Page 68 of Royal Games (The Royals of Monterra)

She nodded. “Yes. Dante and Rafe are identical twins. You have been spending time with Rafe, and Lemon has spent all of her time with Dante. We didn’t want any of you to know that there were two men and not just one.”

“But why? Why would you do that?”

She cocked her head to the side, the way Laddie did when he was listening to me. “Why else? Ratings.”

She’d torn my heart out of my chest for ratings. To make rich producers and show owners even richer. She’d made me a laughingstock and stomped all over my broken heart to entertain.

“So Lemon was angry because she thought you were kissing Dante, but it’s totally fine because you were kissing Rafe.”

“How does that matter?” I ask. What she told me made things worse. Despite my fears that Rafe wanted Lemon, which might still be an issue, the bigger problem was that he had lied.

Lied, and lied, and then lied some more. He wasn’t who he said he was. Yes, he’d told me his real name, but he had insinuated that it was a nickname and made me feel special that I was the only one who got to use it.

I got into my bed, pulling the covers up over my head like I used to when I was little and I had pretended my blanket was a force field that could protect me from nightmares or ghosts or cult leaders.

Taylor kept talking, and tears started to roll down the side of my nose, falling onto the sheet. Eventually she gave up, leaving me alone in a darkened room.

I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to. I wanted to black out and forget this had happened. He lied. Even after I told him how important it was for him to always be honest. The only sound was my harsh, angry breathing.

A knock at my door. It was Rafe. Even if I couldn’t see him, I knew who it was.

The door slowly opened. “Genesis?”

“Go. Away.”

He came in, closed the door, and sat on the other bed.

After several silent minutes, he said, “I would have come sooner, but Dante and I had some things we had to work out with the executive producer. And I wanted us to be able to talk alone.”

Without a camera crew to document every excruciating moment. “I know English isn’t your first language, but what you’re doing is the opposite of going away. Leave me alone.”

He sighed, but I didn’t move. I lay there, completely covered up.

“I found your note.”

That sent a jolt of sadness through me. I didn’t want him to read it. I didn’t want him to know how I felt about him. Or, how I used to feel about him.

“Did you mean what you said?” His voice had a rough, jagged quality to it.

I sat up as indignation made my stomach burn. I was torches-and-pitchforks-storming-the-castle mad. There was enough moonlight for me to see him. He was wearing glasses. Something he’d never done before. “You lied to me. You didn’t tell me from the beginning that you were a prince, so that was a lie. You didn’t tell me you had an identical twin brother. You pretended to be him, and you made me believe that you had feelings ...” I trailed off as my throat squeezed, not willing to go there. “Was this some kind of game? A joke?”

“Never. What I feel for you is very real. And I had to lie. I owe Dante. When I was younger and dumber—”

I held up my hand. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I don’t know how you could have lied to me after I opened up to you about John-Paul. And Richard. About how important it was to me that the man I loved be totally honest with me. And this entire time, every minute of every day, you’ve lied. Everything about us was a lie. Every time you kissed me and touched me. Lies.”

“The only thing I’ve lied about was that Dante and I were the same person. Everything else was me. I was always myself with you.”

“But very careful not to share too many personal details,” I pointed out, as my heart clenched in agony. “You’ve always kept me at arm’s length because you knew what you were doing was wrong. And you knew how much it would upset me.”

My voice wobbled, and I knew I was going to cry. Not just falling tears, but deep, painful, chest-wrenching sobs. “Get out. I don’t want to see you or talk to you ever again.”

“But I need to explain.”

“No!” I screamed. “Get out!” I slammed my fists against the bed. “Out! Now!”

He looked heartbroken, but I didn’t care. My icy, furious heart had no room for sympathy or compassion.

But he went.

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