Page 57 of Royal Games (The Royals of Monterra)

When I got to the stairs, I heard Aunt Sylvia say, “It’s the curse of the Summers hair. Makes all of us feisty and stubborn when we’re backed into a corner.”

I almost marched back downstairs. I was not feisty and stubborn! I was logical and reasonable and Rafe was the one acting like this was the twelfth century and I wasn’t allowed to go outside by myself.

My inner beast needed a Reese’s peanut butter cup.

At least I got what I wanted, I consoled myself, still searching for the silver lining. I’d given in to Aunt Sylvia’s request, which would make her happy, and Rafe had given in to mine, which made me happy.

I had won.

But even though I might have won this particular battle, I had the feeling that I was in danger of losing the war.

Which led to us in his SUV, driving through thick and blinding snow. “We don’t have to go,” he said. “I think they’ll understand.”

“I need the money,” I responded.

“I’ll give you the money.”

I scrunched my face up. Would he ever get it? “I need toearnthe money. I’m not your charity case.”

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m not saying you are—never mind. Forget it.”

Gladly. I rested my elbow against the base of the window, looking out into the stark white landscape that was lit up by the headlights of his car. I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but I was glad he was driving in this and I wasn’t. I might have been tempted to do just what he had suggested—turn around and go back.

But I couldn’t say no to the five thousand dollars the club was paying me. This would probably be my last chance to make any more money from the show. The new season ofMarry Mewas starting up in a few weeks. I didn’t know how they hoped to top identical twin princes.

Because there would soon be a new batch of contestants, nobody was going to be interested in the people from previous seasons. There wouldn’t be any more big checks in my future.

The car slid a little, as the freeway hadn’t been salted and cleared yet. But Rafe quickly regained control, putting us back into our lane. It was then that I realized I hadn’t seen another car in a long time. What if nobody showed up?

I texted the club owner, a man named Frank. I asked if he still needed me to come, because despite my objections, maybe Rafe was right. Frank responded immediately, telling me that the snow was not bad closer to the city, and the club was already packed. They were definitely expecting me. I told him there might be a delay with the weather, and he said not to worry about it, and to just get there safely and in one piece.

“The snow gets better up ahead.”

“It certainly can’t get worse,” he muttered, leaning forward with his arms locked into place.

“How about some music?” I said. He was in a bit of a mood, and I didn’t want to be stuck trying to make conversation with him.

Without waiting for him to respond, I turned the radio on. It was set to my favorite station, which seemed odd. Weirder still—Rafe was humming along to the Garth Brooks song that was playing. I didn’t know a lot about Monterra, but I was pretty sure they didn’t have country music there.

“How do you know this song?”

At first he didn’t say anything. And just when the silence got so oppressive I was in danger of lapsing into some nonsensical conversation to keep the quiet away, he said, “It makes me feel closer to you.”

My jaw dropped as my eyebrows gathered together, right above my nose. What was I supposed to do with that?

Rafe took out his phone and handed it to me. “Please call the last number.” Something in his voice made me do it. I tapped on the phone icon and went into his “Recent” tab. I selected the last call and pushed the green button to place the call. I put it on speaker for him.

The person on the other end picked up immediately. “This is Marco.”

“Marco, I’m checking in. The weather’s terrible,” he said as he side-eyed me. “But we’re fine. I’ll call you again in an hour.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

The bodyguard hung up, and I handed the phone back to Rafe. “I promised to call them every hour on the hour,” he explained as he put his phone back in his front jeans pocket.

I didn’t know whether or not to believe that his guards had stayed away. They might have told him they would, but for all I knew they were tailing us right now like some super stealthy hound dogs.

It took longer than normal, but we finally arrived. As promised, the snow was much lighter here, but it wasn’t any less cold. The SUV’s GPS guided Rafe to the front of the club, where valet-sicles were waiting to take our car.

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