Page 32 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

“Took you long enough, mate,” I tell him.

Ben shoots me a sharp look. He squeezes through the small gap in the door as though he’s stepping behind enemy lines.

Rory and I shout simultaneously: “Ben, don’t—!”

But we don’t get the words out before the door clicks shut behind him. Rory sighs and murmurs, “—shut the door.”

“What?” Ben intones, incredibly confused.

I point to the door. “It locks behind you. No doubt, one of my mother’s infinitely paranoid safety measures.”

Ben tries the door—of course he does; he’s a tactile person, and he has to touch it for himself—but naturally it doesn’t budge under even his strong arms. I see the line of his lips thin in frustration.

“Your mother put in an automatic safety latch—”

“I gathered that,” I interrupt him. “Now how do we get out of it?”

Ben lifts his phone and taps his fingers over the screen. “I’ll phone Tanner.”

I curl a leg up. “Put it on speaker.”

Ben steps over and barely perches himself on the edge of the mattress. He makes no comment about my lack of shirt or Rory’s obvious nakedness under my robe. Instead, he stares ahead with blank eyes until the ringing stops.

“Yes?” Tanner, curt, to the point.

“I found Roland,” Ben says into the bottom of his phone. “He was in his room. The safety protocol engaged, and we’re locked in.”

“Probably the safest place for him to be right now, then. Hang tight until we get this all sorted. Are you two alone?”

“Rory’s here.”

“Does the girl check out?”

My jaw clenches. I know it’s his job to question everyone and everything, but I feel a vicious urge rearing up to defend my girlfriend. “Yes,” I say, barely curbing my anger. “Rory is the last person you have to worry about. How’s my mum?”

“She’s well guarded,” Tanner assures me. My blood still fizzles and pops with worry. I’m trapped in this room, safely, and my mother is… still outside. Still vulnerable. If this is, in fact, a coup and they’re after anyone… they’re going after my mum first.

“Don’t let her leave your sight,” I order. “Not for a second.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Keep your phone close, Tolle. We’ll come collect you once we’re clear up here.”

“Yes, sir. Copy.”

Ben ends the call and tucks his phone back in his trousers.

“What now?” Rory asks. Her timid voice breaks the solid pond of silence.

“Who’s up for a game of Connect Four?” I joke. Humor has always been my favorite crutch.

Ben, however, is not playing. He stands quickly, as though he’s been bitten by a snake, and paces across toward the fireplace, away from us. “Tanner told us to wait,” he says, his voice a flat monotone. “So we wait.”

I know Ben. I know when he’s brooding. It’s incredibly unlike him. Sure, we’re in the middle of a potentially dangerous situation—but that’s the point. Ben loves this sort of thing. High stakes. Adrenaline. It sharpens him. I swear, he throws me to the ground every time so much as a bird hits the window.

So moping, huffing… no. That’s not like Ben.

I broach the subject amicably. “What’s up your arse now?”

Ben snaps, “Just because you’re talking to me now doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been a right prick all day.”

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