Page 49 of American Queen (New Camelot Trilogy 1)
Just because you want to forget who you are doesn’t mean the rest of us can forget you.
“There’s nothing between Embry and me,” I repeat, but my response took too long and my face betrays too much. I never was a good liar.
Abilene’s smile curls into something sharp. “Whatever you say, cousin mine. Just be careful. This city is full of wolves, and they are always hungry.”
“There’s nothing for them to be hungry for,” I say again. “Embry isn’t a problem.”
The smile curls sharper. “I think he’s very much a problem for you. And for the President too.”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just this, Greer, that men like them have secrets. You don’t get to be that powerful that young without some big skeletons in your closet, and I guarantee you that the President and Merlin Rhys would be willing to do anything to keep those secrets contained. Anything.”
“I feel like you know something I don’t.”
“If you’re dating the President, you’ll find out soon enough,” she says and there’s something cruelly gleeful about her voice. “And I think some women might be able to live with his past, but you’re not one of them, honey.”
I flick my mind over my mental log, trying to scan Ash’s past for any whisper of scandal, but I come up short. Before I can say anything else, Abilene waves off my words. “Don’t worry about it. Seriously. I’d hate to scare you off of a romance you just started. Now, I have a meeting in about five minutes. You’re welcome to wait in here until I get back and then we can grab lunch or…?”
The meaning is clear. It’s time for you to leave.
Grateful for the exit strategy, I stand up. “I’ve got to get back to work. A new batch of projects have come in for grading.”
Abilene stands too and comes around her desk. She gives me a hug that isn’t any lighter or shorter than any other hug she’s given me, but all the same, I can tell there’s something new between us. Something ugly. And while half of it is her jealousy, the other half is this new doubt she’s sown in my mind, this new fear.
You’ll find out soon enough.
I shiver as I leave her office and step out into the chilly November air.
What does that even mean?
And what if I don’t want to find out?
16
The Present
When I open the door to my townhouse, I’m so distracted by my conversation with Abilene that I don’t even notice the tall man standing in the living room. I throw my purse onto a nearby chair and get ready to walk into the kitchen to forage for some coffee—coffee with a hefty amount of bourbon thrown in—and get the shock of my life when I see Merlin Rhys out of the corner of my eye.
“Jesus Christ,” I gasp, stepping back and slumping against a bookshelf. He steps out of the November afternoon murk gathering in the corners of my living room, putting his hands up to indicate he means no harm.
“Ms. Galloway,” he says, inclining his head.
“How the hell did you get in here?” I say—well, sputter, really—trying to cover over the adrenaline with outrage.
“I used to live here,” Merlin says calmly, producing a key from his pocket and setting it on the coffee table. “Years ago, when I was just moving to Washington, your grandfather was kind of enough to let me stay here until I found a place of my own. I promise I won’t intrude again, but I did think it was time that you and I have a talk.”
The bookshelf presses into my back. A cloud passes over the sun. The room is cold shadows as Merlin takes a seat on the armchair, crossing his legs. The movement is graceful but not sensual, elegant but not effeminate. There is something almost asexual about the way he carries himself, just as there’s something ageless in the sharp lines of his face.
It’s been five years since I last saw him in person, although it was impossible to avoid seeing him on television or hearing his name on the news in the time since. He was the campaign manager for Ash’s campaign, and now he’s Ash’s senior advisor—one of those roles that seems as ubiquitous as it is mysterious—and I know the timing of this encounter isn’t a coincidence.
“A talk,” I repeat. My throat’s dry, and I clear it. “Five years ago, I came to your birthday party and you told me—again—to keep my kisses to myself. Are you going to tell me a third time? Am I in trouble?”
And in the gloom of the shadows, the man I’ve been afraid of since I was seven laughs.
Laughs.
Not a sinister laugh, not a cruel laugh. A happy laugh. A friendly laugh. And through the shadows and years of fear, I see that he’s just a man. Not a wizard, not a psychic, not the kissing police. Just a well-bred, perceptive man who is capable of laughing loudly enough to fill a room.
