Page 13 of X: Command Me through Alexander’s Eyes

Chapter Four

Pushing my way through the crowd, I make my way through Brimstone. But I’m caught in an endless, circular hell, glimpsing Clara and Norris but never quite reaching them. Around me, mobiles come out, but I don’t give a fuck if I’ve been recognized. I can only think of getting to her before she leaves again.

And then I make a decision.

If I do, I won’t let her go again. If I don’t, it’s a sign. I’m playing a stupid game with myself, but I’m a man who’s willing to gamble. I’ve never believed in destiny, but since I met Clara, I’m starting to have a little faith.

Spotting Norris’s salt and pepper hair in the crush of club-goers isn’t difficult, given that he’s got twenty years on everyone else. Forcing my way to him, I discover he’s alone.

“Where is she?” I demand, the noise carrying away my words. He gets the point and gestures toward the main entrance. I can’t hear him, but I know what he’s saying.

She ran.

Smart girl. Stupid girl. I don’t know how to feel. She listened to my warning and took action. I just wish she hadn’t run outside where a swarm of paparazzi has been camped out all night.

I don’t think. I follow. There’s no time for apologies when I push people to the side or shove between couples. Norris catches up and helps to clear the path.

When we reach the door, the bouncer’s attention is on the scene unfolding on the street. I hear the reporters before I see them.

“Miss Bishop! Smile, love!”

“Miss Bishop, how long have you been involved with the Prince?”

“Miss Bishop, is it true that the King has condemned your relationship?”

“Were you secretly married in Oxford?”

I open my mouth to redirect their attention to me—to give Clara a chance to run. I didn’t reach her first—they did—and it’s all the reminder I need that I won’t drag her into this. I won’t let her endure the mud-slinging and invasions of privacy. Clara wasn’t cursed with this life; I was. It’s not her burden to bear. But before I get one word out, she steps in front of the lot of them.

“I’m sorry to inform you all that I have no relationship with Prince Alexander. Someone has made a dreadful mistake. I do not know the Prince. I am not in love with him. And I highly doubt the King gives two figs about me.”

Something inside me snaps into place as I watch her, but there’s no time to consider what it is. The paparazzi surround her within seconds, followed by onlookers eager to get a glimpse. Clara disappears from view, and my heart vanishes along with her. In its spot, anger blisters and bursts from me. “Enough!”

Questions die on lips. People back away. No one here will dare question my authority, nor will they keep me from her. I take a step and pause, waiting for self-preservation to kick in. When it does, a path clears for me, and I see her on the ground, her hands covering her head protectively.

I’ve done this. I’m the one that asked her to come. I’m the reason she wound up on those bloody tabloids. Moving to her, I kneel and guide her hands gently away from her beautiful face.

“Are you okay, Clara?” I say only loudly enough for her to hear.

She nods, her eyes flickering to the crowd and their cameras. None of them exist to me. I can only think of her. I need to get her away. I need to help her.

Taking her hand, I lift her to her feet as a new onslaught of questions finally starts. Even my authority has a time limit.

“Alexander, is this your girlfriend?”

“Alexander, is it true that your father doesn’t approve of your relationship with a commoner?”

Clara cringes, and I bite back a rebuke. I won’t lower myself to speak to this scum that knocked her to the ground. But how can’t they see the truth? There is nothing common about this woman. Placing a hand on the small of her back, I claim her for them to see. She can reject me. But I will not allow them to see her as less than me. A few months ago, I was covered in dirt in the desert. I might have been born with a title, but it doesn’t make me better than her. If anything, I’m so much less.

Norris rushes to the car and opens the door. His eyes meet mine as she climbs inside, and I see the question there. I don’t even have to consider it. Getting in next to her, I slam the door to the cameras and questions. Clara stares at the ground, and I worry for a moment that she’s in shock. There will be time for apologies later. Now I need to know she’s okay. Instinct kicks in, and I wrap an arm around her. Drawing her to me, I inhale sharply when she buries her face against my shoulder. I want to believe I can comfort her, but this is new to me. Instead, I rely on caring for her like I was taught in that club—in that world, I was denied. Clara isn’t my submissive. Not yet. But right now, she needs time to process what happened. So I become her anchor, waiting for her to return to me.

She feels delicate in my arms, and I know she needs my protection. One wrong move, though, and I could crush her. Silence hangs between us as we make our way through London. My time with her is running out. I have a choice to make.

“Clara.” I love the way her name tastes on my lips. “Are you okay? I’m sorry you had to go through that. I should have known better than to kiss you.” I screwed up when I kissed her. I’m doing the same now—holding her, being seen with her. I don’t need to complicate this anymore.

Lifting my arm from her shoulder, I run a hand through my hair and wonder what to do next. Clara sits up, breaking contact between our bodies. I allow it, but I don’t like it. Touching her seems to soothe some of the ragged need I feel whenever she’s near.

“I’m fine. Things got out of hand. I’m afraid you’re more experienced with this sort of thing than I am,” she says, meeting my eyes.