Part 8

Unwanted Attention

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer should be the royal family’s motto. At least, it seems I have to endure a back-stabbing cadre of acquaintances at every social event—and my life in London is one string of on-demand appearances after another.

“You don’t look excited to be here,” Edward says under his breath before kneeling to speak to a small child waving to him behind the cordoned off entrance to the theatre.

That’s an understatement. There are places I’d rather be, mostly wedged between Clara’s thighs.

“Does anyone enjoy the opera?” I mutter to him as we continue down the ragged red carpet. It’s seen as much action as I have, but of an entirely other variety.

Edward guffaws and shoots me a look. “Of course, I do.”

“You have your reasons,” I say dryly.

“My kind does love the theatre,” he agrees, his mouth pinching slightly when he catches sight of our father ahead of us.

Another reason to dread this evening.

“It’s a wonder he lets me attend,” Edward says. “It’s so gay of me.”

My brother’s carefully concealed homosexuality was no secret amongst the family, but our father has made it clear it will never be public knowledge. As if he’s thinking the same thing, Edward peeks over his shoulder to the parasitic group of young aristocrats that’s always at these goddamn events. Judging from the frown that momentarily eclipses his smile, David is among them.

He’s made the mistake of falling in love. I wasn’t around to teach him that this life and commitment are mutually opposed concepts. He never saw our parents together. Our mother died when he was born, so he doesn’t have the memories of the screaming matches and ultimatums. I know the picture my father paints of his marriage. I also know the truth. It’s why I won’t make the same mistake. Nothing—not even love—can survive this life.

“You haven’t told me how you met,” I said.

“You want to discuss this now?” he whispers, glancing around as though someone can hear us in the crowd of onlookers. Considering that Norris won’t any one with a a few yards, I think we’re safe.

“What else is there to talk about?” I shrug. My brother, who wasn’t exiled to the desert, has an active social life which means we haven’t spent much quality time together. “Although maybe we should save it for inside. I’ll need something to keep me awake during the performance.”

Edward rolls his eyes. “It’s not terribly interesting.”

“Neither is the opera.”

“David was in the same circles at St. Andrew’s. We danced around things for a while until one of us made a move.”

“He made a move,” I guess.

“Is it that obvious?” Edward shoves his hands into his pockets, doing his best to look like we aren’t discussing his most closely-guarded secret.

We share a number of characteristics: our mother’s coloring, dark hair, blue eyes. But nothing about Edward screams domination.

“Good for David,” I say with a low chuckle. It must have taken guts to gamble that he was right about Edward’s interest.

“Just don’t say anything,” he says in a rush.

“I know it’s a secret.” I look toward our father, feeling the familiar bubble of hatred in my chest. “But why should it be? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“The monarchy isn’t exactly progressive. Dad needs time to get used to the idea and—”

A woman falls against me and I catch her instinctively, wrapping my arms around her. My palms slide against black silk and there’s a flash of tumbling blonde curls as she presses herself closer. Before I can process the sudden turn, two sinuous limbs hook around my neck.

“Smile,” she demands.

I do it, posing for the next picture that will appease her—and my father. Then, I extricate myself as politely as possible. I’d rather push her away and find the nearest shower. It feels wrong to touch another woman when I’ve spent most of today fantasizing about Clara. But it’s not just any other woman. It’s Pepper.

To me, she’s still my kid sister’s best friend—far too young and off-limits. Even if I could process that she’s a woman now, I wouldn’t be interested. Maybe it’s the way she manages a photo op every time we’re within a mile of one another. Maybe it’s that there’s a snake hiding in her smile.

This wouldn’t have happened if you brought Clara. Where the fuck did that come from? I’ve spent the equivalent of a day with the woman. The last thing either of us need or want is to draw attention to the relationship. Plus, there’s the very real possibility that my father and his sycophants would corner her and tear her limb from limb. Pepper would probably lead the charge.

But it’s the fact that she doesn’t belong here that makes me wish I’d invited her. I don’t belong either.

Pepper lingers, continuing to brush against my arm. The touches turn my stomach.

“I’m not the Royal you’re interested in,” I remind her with a smile for the cameras still following us.

She stumbles back a step but regains her footing gracefully. Her eyes narrow into slits before she shakes off my subtle threat.

“What was that about?” Edward asks as we finally reach the foyer.

“You don’t want to know,” I assure him.

“I doubt most men would turn Pepper down.” He’s searching for information. My brother reads the tabloids.

“You would,” I point out.

Edward straightens his bow tie. His eyes on the door, waiting for his boyfriend to arrive. I have no idea why. They won’t risk being spotted together. He echoes my earlier sentiment. “I have my reasons.”

“I do, too.”

“Why didn’t you invite her?” Edward asks, turning the force of his mirror-like gaze on me.

“I thought tonight’s show was a comedy. You would have preferred a tragedy?” That’s what it would become if I’d brought Clara here amongst this viper’s nest.

“No one could object to a legitimate relationship.” To his credit, he sounds like he believes this. It’s worse than I thought. Not only has Edward made the mistake of falling in love, he’s made the mistake of buying that love conquers all.

“She’s half-American,” I remind him. “The wrong half.”

“How can you be the wrong half?”

“No accent. Self-confident. Feminist.” I might not have spent much time with Clara but all these things are apparent. They account for why I find myself drawn to her. There also one of many reasons a relationship won’t work.

“So, you’re just shagging her?” Edward picks at his cufflink, his eyes still on the entrance.

“Are you just fucking him?” I ask as David enters with Jonathan and Priscilla.

“I don’t know what to make of that,” Edward mutters. Neither do I. Why am I being so defensive where Clara is concerned?

“He looks miserable,” I say. “Perhaps, you should save him?”

Edward flinches at the suggestion and turns away. “Let’s find our box.”

I follow as he strides away, leaving his real life behind, abandoning the man he loves. It’s fitting, I suppose. Neither of us are white knights. We don’t save the day.

That only happens in stories.