Page 39 of Royal Catch
The room goes quiet.
“Is it really his last days?” Phillip asks. “Is that what the doctor said?”
“The doctor says there’s nothing more that can be done,” Gabriel says bluntly. “He’s definitely worse, in more pain, sleeping more, wasting away.” His voice catches, and my own throat tightens in sympathy. He clears his throat. “We need to make arrangements for the future of Villroy. We must be prepared.”
Another long silence as the painful truth sinks in. I’m glad his siblings know. For too long, Gabriel shouldered the burden alone. Now they can comfort each other.
Lucas gestures over to me. “I suppose you’re part of the future arrangements. Gabriel has confided in you. He doesn’t confide in anyone.” That last part comes out bitter. I can’t blame him. It must suck to be left out of something so important.
I shift in my seat, my chest tight because I know I’m not part of Gabriel’s future. “Actually, Francesca is a wonderful candidate. I’ve told Gabriel he should choose her.” My voice cracks, and I cover with a big fat lie. “I wish them both the best.” What I really wish is that Gabriel weren’t the crown prince tied to duty and obligation. I can’t look at him, though I feel his eyes on me.
“It’s not up to Gabriel, though, is it?” Emma asks. “As the heir, he needs approval from the king and queen.”
“They want Francesca too.” I turn to Gabriel. “That’s what you said.”
Gabriel clenches his jaw.
“Hello?” Lucas looks back and forth between Gabriel and me before asking Gabriel, “If the decision has already been made, then why’re we all meeting Polly?” He turns to me. “Not that we don’t want to have dinner with you, but I thought I was supposed to report back—”
“Lucas!” Emma exclaims. “Such rudeness. Polly, we’re all very glad to meet you regardless of the competition. Perhaps we should start with a round of drinks for everyone.” She gestures to a servant.
“Great idea!” I practically shout.
All eyes turn to me.
I circle a finger in the air. “Par-tay.”
Gabriel remains stone-cold serious, but his brothers crack up. Emma’s lips purse, probably because I’m not acting like a proper princess.
It will be such a relief not to have to fake it anymore. But then that would mean no more Gabriel…I stop myself. No. I’m going to enjoy tonight as a guest of the royal family. Period.
Chapter Twelve
Gabriel
By the time we get to dessert, it’s clear Phillip adores Polly. In fact, he’s become so chummy with her and, yes, flirty, I can barely stomach it. Francesca is here, sitting next to Adrian, but mostly talking to Emma. The two women get along well, both of them raised similarly with a sense of propriety and decorum. I can’t believe at one point I actually wanted that in a bride.
Oscar rises from the table. “Anyone want to join me on the roof for drinks?” He’s always up for more partying.
I want Polly to myself, but I can’t make it obvious with Francesca here. I’m about to claim I’m tired when Polly says, “Sure!”
He smiles, crosses to her, and pulls out her chair, playing the gentleman prince. Another of my brothers I’ll have to keep an eye on. They all think I’m meant for Francesca, so Polly is fair game. I’ll be damned if I’m sharing her during our last weekend together.
“A girl after my own heart,” Oscar says. “You’ll love it up there. It’s a private rooftop garden, and the view is spectacular. You can see the whole island.”
“I’ll join you,” Phillip says.
Everyone wants to go except Emma, who returns to her room. She’s strict about her bedtime, keeping to the same hours day in, day out. I don’t judge. She’s the only one of us who’s always well rested and bright-eyed in the morning. Silvia remained with our father, alarmed at the change in him since her last visit six months ago. She lives in the US now with her husband and hadn’t known how poorly our father was doing.
I stand. “I’ll go as well.” I turn to Francesca. “Are you coming?”
“Of course,” she murmurs, her eyes downcast. “If Your Highness would like me there.” She will be an agreeable wife, quiet, modest, refined. Everything that Polly is not.
“It will give us time to get to know each other better.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. I wait while she has a quick conversation with her maid, an older woman who I suspect is her chaperone. She’s been with her for every occasion. Polly leaves with my brothers, giving me a little wave goodbye.
I incline my head, my jaw tight. All I want is to go back to my room with Polly. I’ve become a sex fiend because of her. Every joining is hotter than the one before. She holds nothing back, and I’m always greedy for more. Just thinking about it is getting me hot. I force my thoughts to unpleasant things like tedious charity dinners filled with idle small talk. I shudder. I hate small talk.
Finally, Francesca and her maid seem to have reached the decision that they will both be going to the roof. I lead them through the east wing at a brisk pace and climb the stairs to the flat rooftop garden. It can hold fifty people and is strictly for the royal family. Though Phillip did host a bachelor party for the last disastrous wedding that was here. He did a lot of things he shouldn’t have in the name of launching Villroy as a destination-wedding locale. I should be thankful it was a train wreck, because even he had to admit it was a bad idea.
