Page 70 of The Royal's Pet: A MMF Ménage Royal Romance

“You were right,” I tell her. “All this time, I thought you were protecting me from the outside world. I didn’t realize you were protecting them from me.”

Mum doesn’t say anything for a moment. When she does, it’s simply, “I’ll make you a pot of tea when we get home. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? And some blueberry scones. Just how you like them.”

Tea and scones aren’t going to fill this emptiness in my chest. As the hospital gets smaller in the distance, I want to scream for the driver to stop the car. I want to run back to the hospital. I want to take Rory and Ben in my arms. I want to kiss them. I want to tell them I love them, over and over, so they never forget it.

The car turns the corner, and King Edward VII's Hospital vanishes from sight completely.

I’ve been alone for ten years. I can do it again.

Only alone never felt quite this lonely. Before I knew what it was like to love with my whole heart and feel their love in return.

My throat is tight, and my lungs vibrate with effort to keep from screaming out. I twist my signet ring around and around on my finger, battling my surging emotions, until I feel…

Nothing. Nothing at all.

38

Rory

Brekson sits behind the desk at Free People Hostel, sipping his coffee and reading the local paper. The safety pins clipped to his earlobes wiggle when he jerks his head over the paper to look at us.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he says, folding up the paper and tossing it aside. “Long time no see, kiddo.”

“Do you have room for two?” I ask. I approach the desk, Ben stepping quietly behind me.

Brekson’s eyes flicker between me and Ben, then back to me, back to Ben. He sniffs, seems to decide not to ask, and says, “Sure do, pumpkin.”

He takes two keys from underneath the desk and tosses them to me. They each have little tags on them with a three-digit number. “Those’ll get you into your lockers; you’ll need a $50 deposit each. How long did you say you were staying?”

Ben takes out his wallet, produces four fifty-pound notes, and sets them on the desk. “Keep the change,” he says.

Brekson’s eyebrows lift up his forehead. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he says. He pockets the money and doesn’t ask about our duration again.

Ben takes his time up the stairs, favoring one leg. Each room in the hostel has its own cute name. Ironically, we’ve landed in the Hufflepuff Room, the same room I was in before. Ben touches my side as I put the key in the door. “Do you think they’ll let a Ravenclaw in here?” he asks.

He’s trying to make me smile. It works. I shrug. “They let a Gryffindor in, so… just try not to outsmart everyone else in the room.”

I unlock the door, and we push inside. There are a couple bunks with clothes and personal items splayed over the beds, but it’s mostly empty. Everyone is out and about, sightseeing. There’s a quiet Korean girl in the back of the room, but she has headphones plugged in. She glances at us when we enter and nods once in acknowledgment before turning back to her iPhone.

Our bunk is by the door. “Top or bottom?” I ask.

“Bottom,” Ben says. He tosses his duffle bag on the floor.

Fair enough. He probably shouldn’t be climbing up and down the ladder anyway. We made a brief pit stop at the palace, where a doorman handed us our personal belongings. Talk about a royal send-off. But I have my bag now—that’s the good thing—and I shove it on the top.

As I do, I notice Ben crouch down. He’s untying his shoes, and as he does, he discreetly slips something underneath his mattress. I see the black muzzle of his gun vanish, and it makes me shiver.

His dark eyes meet mine. He’s caught me staring. “Precautionary,” he explains.

“I know.” You can take the bodyguard off the payroll, but you can’t get him to stop guarding.

I leap off my ladder, and my feet hit the floor. “Okay.” I motion to the bed. “Sit.”

Ben obliges. I kneel between his legs and roll the soft cotton of his shirt up. Stacked abdomen, slim waist… Out of the corner of my vision, I see the Korean girl sneak a peek, and honestly, I can’t blame her. I keep lifting his shirt until… there. A huge, ugly, black-and-blue bruise covers the right side of his rib cage and draws spidery lines up his chest.

“It looks worse than it feels,” he tries, but I doubt it.

“Stay here.” I drop his shirt back down. “I’m going to get some ice.”

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