Page 30 of Coronation
I should know.
It isn’t a title easily shed, and my father certainly isn’t interested in letting anyone forget it. Owen Flowers might not be a star in the traditional sense, but anyone who wants to be anyone in entertainment will know the president of the largest production company in the United States. This isn’t a man who merely hands out golden keys; he mints them, and ithasn’t just affected my career, but also every relationship I’ve had.
Until now, anyway.
My eyes haven’t even opened, and I’m smiling becauseI met someone. I met someone, and if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that King Benedict of Stelland doesn’t give a damn about who my father is. He doesn’t need anything from Owen Flowers and has no interest in his golden keys.
It’s strange to be so excited, given all the extenuating circumstances I haven’t even begun to process, but Ben’s position doesn’t even feel that insurmountable given my own. We probably have a lot more in common than one would think, and I like him so much more than I should after only a few days.
Last night, though… When we returned to Fernmoor House, the man quite literally swept me off my feet, carrying me upstairs despite my laughing protests. We’d undressed each other, trading deep, searching kisses as our borrowed garments hit the floor. Then, he laid me back and—there’s literally no other word for it—worshipped every inch of my body. It went on and on, until I was shaking and begging, and I almost cried with relief when he finally gave me his cock. It’s laughable that only a few days ago, I was so insecure about my sexuality, when now I can’t get enough.
Still curled beneath the warm sheets and not quite ready to relinquish the last dregs of sleep, I feel myself smile.
I’ve never felt this way before. Ever.
Tomorrow, I’ll have to go back to work, and Ben will have to go do king things. Wyngate, the capital city, is a pretty easy drive, though. It won’t be a big deal if we want to make plans.
I’m still smiling as the prospect of organizing secret dates with a king has me opening my eyes. The bedroom is warm and soaked with sunlight from the window beside the bed, and I roll over, staring at the rumpled sheets beside me whereBen slept. He isn’t there now, but even when a quick glance toward the bathroom door confirms the space is dark and empty, I’m not concerned.
Yawning, I roll over, my toes finding the old wood floor before I straighten up, stretching. I washed my blue dress in the sink last night, but I ignore it, picking up Ben’s white undershirt, which he left for me on the dresser. I can’t resist dragging the neckline over my nose once it’s on, inhaling the heady, masculine scent of his skin as I start down the hall.
The house is perfectly quiet as I pad down the stairs, humming quietly to myself. Last night, Ben mentioned having some food brought in so we wouldn’t have to brave the pub again, and I’m betting I’ll find him in the kitchen sorting breakfast. When I enter the room, however, I find it empty.
My smile slips. “Ben?” I call, turning back toward the hall that leads out the back of the house. We explored the house thoroughly yesterday and discovered there’s a beautiful, if horribly overgrown, garden out there. I poke my head out the back door, surveying the terrace, and find it quite devoid of stern-faced kings. “Ben!” I call again when I step back inside, a little louder now.
He wouldn’t have left, would he?
I dismiss the thought immediately. Of course he wouldn’t have left. There’s no way. The man spooned me to sleep, gently murmuring ideas for how we could spend the day today and kissing my bare shoulder.
Whereis he, though?
I stop in the foyer, staring around at all the halls and rooms that branch off from it. “Ben!” I yell, and my voice echoes off the high, wood-paneled walls as I turn slowly on the spot, straining my hearing for a response that never comes.
My heart is beating faster now, and my limbs are oddly stiff as my gaze finds the front doors. I lurch forward. The old metal handle is difficult to maneuver. Thus far, Benhas dealt with the thing while I stood back, and I grit my teeth as I bear down on it until it gives way. When I get the door open, however, I wish it hadn’t.
A black SUV, just like the one we arrived in, is parked ten yards from where I’m standing. A man in a dark suit is standing beside it, his hands folded formally in front of himself, and when he sees me, he quickly averts his eyes.
“Oh!” I take a step back, crossing my arms in front of my chest, very conscious of the fact I’m dressed in nothing but a men’s T-shirt. “Um. Hello?”
“Hello, Miss Flowers.” That’s all he gives me.
Bordering on hysterical now, I look back and forth along the front of the house, as if I’m expecting Ben to pop out of the woods. When there’s no other choice but to look back at the unknown man, I feel my bottom lip tremble. “Is Ben–King Benedict here?”
Still staring at a point above my right shoulder, the man shakes his head, a hint of pity in his expression now. “No, Miss Flowers. He left several hours ago. I’m here to bring you home.”
Ifeelthe words as he says them. One after another, they seem to hit me like physical blows, leaving me no choice but to accept the devastating reality that any other person probably would have assumed a lot faster than I did.
He left.
He left without saying goodbye or leaving a note. He doesn’t want to see me again, and I… I amso, so stupid.
“Of course,” I manage, my words a ragged whisper as I take a step back. “I’ll just get my things.”
“Please take your time, miss.”
That is the last thing I want to do. I don’t want to linger in this place even one second longer than I have to, and if it didn’t mean facing the hotel lobby dressed in only the king’s discarded T-shirt, I wouldn’t bother.
He left.
