Page 87 of Rulebreaker
She’d tried to tell me.
And–
Royal’s phone buzzes and he snags it from the cubby on the bench, staring down at the screen.
“Lily is a good person,” Banks says. “We all know that”—the guys nod their agreement, though Royal’s is distracted, since he’s still focused on his cell—“but her not telling you aside, you’re missing the important part of this.”
I freeze, that horror filling my insides as I rasp out, “What part?”
“She was eighteen when they met, man. Twenty when they married. And he was fifty-eight and sixty.” Disgust on his face. “Of age or not, there was no way she could truly consent to that, could truly be an equal party in the relationship, not when he held her career in the palm of his old ass hand.”
Fuck.Fuck.
He’s right.
And I didn’t let her explain, didn’t stick by her side and figure out how to help her out of what had to be a messy situation–prenups and royalty rights, the fucking age gap between them…
I just told her to go.
To go back tohim.
To the man who took advantage of her, manipulated her, who might have?—
“I need to go,” I say, standing up, shoving away Banks’s hand when he goes to grab me again.
“I’m glad you’re getting it, but you need—” he begins.
“No,” Royal interrupts, gaze lifting from his phone’s screen, his eyes locking with mine, the expression in the blue depths making my inside twist. “He really does need to go.”
THIRTY
Lily
“I have an appointment with Lily.”
Harrison’s voice echoes through the house and I sigh, staring down at my third cup of coffee.
He doesn’t have an appointment–I won’t even take his calls, much less allow him into the house.
But he’s been trying to get to me for two days. I’ve managed to dodge his calls and told Stan’s staff that I’m not accepting visitors–anyvisitors, no matter who it is. Not even the man who recently shredded my heart. Not that he’s reached out, the bastard.
I try not to think about Atlas. It just makes me want to cry and I’ve already done far too much of that. Between losing Stan minutes after I arrived and the circus now surrounding my life, I just want to run far away from everyone and everything.
If I can get through the funeral, it’ll be okay. Then I can escape to my own home, and eventually get back on tour.
Unfortunately, the details of both the funeral and thepostponed dates of the tour are making me crazy. Both events have caused a media frenzy and though my PR team has assured me they’re on top of it, I know it’s bad. I just can’t bring myself to look. To dig into what strangers think they know about me.
The only person I’ve spoken to is Sandy. She didn’t call–she just showed up and gave me a shoulder to cry on. That’s the kind of friend she is.
She was here all day yesterday, metaphorically holding my hand as I attempted to navigate the will, the prenup, the details of our separation, the staff, the funeral arrangements, and even–
“There you are.” Harrison’s nasally voice grates on my nerves as he stomps into the room.
“What do you want, Harrison?” I ask without looking up.
“There are details to attend to.”
“And I’m attending to them.”
