Page 60 of Royal Creed

“It’s less than four percent.” She takes another sip of the scotch. “And do you know what the divorce rate is for marriages where people marry for love? Where people get to choose who they marry?”

“What’s that?”

“Over forty percent. So statistically speaking, an arranged marriage is better.” She paces again. “Especially when I have an entire team of statisticians and researchers telling me that, all things considered, this is a good match, even if it’s more of a business relationship. Regardless, we get along well. We share some of the same interests and hobbies. And that pesky little muscle in my chest doesn’t risk getting broken.” She stops, facing me once more, her voice growing more and more impassioned with every word she speaks. “It makes so much goddamn sense, Creed.”

I step toward her, my gaze unwavering. “And you’re okay with that? Without having any passion? With sentencing yourself to a lifetime of mediocrity?”

She stares at me, her shoulders rising and falling in a quicker rhythm. Then she spins from me, heading back to the dresser and pouring more scotch into her glass.

“I thought I was,” she says softly, staring at the wall as she sips the amber liquid. “And then you had to come along and make me question everything. Make me question these statistics. These facts. And it’s driving me fucking crazy.” She tips back the glass, taking another long pull before returning her gaze to mine, silently pleading with me to give her an answer that will help all of this make sense.

But I don’t think there is an answer here.

Approaching her, I take the glass out of her hand and set it on the dresser.

“Well, here’s what I know for certain. What I know to be facts.”

I widen my stance, crossing my arms in front of my chest. Her eyes briefly float to my biceps before she forces them back to my face. I can’t help but smile at the obvious magnetism she still feels toward me, even if she wishes she didn’t.

“I know it’s tradition in the royal family for marriages to be arranged, at least between those in the immediate line of succession, as you are. And those marriages are just glorified business transactions, a way to ensure only those with the preferred upbringing be allowed to pass their DNA down to future generations.”

She nods. “That’s correct.”

“I also know that, unless you want to lose your place in the line of succession, essentially becoming persona non grata, the Royal Marriages Act requires you to receive the monarch’s approval. In practice, however, the monarch will only approve if the royal household does. Since the royal household has already selected a spouse for you, there’s no way they’ll approve of someone else. Someone they didn’t select after careful examination.”

“Precisely.”

“And I also know Jameson Gates is a good man, as much as it pains me to say so.”

“He’s as much a pawn in this game as I am.”

“Right.” I nod curtly. “So these are all things we know. That we can agree on as being completely factual in nature. Correct?”

“I believe we can.”

“Good.” I pull my lips together and turn from her, stepping toward the dresser.

Now it’s my turn to attempt to get my thoughts under control. To need some liquid courage.

I bring the rocks glass to my mouth, tasting a hint of Esme as I sip the scotch, debating my next course of action.

I could tell her we’d be foolish to continue down this same path. That we’re just setting ourselves up for heartbreak. Based on our circumstances, it’s the reasonable thing to do.

But if I’ve learned anything over the past several days, it’s that I lose all sense of reason when it comes to Esme.

After another long swallow of scotch, I slam the glass on the dresser and face her, my gaze determined as I sweep my eyes over her.

“But here’s what I also know to be true.” I grip her biceps, not wanting her to escape what I’m about to tell her. “I know I hate the idea of anyone else kissing you. Know the thought of you marrying someone who will never love or appreciate you makes me more jealous than I imagined possible. Know I could need you more than I do my next breath, but that won’t change who we are to each other. Won’t change that there’s no scenario in which the two of us could ever have a future together, so if we give in to these desires, it will only end badly for all involved. Which is why we should walk away right now.”

“I can’t think of a single valid reason we shouldn’t,” she responds evenly. But regardless of her words, she doesn’t try to free herself from my hold. If anything, she moves closer, tilting her head back.

“I’ve always been a very rational man,” I continue, my heartbeat thrumming in my ears. “All my life, I’ve been guided by rules, even more so once I joined the military. Everything’s black or white. You either follow the rules or break them. There’s no room for gray.”

“And whatever this is can only be described as gray.”

“That’s true.” I brush a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “But lately I’ve come to realize something.”

She swallows hard, chest rising and falling in a quicker pattern. “What’s that?”

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