Page 27 of Royally Arranged

I felt Darla’s stare. Giving her a side-eye, I held my silent smile. I knew she was trying to read my face. I also knew she couldn’t.

Black lace swept into my vision on the floor. Austere had come to stand before me. She’d tossed her veil back, letting me see her benevolent smile. Unlike my mother’s, her eyes were green. Austere had always seemed older than she was, the way adults are when you’ve known them since you were small, but the last few years had turned her soft skin into hardened, wiry grooves.

“You know,” she said, her hands glued together in front of her waist, like she was afraid to touch anything around her, “I was nervous about marrying Hester originally. But your mother encouraged me to go for it. In the end, I did love him very much. The same could happen between you and Thorne.”

She’d misread my defensiveness as fear. I didn’t correct her. “Auntie ... will you really leave this place after living here for so long?”

Her stare drifted away, seeing something other than the hotel room. “Yes. This country never welcomed me. All I want is to return to the States so I can mourn Hester in peace.”

As much as I loathed what she had helped my parents do to Torino, it struck me as incredibly sad to realize Austere had loved a man who was now gone forever.

When she walked around me toward the door, I whispered, “I hope you find that peace you want. I mean it.”

Her eyes widened in shock, her smile hesitant but genuine.

“Come on,” my mother said. “Let’s get to bed, Darla. We’ll see you in the morning. Remember to wear something nice for the luncheon. The black dress I hung up for you is the one I’d prefer.”

She doesn’t even trust me enough to dress myself.That stung almost as much as the fact that she didn’t know I hated the color black. She’d had one of our staff back home go shopping for me for this trip, giving them a list of her own preferences, never once asking my input.

When I was alone I finished stripping down. In front of the bathroom mirror, I turned from side to side, checking myself for ... any hint that there was a difference in me after I’d had sex with Thorne. If I didn’t feel it internally, perhaps it would show on the outside. Hadn’t Larchmont said I looked guilty when I ran into him?

But there was nothing I could see. Just my smooth skin, free of tattoos, nothing at all like that man’s stunning form. Even if I wasn’t as flawless as he, I wasn’t ashamed of my soft shape. Once I had been. Not any longer.

I traced a finger up my hip, then around, finally rolling over the raised scar tissue on my lower stomach. He hadn’t seen it because we hadn’t undressed. Would I tell him about it if he asked? Part of me thought I’d spill my soul to him. My secrets were by omission, I didn’t intend to lie. It was just ... it didn’t matter. Nothing about who I’d been or how I’d found my way to metamorphosis was important.

The only thing I cared about wasnow.

Turning off the light, I fumbled for my bed in my blindness. I welcomed the pressure of the thick, heavy covers. They made me feel solid. Like I wasn’t about to vanish into thin air.

Lying there, I gazed at the ceiling I couldn’t see in the dark. My mind was racing too much for me to sleep. But I was used to staying awake. I didn’t sleep much these days—I spent my quiet time reading or drawing. Whatever struck my mood. Every minute I wasn’t doingsomethingwas a waste.

Tomorrow he’ll decide who he’ll marry.Darla was oblivious to the connection I had with Thorne. I’d clung to it since the start ... since long before I’d ever spoken to the man. Even before seeing him in person, I’d been eager to know more about him. It had arisen from the pages of data my father had his spies collect. He’d handed them out to us, drilled us on the knowledge so that we were always aware of what the Badds were up to.

It was my father’s game that I had to be a part of. I did as he asked, and he left me alone. I’d thought that was enough. I was sure that life consisted of looking at my feet while never standing up to men like my father.

Meeting Hawthorne really had changed everything.

Shutting my eyes, I stared at an inkiness no different from the lightless room. I was filled with a glorious, relaxed soreness I’d never experienced before. The insides of my thighs were tender. Parts of me were raw when I rocked this way or that. Life wasso good.

Remembering my wish, I placed my palm gently on my scar. I didn’t wonder if my suffering had been worth it. Not when I thought about the way Thorne had flirted with me ... courted me ... kissed me.

Fucked me.

Karma made me confident that it wasn’t possible for life to throw any more tragedy at my feet. I fell asleep not realizing how naive I was. How wrong I was.

But I would learn.

- CHAPTER TWELVE -

HAWTHORNE

Lifting the newspaper, I offered it to my father when he opened the door to his hotel room. “Happy Back from the Dead Day,” I said with a smile.

His grim frown didn’t budge. “Get in here.”

“I’m guessing you already saw the paper,” I said, following him inside. My mother was sitting at a table in the morning sunlight. She’d pulled her hair up on her head. It showed off her long neck where her velvety pale purple robe didn’t hide it. There were pockets under her tired eyes.

Looking at me, she offered a croissant from the basket she had. They must have ordered room service. “Morning, Thorne,” she said. “Here. Eat up, you’re going to need your energy today.”

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