Page 48 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

“Why?” she says, and there’s that bright smile that melts me. “I like these. They’re comfortable.”

“And covered in holes.”

“They’re breeze holes.” Rory grins.

“I believe that’s what they make skirts for.”

“Quit picking on her,” Ben growls. He’s on edge. He sees right through me.

“I’m not. I’m giving her what she wants.”

“You have no idea what she wants.”

“Maybe because she never tells me.”

“Are we still talking about me?” Rory chirps, confused. “Because I’m an open book…”

“No, we’re not talking about you,” I snap. “Ben is being a twat.”

Now, he turns to stone. “I am what you want me to be, sir.”

“Sod off with that,” I snarl. Rory shifts in place, no doubt uncomfortable. She’s literally caught in the middle of us. “You only show me what you want me to see. Yes, I’ve been a selfish prat. But you hide from me. You’re as complicit in this as I am.”

Ben’s jaw looks so tight, his teeth might snap. He won’t look at me, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “You never asked.”

“I’m asking now. What do you want, mate?”

“I want you to quit calling me mate for one.”

“What do you want, Ben?”

“I want you!” His confession spills out from him exasperated, strained. “I’ve always wanted you.”

“You have me! And Rory. Are you so used to having nothing you can’t recognize when you have everything?”

Ben lifts Rory and drops her solidly in my lap (she squeaks like a dog toy). He pushes off the chaise and launches to his feet. “I’m going inside,” he announces.

“What’s up his arse?” I scoff.

Rory’s lips twist downward. She climbs off me and gets up to her feet. “I’ll be back,” she says.

Just like that, everyone’s abandoning ship. I feel like I’ve swallowed a rotten apple whole and now it’s rolling uncomfortable around in my stomach. I mask my discomfort with a sneer and shake the limoncello. “Fine. More for me.”

Yes. Everything for me. Ben is gone, Rory is gone, and I’m the all-powerful king of no one. I lick my wounds and sip sweet liquor.

26

Rory

The glass door hisses when I slide it shut behind me.

Ben is pacing, but he stops to look up at me. He has a cigarette pinned between two fingers, unlit, as though he meant to smoke it but couldn’t bring himself to go back outside and face Roland again. When his eyes find me, the line of his mouth thins. He lowers his tall limbs into a white leather chair.

I sit down beside him. I don’t say anything.

“We’ll have to go back to the palace soon,” Ben says. He flicks his cigarette distractedly. “The queen has no doubt noticed we’re gone by now.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” I ask him. “Going back?”

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