Page 88 of Reveal Me
She picks up her tea without taking her eyes from me. ‘And tell me, what exactly is that establishment beneath the ground on the edge of Mr Beckett’s estate?’
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
‘Mother, I…’ I’d rehearsed this speech in my head a hundred times.
‘Don’t say another word.’ Her stare could level Westminster Abbey. ‘It’s finished. Over. To say I’m disgusted with you is an understatement. You’ve disgraced yourself, and this family. Yet I’ve managed to salvage your situation. You can thank me later.’
I open my mouth, but she raises her hand to silence me.
‘You will marry Lord Ashworth in September. Your engagement will be announced next week, along with a picture of you together at the Hunt Ball.’
My stomach bottoms out. She can’t be serious. ‘And if I refuse?’
‘Refuse, and you will have nothing. Be nothing.’
Chapter Forty
SEAN
Forty-eight hours. That’s how long it’s been since I watched the royal jet disappear into the Dublin night sky, taking Layla with it. Forty-eight hours of pacing the penthouse of Beckett’s Bliss in Westminster like a caged animal. Forty-eight hours of making calls that go nowhere. Forty-eight hours of feeling more powerless than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.
I’ve never felt as sick as I did standing behind that chain-link perimeter fence at Dublin’s private airfield, watching her vanish into the night.
Ben pulled every string he could—called in favours at air traffic control, customs, even tried to get Anderson and his team closer to the hangar. But the airspace had been locked down without warning. Armed guards turned us back before we even got within a quarter mile.
I flew to London immediately, Ben and Anderson insisted on travelling with me. I lied to my brothers. Told them I’m here looking at property—but the only property I’m actually looking at is Westminster Abbey. The whole of London is mad with excitement about the upcoming wedding ofPrincess Sabrina this weekend. I’ll be excited when it’s over. Maybe then Layla will find a way to contact me.
We set up camp in the penthouse overlooking where the wedding will take place. In twenty-four hours, Layla will be inside that building. And I will be as close to it as life physically permits.
I’m at my wit’s end, pacing the penthouse like a caged animal. Every fibre in my body is begging me to storm the gates of Wyndham Palace, but I’m not that stupid. We’d be gunned down without hesitation; the whole thing spun as a break-in or ‘security incident.’
Ben hunches over his laptop, pulling up architectural blueprints of Wyndham Palace. Anderson spreads security schematics across the dining table. We’ve been looking for any way to get a message to her, any possible sighting, any proof she’s even still in there.
‘Anything?’ I ask, though I already know the answer from their expressions.
‘Palace security’s been doubled,’ Anderson reports grimly. ‘No one in, no one out. Even the usual staff rotations have been suspended. No one’s seen her since she arrived two days ago.’
‘So we don’t even know if she’s definitely there?’ I rake my fingers over my scalp. I’m physically and mentally exhausted trying to figure out a way to get her back in my arms. And when I do, I’m never letting her out of my sight again.
‘She’s there,’ Ben glances up from his laptop. ‘My contact saw the car arrive, but that’s it. No movement since. No appearances at windows, no garden walks, nothing.’
‘And legally? How are they doing this? It has to be unlawful imprisonment.’ I turn to Anderson.
‘My best guess?’ Anderson’s voice is bitter. ‘They’re probably invoking some sort of protective custody provisions. I’ve been reading up on royal protocols—there are archaic lawsthat theoretically allow the Crown to restrict movement of any family member if there’s a perceived threat to their safety or the monarchy’s reputation.’
‘The perceived threat being me.’ I have no idea how much Layla’s family know about our relationship, but given the way her phone has been disconnected, there’s no way she’s just been whisked away for her sister’s wedding.
‘Exactly. And if that’s what they’re doing, it’s totally immoral—but completely legal. They could hold her indefinitely until the threat is eliminated.’
I scrub my hands over the stubble lining my jaw. In my world, problems have solutions. Money opens doors. Power creates opportunities. But the monarchy operates by different rules—rules that have been refined over centuries to protect itself from people exactly like me.
I stare out at the Gothic spires in the distance, watching the morning sun catch the ancient stonework of Westminster Abbey. The Thames flows past like liquid silver, and London sprawls endlessly in all directions—millions of people getting on with their lives, boarding red buses, hurrying to work, completely oblivious to the fact that my world has collapsed. Street vendors are already setting up along the barriers for tomorrow’s crowds, anticipating the celebration. Everyone else is excited about a royal wedding while I’m dying inside. ‘Tomorrow is my only chance to see her.’
Anderson frowns. ‘Sean, what’s the plan here exactly?’
‘There is no plan.’ The admission tastes like ash in my mouth. ‘I just need to be where she is, see she’s okay with my own eyes, even if I can’t reach her.’
‘The security will be massive,’ Ben warns. ‘Armed police, military presence, counter-surveillance teams.’
