Page 91 of Reveal Me
My fingers tighten around the stem of the champagne flute. ‘Let me make something crystal clear, Lord Ashworth. There is no arrangement. There is no engagement. And there never will be.’
His face pales, then turns a similar shade to his hair. ‘But your mother said?—’
‘My mother says a lot of things. Most of them are nonsense.’
The words come out sharper than I intended and carry further than I intended. Conversations around us falter. Heads turn. I feel the weight of a dozen stares, the sudden hush that falls over our section of the ballroom.
Lord Ashworth looks like he’s been slapped. ‘Your Highness.’ His voice drops to an urgent whisper. ‘People are watching. Perhaps we should discuss this privately?—’
So he can put his hands on me again?
I don’t think so.
‘There’s nothing to discuss.’ I smile at him, but it feels more like a grimace. ‘Enjoy the rest of the reception, Lord Ashworth. I certainly will.’
I turn on my heel and walk away, leaving him standing there like the fool he is. The conversations around us resume. Across the ballroom, my mother’s eyes find mine. Even from here, I can see the fury radiating from her. She knows exactly what just happened. She knows I’ve just declared war. She can sense the shift in the air, the way all predators always can.
I drift towards the French doors leading to the gardens with my security close at my back. The lights of St. James’s Park twinkle in the distance, and it hits me like a bolt of electricity that if Sean is anywhere near here, that’s where he’ll be. I don’t know how I know, but I know it better than I know my own name.
The urge to run to him eats me alive, but I bide my time. I’ve come this far. Finally, Sabrina and Harald make their excuses and retire for the night. My sister’s big day is officially over. My mother doesn’t hesitate. It’s time for the second difficult conversation of the night. She stalks towards me with her royal purple ensemble sashaying behind her. Her pearls gleam like armour as she approaches me. Her razor-sharp smile might fool our guests, but never me.
‘Enjoying yourself, darling?’ Her voice drips with disdain.
‘Immensely, Mother.’ The air between us crackles with the kind of heavy atmosphere that lingers before a violent thunderstorm.
‘That was quite a performance with Lord Ashworth,’ she says quietly, as the music plays on around us. Her eyes narrow. ‘If you refuse him, if you embarrass this family in any way whatsoever, I will cut you off quicker than a Royal Decree.’
I meet her gaze steadily, feeling something cold and dangerous settle in my chest. ‘Do it.’
‘You will have nothing more than the clothes on your back.’ Colour flushes her neck as she battles to keep her composure. ‘Nowhere to live. Not a penny to your name.’
That’s where she’s wrong. I’ll have more than I’ve ever had in my life. And I’m not talking about the paintings or the money they’ll provide.
I’m talking about freedom. About happiness. About love.
‘You think that Beckett boy will want you when you have nothing? When you are nothing? Pah.’ She swats a hand in front of her face.
‘I know he will.’ I drain the rest of my champagne and place it on the table beside us. ‘I’m leaving. Right now. And if you try and stop me, I will make a scene in front of every single one of your precious guests. I will shout it from the goddam rooftop that you are trying to keep me a prisoner here.’
‘Fool.’ She shakes her head. Disgust radiates from her every pore, but she doesn’t stop me when I step out into the palace gardens, and into the cool starlit night.
Chapter Forty-Two
SEAN
I’ve been wandering around these grounds for hours, like a man possessed. St. James’s Park, the place Layla used to escape to, should be peaceful at this hour of the night with its manicured lawns and ornamental lake, but it’s hollow and empty, just like me. Anyone with half a brain has gone to bed. Probably because they’ve got someone to go to bed with.
I can’t sit still, can’t think straight, can’t do anything but pace between the trees and stare at the palace gates across the road.
She’s in there, somewhere, behind those imposing walls and endless windows, and I’m out here going slowly insane. But she’s still mine. Hope sparks in my chest every time I remember the princess’s televised arrival at Westminster. The kiss she blew.
It’s just a matter of time.
I need to be patient.
I need to trust she’s got this. I need to trust her. Trust what we have.
It’s just so fucking hard having absolutely zero control of any of it.
