Page 27 of King of Lies
The shrill ring of his phone breaks through the early morning dawn, shattering his happy homecoming. Rhys lets me go and throws his legs over the side of the bed as he reaches for his phone. I watch from my spot under the covers as he slides his finger across the glass and puts the phone to his ear to answer.
“Aye?” The tension radiates off him and I gently place my hand to the small of his back. “Make the arrangements,” he orders before he ends the call and tosses his phone back to the nightstand.
“Rhys?”
“Fuck,” he bites out.
And everything changes in an instant.
Chapter 11
Everything and nothing changes
“Rhys, you’re scaring me,” I whisper, and he turns to face me.
Taking us both back down to the bed, he hovers over me. “I have to tell you something,” he says. “But nothing changes.”
Ohmygod. He’s married. I should have known it all along. It’s all going to come crashing down. All the lies. It was never a fairytale. I’m so stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Okay,” I say hesitantly.
“It’s no’ what you think, Hen. I need you to stay with me now.”
“Okay.”
“My father is dying, and I have to go home,” he says, and I realize that’s why he was so upset. Rhys always speaks so lovingly of his dad and now he has to go home to say goodbye. My heart breaks for him and I feel so foolish for thinking the worst.
“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” I ask.
“Come with me.”
I don’t even hesitate when I answer him. “Of course.”
“There’s something else …” he says, and I can tell that he doesn’t want to tell me whatever he’s about to.
“All right.”
“It’s not what you think,” he repeats.
“What do you mean?” I ask because I’m, once again, back to freaking out.
“My father is king,” he says, and I wonder what kind of man calls himself the king of his household. From what I remember about my own father, he was a kind and loving man.
“So, he’s a hard man?” I ask, wondering how Rhys could feel so much love for a man who was probably cruel.
“No,” he says. “I mean he’s the king of my country.”
“So you’re …”
“The crowned prince,” he answers with all the honesty in the world.
I can’t help my response when I throw my head back and laugh. That is, until I see the serious look on his handsome face.
“Google it,” he says, handing me my laptop from the bedside table. “Look up the Isle of Saints.”
I flip the top open and the screen wakes up. I type in my password and click on the search engine, typing in the name he gives me. The screen is immediately filled with articles about a small northern European island nation. I click on the link for images and immediately, Rhys’s handsome face fills the screen over and over. Some of him younger, some of him in a military uniform, some in a royal uniform next to a younger version of himself and an older one.
Oh no. It’s all true and the only thought filling my head is that he’s lied to me this entire time.
