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “You’re serious.”

“My sister pulled something very similar to keep Ethan as hers, so I’m not surprised she made that arrangement. It prevents what happened to Ethan from happening to me, and you have the freedom to accept or decline any proposals from me. In New York, if the plague of politicians and the ruling monarch make a declaration like this, the named people are barred from engaging in matrimony with anyone other than on the list. That protects you from your ex. As my sister is sensible, there is a time limit on it. Mostly, this was the one way she had available to protect you from your ex. And should I be asked, I will absolutely be supportive of that document. I actually like you.”

Technically, I lied. I loved everything about her, but I didn’t want to scare her off.

Her eyes widened further, and she stared at me. “You like me?”

Hope was a dangerous thing, and I wondered if we might be able to turn scraps of it into something lasting. “You have always treated me like I’m a living, breathing person. I like everything about you, even when you’re grilling me over the various ways the planet attempts to kill us off. But really, Madelyn? Methane death clouds from cows? Of all the ways to die, you wanted to learn about that?”

“That motherfucker wanted to take us to one of the farms with the manure pits, probably to get my life insurance policy.”

I scowled and stared at California’s queen. “Are you sure I can’t punch him before I kill him?”

“I’m sure, baby boy. I’m sorry. I’d be happy to marry you off to your little lady, but you’re going to have to accept that you’re not going to be punching that abusive bastard. There’s a long line for a chance at him, and due to heroism, you are at the end of the line. The only person behind you is Madelyn, and if she had the talent and the physical skills to do so, she probably would have killed him already.”

“He was smart enough to keep the kitchen knives locked up, else I would have taken him out with extreme prejudice,” she confessed. “He’s just smart enough to be dangerous.”

And like most other abusers, he couldn’t tolerate the thought of losing his victim. “Come on, Mom. Let me punch him in the face.”

“There will be no punching of our victim. We will, from a safe distance, inform him and that reporter that he is an abusing nitwit, that we have verified evidence of abuse, and that his choice to violate his restraining order could result in his execution. And once the reporter figures out he’s been duped, the bastard dies, and we’ll be fighting over the body. I’ve heard enough; he will not be leaving my kingdom in anything other than a body bag. Men like this bastard never change, they never will change, but in this case, justicewillbe served. It will just be served in a way that better protects everyone. If he is allowed to run free, he will pick a new victim—and only after he’s done everything he can to erase his previous victim. Or victims—and we just don’t know if he has any previous victims.”

“Ask the insurance companies,” Madelyn suggested. “Before he showed his true colors, he had me set up an insurance policy. I’m worth three million to that bastard dead.”

“As you’re priceless to me alive, I’ll deal with any fines or penalties earned when I punch the bastard in the face.” I glared at the Californian monarchs. “If you don’t want me punching him, you’ll just have to get to him first. We can explain shit to the reporter afterwards. A corpse can’t surprise us.”

Ethan’s father shrugged. “The boy makes a good point. I’m sure if Will explains, in no uncertain terms, that the bastard violated a restraining order and attempted to use a reporter to access the palace… actually, I need all press badges revoked for the next twenty-four hours, and please escort all reporters within the palace grounds off for the rest of the night—and give them the dirt on what’s going on. Just leave out the part about us committing premeditated murder. Arrange for a hotel for the visiting ones, as it’s no fault of theirs they’re being displaced for the night.”

Several of the Californian RPS agents left the dining room to do the king’s bidding.

“That’s one way to do it,” Rachel replied, and she smiled. “So, Madelyn. Are you the impulsive kind or would you like my brother to wine and dine you, lose you in rose gardens, and otherwise drive us all mad over the course of several years before hopefully taking pity on him? You’ll have some problems with him, of course. If youwanthim to get rough with you, you’re going to have to be convincing and teach him. He comes bundled with a bunch of pets now that he’s figured out he can, in actuality, have them. You’re going to have to peel him out of his junkyard, as he has this infuriating belief that he has to earn his fiscal keep. He does need to be taken to museums at least once a month or he is overwhelmed with sadness.”

Was my sister helping my cause or ruining my chances? I couldn’t tell. “I am not overwhelmed with sadness.”

“You sulk.”

I scowled. “I do not sulk.”

“You brood, like a chicken trying to incubate eggs, all sorts of grouchy and ready and willing to fluff your feathers. Also, there is absolutely nothing sexy about brooding. If you want to be sexy when sulking, you need to flounce more and be less grouchy,” my sister informed me in a rather solemn tone. “You are attempting to win a date, so you must flounce and be sexy rather than brood and irritate everyone around you.”

Somehow, my life had become a living hell, and my sister was determined to shove me to the edge and then push me over. “This is revenge for getting shot, isn’t it?”

“It is, but you’re slow and clueless. I only needed to be toldoncethat I could make off with my Californian before I took advantage of it. Do I need to beat you with the papers for you to get the hint?”

“Madelyn does have a say in this.”

“Ian, this is a woman who threatened to tear an RPS agent’s balls off if he thought he was going to be stopping her from being your sitter for this bout of fever.”

Madelyn’s face flushed. “I’m so sorry, Terry.”

I raised a brow. “When did I miss that?”

“You were in the bathroom,” Terry informed me, and he grinned at Madelyn. “I had been attempting to give her a chance to have a restful night. In good news, I was not gelded for my idea, although I endured five minutes of her contemplating how best she might dismantle me for evensuggestingshe leave you for longer than mandatory visits to the washroom or short ventures to retrieve art supplies.”

Madelyn’s expression turned rather worried. “If things do not work out, is divorce an option?”

Somehow, I kept from wincing at the question, which was a good one despite my dislike of the idea of losing the woman I’d admired for so long.

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