He cleared his throat. “So, I should apologize for my manners. I believe I owe you congratulations.”
“You do? Oh. About Bart. Yes. Thank you.”
“How long have you two been together?”
She cocked her head, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. “Why are you here, Leo?”
“I believe the term is extortion. You extracted a price for working with me, remember?”
She didn’t laugh. “I mean at all. With all of our history, why come to me? So what if I wrote that paper? It was just a Law Review article. There is nothing in there that hundreds of attorneys across the globe couldn’t counsel you on. What?” she added, when he didn’t answer right away, just smiled.
“Your words were a bit muddled, but your pauses were significantly less. You regulated your breathing, and it worked.”
The return of the waiter gave her a reprieve before answering. She swirled the glass, then took a sip. “I was talking to you.”
“And I don’t make you nervous?”
She seemed to genuinely consider the question. “No,” she said. “You never have.”
He started to reach for her hand, remembered, and pulled back. He cleared his throat. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“You still haven’t … answered my question. Why me when any lawyer would do?”
“That’s not a question you should have to ask.”
She looked down, then ran her finger over the rim of her glass. “Leo. Don’t. Just … don’t.”
“I am sorry, Skye. More sorry than you’ll ever know. Or believe.”
“Why wouldn’t I believe you? Just because you … walked away after the first time we finally slept together? Because you never … called? Because I … learned that not only were you a … prince, but you were … prancing around Europe with a dozen … girls on your arm.”
This time her speech wasn’t clear. The words came painfully slow, their tones slurring together so that he had to concentrate to understand her.
“I am sorry. At first, I was frantic. My father had a heart attack, and I was about to inherit the throne. I couldn’t—I couldn’t be with you. I knew that. And I was so angry at the world and my fate that I pushed that reality down, burying myself in the minutiae of duty.”
“You’re saying you didn’t … call me because you … wanted me?”
The dysarthria did nothing to mask the sarcasm. He heard that loud and clear.
“I was an idiot. And then—I don’t know. Once my father was well, I could have come back. I could have flown to Texas and told you everything.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“I see.” She took another sip of whiskey. She’d barely made a dent.
He picked up his glass and downed the rest of his.
“So you’re here now … with me … because you need to learn about amending your constitution.”
He knew he ought to say yes. Whatever had been between them was gone—and if it wasn’t, it might as well be. Even if he hadn’t hurt her, they had no future.
But he didn’t say yes. Instead, he told her the truth. “I’m here because Professor Malkin is getting an award on Friday. Your firm’s symposium was a happy coincidence.”
“So you could have just hired another attorney?”
“Could have, yes. Probably should have.”
“But you didn’t.” She stirred her whiskey with her fingertip, then sucked the liquid off.
“No,” he said, his entire body tightening. “I didn’t.”
She withdrew the digit, her cheeks pink.
“I was coming to Austin. You’d written this article. Your firm was hosting an international law symposium. The coincidence seemed too much to ignore.”
“Quantum entanglement,” she said, then grinned.
He realized he was smiling. “Not exactly, but I’m proud of you for trying.”
“Well, I never was the physicist.”
“No.” He reached for her hand, and she didn’t withdraw it. “You’re right that I could have asked another lawyer. Maybe I should have. But I wanted you.”
“Why?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Because you’d already helped me once, so I hoped you could help me again.”
“I did? How?”
“You fell for me, and not my crown. And back then, that mattered more than you can know.”
Chapter Thirteen
Skye paced the living room as Bart sat on the couch watching her, probably thinking she was crazy.
He caught her eye as she reached the wall, turned around, and started back toward the kitchen. “Did you tell him you’re happily engaged, and that he needs to keep his distance?”
Skye paused, then shrugged. “I didn’t tell him that I’m not.”
“Good. He thinks we’re together. That’s a good plan. That’s solid. It’ll make everything go more smoothly while you two are working together.”
Skye nodded, though with less enthusiasm than she probably should have. Somehow the idea that Leo believed she was unavailable just depressed her.
“You’re meeting him again tomorrow night, right?”
“Bart?”
“What?”
“I don’t want to be engaged.”
“Hannah,” Bart called toward the kitchen. “You want to help me out?”
“Like hell,” Hannah called back. “You giving relationship advice? I’m all ears.”
Bart scowled, then sighed. Then he scooted to the side of the couch, angling his body as he looked at Skye and patted the seat next to him. “We need to have a conversation.”
With a sigh, she went and sat, curling her feet up beneath her.
“What happened to being wildly pissed off?”
“I was. Maybe I still am. I don’t know.” She’d been fiddling with her hands, but now she looked up at him. “He was so … earnest. So sorry.”
“Earnest? Can royalty be earnest?”
She ignored him. “I think he genuinely felt horrible … about what happened. I want ... I really like him. Maybe I even love him. Or loved him before.”
“Skye…”
“I don’t like being angry at him. It feels … wrong.”
“Okay. I get that. You’re not someone who holds a grudge.” Bart reached out and took her hand. “But that doesn’t mean you should go all in with this guy. Come on, Skye. He’s a prince. Remember? It’s not like this is going to go anywhere.”
“That’s not … a good reason for me to stay mad. I mean … why shouldn’t I forgive him? Like you said, this can’t go anywhere. He’s a prince. And I’m … just me. But we have a … connection. And I don’t want to destroy that by holding onto being angry.”
“Damn right, he’s a prince. Which means he’s supposed to be held to a higher standard of how to treat people. You’re totally justified in being angry.”
“Oh please,” Hannah said, walking back in from the kitchen holding three open bottles of beer. She handed them out as she asked, “What tabloids have you been reading? Higher standard? The rich and royals are users.”