Page 54 of Royal Darling
Jackson has been a little jumpy during our travels today back to my home. I’m nervous too. I checked in at home about Jackson joining us for Christmas after I invited him. Anna was fine with it, but when I followed up a couple of days later asking how the rest of the family was taking it, she said, “I’m the queen and I say it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
I worry.
I don’t want a rift between me and my family. I love them, and I love him.
I take a seat in the small dining area of the main cabin, where Jackson is nursing a beer before sunset. “Are you okay?”
He stares out the window. “Yeah.”
I search my mind for something to reassure him about spending time with my family and come up empty. I don’t know if it will go well, so it seems wrong to assure him it will. I tell myself to focus on the positive. Jackson is willing to spend Christmas with me and my family because he loves me.
He looks at me with hooded eyes. “I never did get that ring you promised.”
My stomach drops. I’d thought the exchange was unnecessary. That was incentive to make him want to stay with me. I jump up, adrenaline racing through me at what this could mean. “I’ll get it right now.”
I head up to the captain’s perch, where Viktor is standing with the crew.
He crosses to me immediately. “What’s wrong?”
My cheeks flush with shame. Jackson is using me. He’ll likely go straight to his houseboat when we arrive at the port in Villroy with my diamond ring in his pocket. “I’d like my ring back, please.” I asked him to hold it because I didn’t want to wear it upon returning to Villroy, but feared it might too easily get misplaced in my suitcase after the staff took care of unpacking it.
Viktor doesn’t question it. He merely gives me a curt nod and says he’ll retrieve it from the yacht’s safe. Even for this short journey, he’s been careful with it, knowing its value.
“Thank you,” I manage. “I’ll wait here.” I don’t want him to see me handing it over to Jackson.
I cross my arms, hugging myself, chilled by the air, even colder on the inside. All my happy warmth has deserted me. A few minutes later, Viktor returns and palms my hand, handing it to me.
“Thank you.” I slip the ring back on my finger, flashing back to when I first received it at sixteen, the first time I met Abdul. How adult I’d felt, how stupidly starry-eyed. Now it’s a mercenary trade for a few lousy guitar lessons. Except it was so much more than that to me. My eyes sting, my throat tight, crap. I can’t cry in front of everybody. I ruthlessly push all that unwelcome emotion down.
I return to the cabin, where Jackson is gazing out the window. His familiar blond hair, casually mussed as usual, the wide slope of his shoulders, his scruffy bearded jaw. All of it permanently etched in my mind, seared on my heart. Suddenly I’m furious. How could he have led me on like this? Why didn’t he leave with the ring when the thirty days was up? That was last week. Not one word about our deal back then. What the hell is he doing going home with me for Christmas?
I stop next to him, yank off the ring, and toss it at him. “Here.”
He straightens and the ring clatters to the floor. He reaches down to scoop it up, and I barely resist smacking the back of his head. “Thanks.”
I clench my teeth, biting back a sarcastic reply.
He stands and shoves the ring in his jeans pocket. Completely casual. Like none of this matters. LikeIdon’t matter.
“Is that all you have to say?” I demand. “Thanks?”
His brows draw together. “I appreciate it.”
I seethe. I feel like a complete fool, the way I opened my heart to a heartless man. “Well, goodbye.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Going swimming?”
“No. I’m just going to another area of the yacht. Giving you some space.” I hold out my hand. “We’ll say goodbye here.”
He stares at my hand. “Did I miss something? I thought I was going home with you for Christmas.”
I swallow hard. Was I drawing the wrong conclusion? Maybe he really needs moneyandhe wants to be with me. I’m afraid to ask. My heart feels like it’s twisting inside out.
I drop my hand and speak to his chest. “I don’t know. Maybe you want to go home for Christmas.”
He pinches my chin, tipping my face up to his. “Did I say I wanted to go home for Christmas?”
I blink rapidly, fighting for composure. “No.”
