"She's here," I murmured.
"What?"
"She'shere. In fucking Wales." I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face. "She came to me."
"She came to you," Fritz repeated with wonder in his voice.
"I have to go."
"Et—"
I hung up.
Presley stood as I approached, her hands twisting together, her eyes red-rimmed like she'd been crying. Her scent hit me—vanilla and rain and something sour that meant she was scared.
"Princesse," I breathed.
And then she ran to me.
I caught her halfway, my arms wrapping around her as she crashed into my chest. She was trembling, her hands fisting in my jacket, her face pressed against my shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Etienne. I didn't know where else to go and I just—I needed—"
"Shh." I held her tighter, burying my face in her hair. She smelled like London and Hastings and fear, but underneath it all, she smelled like mine. "You're here. That's all that matters."
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her blue eyes swimming with tears. "You're not angry?"
"Not at you. Never at you."
"I thought. Maeve said—" Her voice broke. "That you didn't really want me."
I cupped her face, my thumbs wiping away the tears that wouldn't stop falling. "We want you, Princesse. All of us. Even Hastings, though he's an idiot who doesn't know how to show it."
"Then why did he keep paying me?"
"Because he's scared." I pressed my forehead to hers. "Come inside. Let me make you coffee. And then we'll talk."
The cottage was small. One room that served as kitchen, dining area, and living space, with a bedroom tucked into the back and a bathroom that barely fit a shower. It was nothing like the Kensington townhouse with its marble and chandeliers.
But it was warm. And right now, that was enough.
I made coffee the way she liked it with too much cream, no sugar, and handed her the mug. She curled up on the worn sofa, tucking her feet under her, looking small and lost and so damn beautiful it hurt.
I sat beside her, close enough that our knees touched.
"How did you know where I was?" I asked.
She took a sip of coffee, her hands wrapped around the mug like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. "I asked the driver. He told me about all the properties the pack owns. There's the townhouse in London, obviously.The penthouse in New York. The villa in France. And this cottage."
"And you chose Wales."
"I almost went to France," she admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. "But then I remembered you're more outdoorsy than the other two. You'd need space to breathe. Room to think. The cottage made sense."
"You already know me well, Princesse."
Her smile faded. "I need to know something, Etienne. The money. Five thousand pounds every week. Why?"
I set down my mug and turned to face her fully. "Hastings didn't pay you because he thinks you're temporary."
