A single Instagram post from her, complete with hashtags about true love and fairytale romance, and the public fell more in love with us. It also worked to calm their curiosity. Allergic reaction was the official party line, and my DMs flooded with well-wishes and support.
Not that I knew any of them, or that they knew any version of me.
I leaned back in my seat and watched the buildings blur by in the cold October rain while Royce finished his call. He’d gone into the office this morning to put out a fire and sit in on a “can’t-miss” meeting, but he was officially mine for the rest of the afternoon.
Excitement bubbled inside me as we headed toward Cape Hill. Macalister would be at the office for a few more hours, and even if Alice was on the property . . . she wasn’t allowed in the house. With Vance being in his first year of law school, he was a virtual ghost. I only saw evidence he’d been at the house, but never the man himself.
It meant that, outside the staff, Royce and I would be the only people home.
Would he tell me everything now? We’d rarely been alone at the hospital—never long enough to have the conversation he’d promised. It felt like he would. There was a tension between us. It wasn’t unpleasant—it was anticipation.
In addition to the rain, it was a foggy afternoon, and as we drove up the circle drive toward the Hale mansion, the impressive house didn’t come into view until we’d pulled up to the front steps. Would I ever get used to living here?
And . . . did I want to stay?
I’d won back my freedom, which meant I could escape. There was zero risk of accidentally running into Alice or Macalister in a hall or the kitchen if I wasn’t living under their roof.
But it meant I’d be farther away from both my school and my fiancé, and back with my parents, who’d probably try to squeeze me for money every chance they got. Not to mention, it’d only be temporary. My wedding date to Royce had been set at the beginning of June. I could move out, but I’d have to be back in six months.
It barely seemed worth the effort.
I promised myself I wasn’t going to make my decision tonight. Six months might feel like a lifetime if Macalister didn’t stick to his word and stay out of my relationship with his son.
“You okay with the stairs?” Royce asked, hesitating with his hand on the car door as we prepared to duck out into the rain.
Earlier, the long walk from my hospital room to the elevator bank had left me surprisingly winded. He was worried about me, but I gave him a sweet smile. “I’m fine, I promise. But thank you.”
Last time I’d been chauffeured and arrived at this house in the rain, it’d been his graduation party, and I was struck by how much things had changed since then. He’d been the manipulative prince of Cape Hill and I’d been a nobody. Just the weird Northcott sister who’d reluctantly tagged along.
This time when I scurried up the steps in the cold drizzle, Royce put a protective hand on my elbow and hurried alongside me.
The house always felt cavernous, but it was much worse today. The tall ceilings stretched up for miles, and when my gaze landed on the grand staircase, I shivered. I still remembered how the fibers of the red carpeted steps felt against my skin. My stomach twisted with an aftershock of disorientation. I’d been so sure I was going to die there, either from the drugs or a fall.
Royce’s hand crept around mine and squeezed. “Are you hungry? Should I tell Carla to make us something?”
“No, thanks.”
I couldn’t stop staring at the staircase and forced my gaze upward. Something was . . . different. I blinked in confusion as I looked at the landing and the empty wood paneled wall. “Where’s the picture?”
“The family portrait?” He tried to disguise the unease in his voice. “My dad got rid of it.”
Like a cliché, the large painting had been of the Hale family. Alice angled and seated in a formal chair and Macalister behind her, his sons flanking him on either side. It was regal and pompous as hell.
Now it was gone.
I couldn’t shake the feeling Macalister had removed it in a fit of rage. The image of him yanking down the canvas and ripping it apart, tearing Alice from the rest of the family, played in my mind. He couldn’t remove her legally. Divorce was failure, and Macalister didn’t do defeat. So, destroying the portrait and banishing her from his life would be the closest he could come.
“I need to change,” Royce said, glancing down at his suit. He tugged on my hand, pulled me toward the stairs, and kept his tone casual. “Come on.”
When we passed by the library, a coiled circle of black fur on the back of the chair lifted its head and appraised us with apple green eyes. Lucifer was in his favorite spot, and he liked it more than his master, apparently, because even though Royce was now home, the cat looked at us with indifference before putting his head back down and returning to sleep.
He was so fickle, just like his owner.
We’d been together for months, but I’d only been in Royce’s room a handful of times. Was he a naturally tidy person, or was the staff quick to make up his room after he left the house? It always looked perfect, like a set for a glamorous magazine shoot—
Well, there was that one time when it hadn’t.
The night I’d agreed to play his father’s game in the maze, Royce had come back to his room and ransacked the place. Vance had called it a temper tantrum, but there wasn’t any evidence of it now. The white linens on the king-sized bed were crisp. The silver silk curtains which hung over the enormous floor to ceiling windows were flawless. The charcoal gray couch looked brand-new. Maybe it was.
I stood awkwardly in the center of his bedroom as Royce toed off his shoes and shrugged out of his suit coat before tossing it onto one of the pale gray chairs opposite the couch. His gaze locked onto me as his fingers loosened his tie and undid the top button of his collar.
“Have a seat.” Amusement edged into his voice. “Stay awhile.”
“Where?” I asked.
I was out of sorts here in this place that was his and not ours. Should I sit on the couch? The bed? It wasn’t helping that he was currently undressing either. He untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, opening it to reveal a tight white undershirt that clung to his chest and trim waist.
He angled his head and shot me a look like I was being silly. “Wherever you want.”
His cuffs were unbuttoned, one side then the other, then off came the dress shirt. His practiced, methodical movements made me want to bite my lip. He wasn’t even shirtless yet. Why was this doing things to me? Why did my body clench with anticipation? And how in the world did he look even better halfway out of his suit?
“Will this be our room?” I asked. “I mean, when we’re married. Or will we be keeping separate rooms like your father and . . .”
I struggled to say her name, but it was clear I didn’t need to. He paused, and the intensity ratcheted up in his eyes. “It’s whatever you want.”
I pressed my lips together, unsure. I’d always assumed when I was married, I’d share a bed with my spouse, the way most people did. The way my parents did.
Rather than make the decision, I sent it back to him. “What do you want?”
He turned his head and cast his gaze toward the bed, which suddenly seemed both inviting and scary at the same time. Something suspiciously like hope colored his voice. “We should try it.”