Page 6 of Royal Deception
Racing upstairs to my loft bedroom, I shut the door behind me like it can block out the world—Kate’s world. This room is the only space that feels like mine, still untouched by her overwhelming presence.
Lace curtains frame the window, and beneath them, a loveseat with overstuffed pink cushions invites me to sink into its softness. My bed—pink and white, somewhat girlish but in a sweet, understated way—feels like the only thing that hasn’t been tainted.
I place my sketchbook on the desk in the corner, the one I found at a flea market last year and painstakingly painted cream to match the rest of the room. It’s not much, but it’s mine.
Slipping into the familiar rhythm, I sketch the outline of a lithe model, focusing on angular lines and a rough silhouette. Slowly, I begin to bring the image to life, my pencil dancing across the page as I trace a sweeping skirt, a structured bodice, and a flowing sleeve.
I’m nearly done with the sketch when sharp footfalls come up the stairs, too fast and too heavy to be anyone but her. My heart lurches in my chest. I slam the book shut and shove it under the computer stand, the familiar panic rising in my throat.
Kate barges into the room, her sour expression already telling me she’s not here for a pleasant chat. Her platinum-blonde hair is styled in a perfect coif, and her pale beige sheath dress contrasts sharply with the dark brown, smoky eye makeup she’s sporting.
“What in the world are you doing up here?” she demands, her tone sharp and impatient. “Dinner isn’t ready, and the house is a mess! You know you’re supposed to take care of these things if you’re going to live here. Honestly, you’re damned lucky I let you stay.” She shakes her head in disgust.
Her eyes scan the room, and of course, they land on the desk. The sketchbook.
I stiffen as she strides over and grabs it from beneath the computer stand. “What’s this?” she asks, arching one pale blonde eyebrow. She flips through the pages, a smirk spreading across her lips.
“Oh, my God, this is hilarious, Clara,” she sneers, amusement dancing in her eyes. “You’re still trying to do that fashion design bullshit?”
I swallow, my throat tight. I want to retort, to tell her she’s wrong, but the words die in my chest.
“You'd better not expect me to pay for you to go to fashion school,” she continues, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she stops on my latest design. “Then again, I won’t even have to worry about it. With designs like these, there’s no way in hell you have a shot.”
The words land like blows. She drops the book on the desk, and I flinch. As she heads out, laughing to herself all the way down the stairs, I feel the sting of her words settling deep within me.
Once the house is silent, I open the sketchbook to the design she mocked and stare at it for a moment before tearing the page out and crumpling it in my hands. I throw it into the bin, the paper landing with a small, final thud. Then I shove the book under my bed, my throat tight as tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
Her words keep echoing in my head. She’s the most fashionable person I know, even if her decorating style is a nightmare. If anyone knows fashion, it’s Kate, so hearing her belittle my designs only plants seeds of doubt in my mind.
Later, when the house is quiet and Kate has gone to bed, I creep back to my room. I pull the sketchbook from beneath the bed, the pages a little crumpled from my earlier frustration. I flip through them carefully, trying to ignore the faint sting of her words.
I always let Kate taunt me, always let her get in my head. But not tonight. I know I’m good enough. I know I have what it takes. I won’t let her crush me anymore.
I pull out my phone, open the website for the yoga class flier, and start typing in the registration page. This is it. I’m signing up. I’m going to take control of my life.
3
RORY
Iarrive at Kellan’s precisely at six, buoyed by the meeting I’d had with Senator Burns the other day. Walking inside, the aroma of herb-crusted lamb hits me first, rich and seasoned with rosemary and thyme, mingling with the faint, buttery scent of roasted vegetables.
Strolling into the sitting room, I glance over to see Liam lounging on the couch, a scowl on his face as he texts furiously with someone. Lucky is entertaining Rose, who is regaling him with tales from her preschool while Alannah walks around holding Patrick, bouncing him on her hip.
“Rory’s here!” I hear Darcy’s voice from the kitchen, and I step inside, kissing her on the cheek as I hand her a bottle of Château Margaux Merlot.
“Thank you,” she says, a warm smile on her face. “Dinner is almost ready. Kellan is in his study if you want to go get him.”
With a nod, I head across the living room for the hallway, stopping short in front of his office door. I give it a sharp rap, and when he calls for me to come in, I step inside and shut the door.
“I was told to fetch you,” I say, leaning against the door.
“Just tinkering with a few ideas on some expansions,” Kellan says, the clattering of keys punctuating his words. “I want to get ahead of things. You seem to be worried about a Russian retaliation so I’m trying to be proactive.”
“Funny story about that,” I say, quirking a half-smile. “Truth be told, I have some business to discuss along those lines at dinner.”
“What is it?” Kellan asks, finally looking up.
“I want to wait until we can all talk about it,” I say, shrugging. “Let’s go get some of that tasty-smelling lamb I got a whiff of on the way in.”
