Page 97 of Breathtaking

He pours another glass and taps it to mine. “It does. Until now, I’ve been a partner in a law firm, but it’s really been in name only. I haven’t practiced in a few years. Since our mother died, our father, Rhys, and I have been carrying out business for the crown. That won’t change, but I’ll now be Rhys’s head adviser. Can’t have the brother of the king have something like a job. The crown is the job.”

“You guys talk about the crown like it’s a living, breathing thing,” I realize.

“Because it is.” He drops dramatically onto a couch that looks older than me but is probably worth more than my car. “It’s outlived us all, and if we take care of it the way we’ve been tasked to, it will outlive our children and yours. The crown comes first. It has to. It’s why I was so goddamned grateful Lennon found you so far away from this. She was never meant for this life. She never wanted it. She’s too much of a dreamer. Let her dream. Keep her far away from here.”

“She shouldn’t be here in the first place. My daughter made her bed with a commoner, and now, she can lie with the fleas.”

My blood boils with those words, but I refuse to turn around. If this piece of shit wants my attention, let him stand in front of me and look me in the eye when he demands it.

“Hello, Papa,” Atticus groans through gritted teeth as his father walks by me. “Let me guess... You want to see Rhys?”

“Who are you?” he fucking sneers at me like he’s looking at shit on his shoe.

“I’m the man who loves your daughter more than you ever will. I’m the man who made sure she was safe, after the one you sold her to put her in the fucking hospital,” I seethe. “You fucking piece of shit.”

“Oh, cursing to get your point across. Such class. No wonder Lennon spread her legs for you.”

I have him by the throat and pinned against the wall before Atticus can even stand. “Listen to me, you upper-crust asshole. I don’t care who you are. I don’t give a flying fuck what blood runs through your body. I will kill you and sleep with a clear conscience right next to your daughter like nothing happened if you ever talk about her like that again. Do you understand me?”

His face turns so red, it borders on purple, but he doesn’t move.

Refuses to speak.

So I tighten my hold.

“Do you fucking understand me?”

“I’ll have you arrested for this,” he manages to spit past his lips.

“Do your best,” I threaten with no clue whether he can or not.

“You will do no such thing,” Atticus growls.

“Who’s going to stop me?” he wheezes with little room to breathe as I tighten my grip.

“I outrank you, Papa. The only person I answer to is Rhys. Hell, Lennon outranks you. Who do you think she’s going to choose? Better yet, which side do you think Rhys will fall on?”

Atticus gets in his father’s face, while I keep him pinned to the wall. “I’m tired of this game, Papa. The one where we act like we can stand to be in your presence. None of us can. Mother never even could. So shut your mouth. Do your duty. Never say another word about Lennon again, and you can continue the life of luxury you’re used to living. But so help me fucking God, if you open that mouth one more time, it won’t be the king who cuts off your miserable head.” He moves in closer, leaving barely an inch between them. “It will be me.”

Her father gasps as I drop my hold and watch him fall to the floor.

Atticus bends down. “And in case you weren’t sure, the commoner’s name is Maddox Beneventi. He’s Lennon’s husband and your grandchild’s father. And before he gets back on a plane to America, he’ll outrank you too, you miserable piece of shit.”

Lennon’s brother stands up, brushes his slacks off, and looks at me like he didn’t just impress the hell out of me. Something most people don’t do. “You think Brennan’s awake yet? I want to meet my nephew.”

“I think it’s about time we found out.” I make a show of walking over my father-in-law’s legs with a fucking smile and follow Atticus upstairs.

LENNON

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Lonely is the soul that supports it.

And forever grateful are the siblings spared the same fate.

—Lennon’s Secret Thoughts

Tradition calls for the sons and grandsons of the monarch to walk behind the coffin of the king as it’s pulled from Rosenhall Palace to St. Benedict’s Abbey in a glass-enclosed carriage. My brothers, father, and even the king himself did this for my mother’s funeral, but my father insisted I wasn’t allowed. Today, I walk side by side with my brothers. Maddox’s hand is in mine, and my father has already been driven to the abbey to greet the foreign dignitaries as they arrive, getting him out of our hair. Rhys insisted if I wanted my husband with me, then that was what we’d do. He ignored the pushback from the palace advisers and told me to let him worry about it.

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