Page 113 of Royal Creed

“And now,” I begin, swallowing through the frustration in my throat over the idea that my brother chose his career over me. “I don’t want to know you anymore.”

“You’ll eventually come around. Understand I did you a favor.”

“A favor?” I bark out a laugh. “If this is your idea of a favor, I don’t want it. I don’t want you in my life. Not anymore.”

I turn from him, strides determined as I head toward the door, unsure where I’m going. He’s right. It’s not like I can just show up at the gala. Hell, I wouldn’t even be able to get near the palace tonight, the entire compound locked down, security tight. But I can’t stay here, either. I need somewhere I can breathe.

I can no longer do that in my own home.

Just as I’m about to yank open the door, I pause, glancing over my shoulder.

“Remember when we were kids and wanted to go to the football finals? Begged Dad to take us, since it was rare the local team here ever made it that far?”

He subtly nods, throat working in a hard swallow.

“He finally agreed. Even worked out for us to sit in the royal box. The morning of the match, we were more excited than we were on Christmas.”

“I remember,” he replies somberly.

I fully face him. “Then you also remember how devastated you were when he never bloody showed up to take us. Mum tried to make it up to us, took us to race go-karts and overindulge in ice cream. And when Dad finally did show up the following morning, did he even apologize?”

Adam shakes his head. “No.”

“Exactly. He offered no explanation. Said it couldn’t be helped. That there are more important things than a football match. But we both know what he was really saying. That there are more important things than his own sons. His own family.” My words come out strained as the feelings of inadequacy return.

“You may not remember it, but I do, Adam. That was the day you swore you would never turn into him. That you would never put your career first.” I pull my lips between my teeth. “But that’s precisely what you’ve done. You’ve turned into him. In fact, you’re worse than he is.”

I allow my words to linger for a beat.

Then I storm out of my apartment, slamming the door shut behind me.

Chapter Forty-Three

Esme

I study my reflection, barely able to recognize the person staring back. And not in a good way. My eyes may be the same, my hair unchanged. But I’ve never felt like such an imposter. Like a doll that’s being dressed up in clothes belonging to someone else.

Most women would probably love to be adorned in a designer gown, draped in expensive jewels, a priceless tiara carefully woven into their hair.

Not me. These jewels are a shackle, the clothes I’ve worn my entire life merely a straitjacket I’m powerless to free myself from.

Or maybe Creed was right.

Maybe it’s because I’m too scared to free myself from this life. Too scared to take a risk and chase what I want.

“Is there a reason you look like someone just died?”

I glance up from the full-length mirror as Anderson strides into my living room, tall frame clad in a crisp tuxedo, hair slicked back, face clean-shaven.

“I don’t look like someone just died,” I attempt to argue, but it’s unconvincing. I can’t even fake a smile. Not when, in a few hours, Jameson will get down on one knee in front of hundreds of people and my fate will officially be sealed.

Then again, wasn’t it sealed the day I was born?

“Is this about Creed?” Anderson asks in a low voice, narrowing his gaze on me.

My eyes widen. “What are you—”

“Did you think you could hide this from me, of all people? I know the two of you better than anyone.” He laughs under his breath. “Sometimes I feel like I know you two better than I do myself. When I noticed that, one day, my sister wasn’t so morose about her forced relationship with Jameson, and my brooding best friend was much less brooding and actually smiled, I put two and two together.”

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