Page 87 of Reveal Me
Does he even care?
Does anyone?
‘The Rose Suite has been prepared for you, Your Highness,’ Edmund stops before gilded double doors. Grant and Toby take position either side as I walk wearily inside. I feel like a naughty schoolgirl being sent to her room after misbehaving. The Rose Suite is as opulent as I remember. Silk wallpaper in pale pink, antique furniture, and a huge four-poster bed laden with plump, plush looking pillows.
‘Would you care for some tea, Your Highness?’ Edmund hovers at the door.
‘No, thank you.’
He nods his goodbye and closes the door with a soft click. I don’t bother changing out of my clothes. What little energy I have left, I’m saving for my mother tomorrow. No doubt I’m going to need it. I kick off my shoes and collapse onto the silk bedspread.
Every night for weeks, I’ve fallen asleep in Sean’s arms, his steady heartbeat beneath my ear, his fingers tangled in my hair. Tonight, the massive bed feels like an ocean of emptiness.
I pull a pillow against my chest, trying to recreate the feeling of being held, but it’s useless. Nothing can replace the warmth of his body, the safety of his presence, the certainty that I belong somewhere.
I’ve never felt more alone in my life.
After a night tossing and turning—staring at the intricate patterns on the ceiling, I take a long hot shower, then unzip the overnight bag I hastily packed yesterday. It feels like a lifetime ago. I reach for the grey formal dress and jacket set, folded neatly beside a set of equally conservative lingerie, and roll my eyes. Something sparkling catches my eye from the bottom of the bag. My collar. I have no idea what possessed me to grab it, but something did. I snatch it up, fingering the diamonds. It’s cold and heavy, but the weight of it in my hands is familiar. Simply holding it makes me feel closer to Sean. I allow myself the luxury of a little wallowing before stashing it back at the bottom of the bag for safe keeping, then get dressed and apply a little make-up. No amount of concealer could hide the bags under my eyes this morning, but I apply some anyway.
Two unfamiliar security staff are outside my bedroom door when I open it. It’s like being in prison.
‘Your Highness.’ They greet me with a curt nod.
‘Am I allowed to go for breakfast or am I restricted to my room by order of the crown?’ My sarcasm is lost on them. They fall into step behind me as I stride down the wide, bright corridors to the main dining area.
My mother is already at the table, immaculate in a cream silk blouse and navy blazer, her signature pearls catching the morning light. Her silver hair is swept into a perfect chignon,not a strand out of place. She doesn’t even glance up as I enter.
‘Leave us,’ she says to the housemaid pouring her tea. The girl scurries away. My security detail step outside too, closing the door behind them. It’s hilarious really, she’s probably the one person I need protecting from the most. When she finally meets my eye, the look she gives me is positively lethal.
‘Sit.’ It’s not a request.
I take the seat to her right. ‘Mother.’ I greet her with as much warmth as I can muster, which isn’t a lot given she had me kidnapped.
‘Welcome back.’ Sarcasm drips from her tongue.
‘It was rather a rushed departure. May I ask what the urgency is about?’ I reach for the teapot and pour into the fine china cup set in front of me.
‘Your sister is pregnant.’
‘Congratulations. I’m sure Patricia will make an excellent mother.’ She will do—if she parents completely the opposite way to how we were parented.
‘Not Patricia.’ Her tone radiates disapproval. ‘Sabrina.’
‘I see.’ My shoulders relax a fraction. Is it possible the Queen has no idea about Sean? About Reveal? About my intention to step down. ‘Who is the father?’
‘Prince Harald, of course. She’s been stupid, but she’s notthatstupid.’ She gives me a pointed stare.
Good for Sabrina. At least if she’s pregnant, that means she’s willingly having sex with her suitor. I hope he’s better in bed than Patricia’s husband. Either way, he clearly gets the job done. Imagine, sneaking around with her own husband to be is a scandal. Seriously—this monarchy is so outdated.
My mother sets down her teacup with deliberate care. ‘We’ve decided to bring the wedding forward.’
‘Why?’ Moving the wedding is a huge ordeal. Caterers,florists, even the dress. Sabrina couldn’t have a bump already, could she?
‘Because relations are already tense with the Norwegians. If they decide to break off the engagement in the next six weeks, your sister will be ruined. Not to mention it won’t take a genius to work out that when the baby is born, Sabrina will only have been married for six months. I refuse to haveanotherdaughter shrouded in scandal.’ She looks at me pointedly, tapping her fingers on the white starched tablecloth.
‘You look tired, Layla.’ Her tone is ice cold. ‘Sneaking a man into your room every night is clearly exhausting.’ Her narrow eyes exude disgust.
I wince internally, but outwardly hold my composure. A hard hit of adrenaline courses through my bloodstream.
