Page 28 of King of Lies
“You … lied to me?” I ask, my voice nothing more than a whisper because thishurts.
“No,” he replies instantly. “I just didn’t tell you everything.”
“So you lied.”
“I know you’re hurt, but can’t you see why I had to?” he asks, and he has the audacity to look at me like I’m the one disappointing him. “My life is … not always my own to live and I wanted something just for me.”
While I can understand his reasoning, I’m still upset that he hasn’t been truthful. Life in the public eye with a crowned prince is not one I would ever choose for myself and I have a sinking feeling that he knew that all along. Which is why he withheld the truth from me until he absolutely had no other choice.
“So you lied,” I repeat because I’m not ready to let go of what I’m feeling and it is not a nice feeling.
“By omission,” he says, and I can hear his frustration seeping into his voice as he stabs his fingers through his hair.
“That is still a lie.”
Rhys lets out a frustrated breath. “I know you need time, but I can’t give you that,” he says. “We have to go.”
Oh no. He can’t possibly mean to still take me with him. That’s insane. I haven’t even told my uncles that I’m dating anyone, let alone sleeping with a European prince. “But—”
“You promised, Hen,” he says firmly. He’s clearly not ready to give up this battle and that absolutely terrifies me.
I pause before answering hesitantly, “I did.”
“Pack a bag, Hen,” he says. “And your passport. You’re going to need it.”
And with that, he storms from the bed and I hear the shower turn on. I feel for him, I do, but doesn’t he see that this is madness? I can’t possibly travel halfway around the world with him. That’s crazy.
I look back at the pictures on the screen and trace the one of him in a military uniform with the tip of my finger. How did I go my whole life protecting my heart, only to fall for a freaking prince? And a hot one too?
He storms back into the bedroom, still naked and still not showered and unceremoniously throws back the covers and snaps my laptop closed, tossing it aside.
“Hey!” I call out but it’s like he doesn’t hear me. More likely, he doesn’t care. Rhys has made up his mind and that’s that.
He yanks my nude body from the bed and tosses me over his shoulder before storming to the shower, carrying me under the warm spray. There he goes again, always seeing to my needs, taking care of me and I let out a sigh because I know that I’m screwed. I’ll follow this man anywhere. I might wear his heart on a chain around my neck, but he holds mine in the palm of his strong hands.
Chapter 12
Midnight flight
“Stay with me,” he says as he begins to wash my body with quick, methodical movements. This is not for fun; this is for a purpose and that purpose is for us to catch a flight to the Isle of Saints.
I don’t answer. I don’t nod my head in acceptance, because I’m feeling a little shocked at the moment and I’m struggling to wrap my mind around it all.
Rhys rinses the soap from my body and the shampoo from my hair. Then he switches our places under the spray and washes himself. I lean against the shower wall, watching him move around me, my brain blank, and feeling a little shellshocked.
He quickly shuts off the water and grabs towels from the rack. He stands naked and dripping as he dries me off and then wraps the towel around me before then seeing to himself. Then he leads us back into my bedroom and throws open my tiny closet and opens the drawers in my dresser. He puts panties and a bra on me and then pulls a tank and a long-sleeved t-shirt over my head. He sits me down and kneels in front of me as he rolls up a pair of black leggings and slips my feet into them, pulling them up my legs before pulling a college sweatshirt down over my head.
Once he has me taken care of, he pushes me forward gently with a muttered, “Pack,” and then hands me my suitcase from the top shelf of the closet.
I toss in bras and panties and pajamas, t-shirts and jeans, a coat, sweaters; as much as I can fit before I race to the bathroom to dry my hair and braid it before packing my cosmetics.
When I walk back into the bedroom, Rhys is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, loafers on his feet and he’s pulling a sweatshirt down over his head. Rhys has a very small, brown, suede carry all on the bed next to my suitcase that looks like it can hold barely anything more. I don’t get a chance to ask him about it because he grabs my hand and leads me out into the living room where he sets a pair of black ballet flats on the floor in front of me and I slide my feet into them.
“Handbag?” he asks, and I grab it off the kitchen counter where I left it when I came home from work. “Passport?” he asks, and I race to the desk and grab the little blue book that saysPassport of the United States of Americaon the front. Rhys takes it from my hand and puts it in my bag before taking it from me with one hand and then grabbing my hand with the other. He uses our linked hands to throw open the front door and there stands a man who I’ve never seen before.
“We’re ready, Leo,” he says to the man.
“Yes, Your Highness,” he replies in the same accent that Rhys has, only it’s a little more pronounced. Then the man, Leo, turns and jogs down the stairs, pulling open the rear door of a black Range Rover and I can’t help but feel like I’m not ready at all.
