Page 35 of Royally Ruined

Resting there with my head in the crook of Costello’s arm, I wandered with my fingers, pretending they were tiny legs. “This one,” I said, testing the hardness of his ribs where the black-and-red crown tattoo slept. “It’s really beautiful.”

Costello inhaled, and his lungs became so big I shifted under his expanding chest. “How much do you know about my family?”

He’d reacted less when telling me he’d killed someone. “Why?”

“You know we’re dangerous, but what else?”

Ah. I had a hunch where this was going. “You’re trying to find out if I know that you’re a prince.” Costello eyeballed me warily, so I said, “They always talk about it in the news. ‘Badd Prince Arrested Again,’ that sort of stuff. Your family is notorious among the locals.”

I wasn’t being entirely honest. Yes, Ididknow he was royalty ... but it wasn’t thanks to the media. The papers spilled tons of false info and half truths.

I was relieved when he eased back on the pillows, convinced enough by my explanation not to dig deeper. “You really know that much.” He traced his ribs. “More people know about my father’s royal heritage than they should. Some things are best if they remain a secret.”

A tiny little nibble of shame began eating at me. I knew all about secrets. Sitting up, I caressed his jaw. My thumb pad rested on his scar; his flinch was full body. “The one thing I really want to know about ... is this.”

He guided my wrist away until my fingers danced within an inch of his cheek. “No.”

“If you’re worried I can’t handle the details—”

“The details,” he repeated, tightening his grip. “What does that even mean?”

“Just ... if it was gory, is all. And you’re worried it’ll freak me out so you don’t want to tell me the whole story.” The buttery sweetness between us had gone rancid. Lowering my voice, I whispered, “Whatever happened, it looks like it hurt.”

All of a sudden his eyelids drooped—so heavy, so tired. “It still hurts.”

“What?”

Costello released me, turning away on the pillows. “It’s time to sleep,” he said. “You need to rest. Both of us do.”

My wrist throbbed from his touch. Brushing my fingers over it, I hugged myself. We’d been naked for hours and I hadn’t minded. Now I felt painfully exposed.

I didn’t want to put the reception dress back on. He’d given it to me, he’d stripped it away, and now it was crumpled on the floor.It never really suited me anyway,I told myself as I slid on the clothes I’d “borrowed” from the jet. These clothes didn’t suit me, either, though. I grunted softly as I struggled into the too-tight jeans. Costello remained silent through it all.

Fluffing my hair, I spared a glance at him on the bed. I could see the broad shape of his shoulders in the dark. He faced the wall, keeping me from knowing if he was awake or asleep. I doubted he was sleeping so soon, but ... it made me feel better to think so. Explaining away the heavy silence was easier that way.

I found my cell phone in the jeans’ front pocket. Fingering it, I headed into the bathroom. Talking to Gina would cheer me up.But she’ll want to know about me and Costello, and I don’t think she’d believe me if I said nothing happened this time. I can’t call her,I thought, flicking on the light. Lifting my head, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My hair was a mess, my cheeks still a little pink. When I leaned closer I could see the tiny bruises on my neck where he’d kissed me so roughly.

With one finger I traced the bridge of my nose. The spot where my piercing would be felt strangely blank. I poked my skin, imagining the hard stud like a phantom limb.

My disguise was a poor one, but it had worked.Right. That’s what I should be thinking about.I wasn’t at this wedding because it was supposed to be fun ... this was about hiding. About staying alive.

Instead of focusing on Costello and his hard hands that had left fingerprints on my body, I needed to focus on Darien. On the Deep Shots. On not getting blamed for something I didn’t do.

How messed up was I thathekept popping into my brain?

Costello ... what did you do to me.It wasn’t a question because I knew the damn answer. He was in my bone marrow, on my tongue. I could taste him now, and it was pure decadence. He wore a shell, but for a brief time tonight, I’d seen beyond it. He’d held me close as our hearts thudded. If they could have, they would’ve escaped our chests and melted into one big throb.

Then I’d asked about his scar ... and the walls had returned.

Sighing, I gripped the sink and hung my head. My hair trailed into the drain.His scar is so obvious, no way I’m the first to ask about it.The porcelain was cool; I dropped to my knees so I could rest my forehead on the side of the sink. Costello’s words swam through my skull, circling until they formed a sinkhole.

It still hurts.

What did that even mean? Groaning, I bumped my head gently on the hard surface.He’s a damn enigma. Why couldn’t I crush on someone less mysterious?Filling my lungs, I made myself stand. This time my reflection looked much more confident. “Hey,” I said to myself, pointing. “Stop being sad. Everything is fine. You slept with him, you both had fun, and in the morning everything will go back to normal.”

It was only a tiny bit reassuring, but I grabbed on to it.

Yes,I thought.It’ll be fine. Sleep makes everything better.When I opened the door, my knees turned into wet paper on the threshold.

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