Page 76 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

“Is that what we are? Happy?” My voice is clipped, disinterested.

She sighs. “Don’t worry about your mother. She’ll come around. You know how she is. She just needs to have a fit every once in a while. I’ll take care of her.”

“Fine.”

She twists her head side to side. “Where’s Rory?”

“How the bloody hell should I know?”

“Lover’s spat?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

I grab the handle of my bedroom door and twist.

“Roland.” I lift my eyes just enough to look at Iris. Her Pennington blues reflect back at me. “Everything will be okay. You’ll see.”

But it won’t. Not anymore. I push into my room and close the door behind me. Closing out Iris. Closing out my mum. Closing out the world.

The maids have come and gone while I was away. My room is clean, my bed made, and a sanitizing lemon scent hangs in the air. My eyes immediately snap to the one item out of place. Rory’s pink masquerade dress is washed, dried, and folded neatly on the foot of my bed. I lift the dress and run my fingers over the fabric. I remember how her body responded to my touch, feeling the hardened peaks of her nipples through the lace of her dress. I lift the bundle of dress to my nose and inhale. Even washed, there’s still a hint of her left. Her unique blend of earthy tones. My wild woman who smelled constantly of fresh rainfall.

My heart aches like an open wound.

What have I done?

I’ve made a terrible mistake. This is all wrong. I can’t go back to the way things were. I can’t pretend I don’t need her in life. I miss Rory. I miss Ben. I need to go to them. I need to apologize. I need to wrap her in my arms and never let her go.

I rush to my door and twist the knob. It doesn’t budge. I push my shoulder into it, but it’s no use.

It’s locked. That solid security lock. What the heck?

A switch must have accidentally flipped somewhere. Tanner will hear about this. I reach into my pocket to phone him, but all I feel is loose fabric. I check my other pockets.

Shit. Where the hell is my phone?

I bang the door. “Hello? Is anyone out there?”

“Roland.” A familiar, flower-soft voice bleeds in through the wall.

Thank God. Iris.

“Iris… I’m locked in. I need you to call Tanner and tell him to fix the bloody door.”

There’s a small spot of silence on the other side. I wonder if she hasn’t heard me. Then her voice, gentle and calm: “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. “What do you mean?”

“It’s for your own safety, ducky,” Iris sighs. “Perhaps we could have worked something out, but you’re just so… unpredictable these days.”

My blood runs cold. No. No, no, no. They can’t lock me in here. They can’t. My breath goes short, and my vision vibrates, the blood behind my eyes pulsing. The walls seem to be beating, drawing in closer. This room is a bloody tomb.

“Iris!” I shout. “You can’t do this!” I bang my fist on the door. Pure, animal Pennington rage courses through my blood. My temper rears its ugly head. “Let me out!” I roar. “Let me out!”

I unleash my fists on the door, but they don’t budge. If they want to cage me like an animal—fine. I will be an animal! I rip the bedside table off the floor, the contents scattering to the ground, and throw it against the door. The wood splinters, but the door remains unscathed. I smash lamps. I tear up curtains.

Only when my hands are bleeding and my lungs burning do I stop. My room is a mess, and the clutter does nothing for my claustrophobia. I grab my hair by the roots, fall to my knees, and howl.

I’m locked in the palace. For good, this time.

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