Page 62 of Scarred Crown

“Robbie heard me talking to Kafil the other day outside the meal tent. He made some conclusions that I couldn’t tear down without revealing what we’d really been doing.”

“Why wouldn’t you want the press to know about the foundation for girls’ education or the operation for Elena?” She raises her eyebrows. “That’s good press. This,” she waves her phone at me, “is not.”

“It’s not bad press, per se.” Why wouldn’t she want to be linked with me? Is an affair that farfetched? She just admitted this morning she wants to have sex with me. Granted, a long-term relationship is a significant stretch from a one-night stand. But she’s making me feel like our conversation was all in my head.

“Sex sells. He would have gone with the more salacious story no matter what I told him.”

“After this story, do you really think you and me in Vegas together is a good idea?” She purses her lips and closes her phone.

I stare at her for a beat, convinced she knows more about what’s happening in Bellerive than she’s telling me. Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ll find out when I get home, assuming the gossip rags don’t break the news first. That has to be the timeline—Father bought himself, probably quite literally, seventy-two hours to get me home before something significant hits social media.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s a good idea.”

Once we’re back in Bellerive, I worry this closeness we’ve managed to cobble together will disappear in a puff of royal protocol, official jobs, and an asshole brother.

The taste I got last night and this morning of Jules and me together isn’t enough. I want more. So, I’ll take my seventy-two hours, and I’ll see if I can convince her we don’t have to be the people who left Bellerive.

We can return as anyone we want.

Jules

Fourteen years ago

I lean across Nick to put the empty champagne bottle on the wooden floor beside him, and I realize exactly how drunk I’ve gotten. What is the alcohol percentage of champagne, anyway? High. Too high.

When I slide off Nick to my spot, he sucks in a sharp breath, and I glance up at him, wondering if I’ve somehow hurt him. Did I elbow him somewhere? The question dies on my lips at the expression on his face. Our gazes lock, and the air pulses with something I’ve never felt from him before.

God, I’m so drunk, but it feels like… it seems like…

Then he’s kissing me, and from the moment his lips brush against mine, I’m lost. Gone. So consumed by him that all rational thought floats on the breeze around us. Nick’s kissing me, and I’m kissing him, and nothing in my life has felt as right as this moment.

He tries to draw back, and I rise onto my knees, deepening the kiss, desperate for more. His lips slide against mine, pliable without being slobbery, and I’m a goner. It’s not just a kiss. Every brush of his lips stamps his name deeper into my heart.

Nick. Nick. Nick.

Every time I look at him, I’ll remember this kiss, and the feel of him pressed against me. I’m never going to let this moment go. My heart pounds in my ears, louder than the fireworks overhead.

When we finally separate, I stare into Nick’s hazel eyes and wonder how I never saw him this way before. How did I miss this? My love for him is so painfully, so beautifully obvious. The kiss has left behind the crushing heaviness of desire, but more than that, I understand exactly what I’ve been searching for and failing to find, with Alex.

I’m not into Alex because I am way, way too into Nick.

I’m in love with Nick.

Holy crap.

I stiffen and draw away from him.

Alex.

Oh shit. Oh, God. Oh, no.

What am I doing?

I flee from Nick and lift my skirts to hustle down the ladder. I cannot be sitting on top of the barn making out with one brother while the other one thinks we’re together. I’m not the girl who cheats, who betrays. I need to find Alex.

While I rush out of the barn, my life comes into a weird sort of focus. How did I not see that I’m in love with Nick? The idea swirls around my brain, the truest thing I’ve ever thought, and yet completely impossible.

I love Nick.