31. “What Else Is There?” - Röyksopp
“What Else Is There?” - Royksopp
We’ve been in London for just over a day, and I’ve had more orgasms in the past twenty-four hours than in the entire previous year. Is this what I have to look forward to for the rest of my life? No one should be this lucky.
I smile as I run the washcloth over my body, remembering Henry’s hands and mouth doing the same thing.
He was gone when I woke up this morning, but he texted to let me know he was just on a run.
I check my phone again when I get out to see if he responded to my reply that I’d be in the shower if he wanted to join me.
There are no new notifications, but the lock screen is a picture of Tundra and me, reminding me of how close I came to losing everything. London is a bubble, but it can only protect me from reality for so long.
I’m just hanging up my towel and reaching for my clothes when the bathroom door opens and a deliciously sweaty Henry steps inside.
He takes in my naked form and strips off his damp T-shirt in one fluid movement.
I’m in his arms before I can blink. He reaches blindly for the shower controls while kissing me fiercely.
“You’re making me sweaty,” I say around a laugh.
“That’s the beauty of a shower,” he tells me, capturing my mouth again.
“I just took one.”
He chuckles into my ear. “But you didn’t take one with me yet.”
I take one last bite of my blueberry muffin, then place the rest of it on my plate and brush the crumbs from my fingers.
“You’re not going to eat more?” Henry asks.
I shake my head. “Not hungry.”
“You barely took three bites.”
“I have more important things on my mind,” I say, resting my hand on his thigh.
He grins and laces his fingers through mine while polishing off the rest of the muffin. “As much as I love the idea of spending all day in bed with you again, I’m afraid I need to leave today.”
My breakfast sinks like a rock in my stomach. “You’re leaving me?”
He must catch the unease in my voice, because he grabs both my hands. “It won’t be for long. And I’ll be back, I promise.”
I swallow the words that are begging to come out: How am I supposed to believe you?
Things are different between us now. He was only trying to protect me before.
And now that his father is a wanted man, it’s only a matter of time before he’s behind bars for attempting to kill me.
Any leverage he once held over Henry is gone.
I nod, hoping he can’t see the way my eyes have watered. “How long will you be gone?”
“Not long. I should be back in time for dinner tonight. We can’t go out, but I’ll have the chef prepare something special, okay?”
I smile at his words, I smile when he kisses the top of my head, I smile at his retreating back as he walks out of the penthouse. It isn’t until I face myself in the mirror that my smile crumbles, leaving nothing but bitterness and shame in its wake.
What kind of fool am I?
Once again, Henry only lasted thirty-six hours before taking off.
We have no hope of building a future together if he’s going to leave me every few days.
And how long am I supposed to tolerate being kept in the dark?
Relationships are meant to go both ways, and if he’s not going to tell me what’s going on at some point, he can forget about getting anything from me, let alone my heart.
I hold the blinds open and stare down at the London street below. Wellington Arch sits grandly in the park across from the hotel.
I’m being ridiculous. Henry is a savvy businessman. He can’t walk away from his duties for long without facing serious repercussions. Expecting him to hole up in this suite just because I have to isn’t fair.
The best thing to do is get my mind off him and what may or may not be the start of an actual relationship.
I briefly contemplate sneaking out and exploring the city on my own, but along with trusting Henry comes trusting him with my security.
Whatever I decide to do will need to be done within the safety of the Lanesborough.
I still have an entire box of financial documents to sort through before we can start implementing Henry’s plans for the Royal Estate. That kind of boring tedium will be just the thing to get my mind off the current drama in my life.
I text Maisie, who had the foresight to bring the green box with her, and she enters my suite a few minutes later with it.
“Geez Louise!” She dumps it unceremoniously onto the table in the dining room. “Do you have any idea how heavy that thing is?” She perches her hands on her hips.
I cock a brow at her theatrics and remove the lid. “Might as well get started.”
We each begin sorting through a stack, setting aside anything that pertains to the income and expenses of the royal household.
When the whole system went digital several years ago, someone apparently decided all physical papers could simply be dumped in a bin with no rhyme or reason to their organization.
I mentally stick pins in said person with every page I pull out.
We’re only thirty minutes in when I get a crick in my neck that threatens to put me out of commission.
“It’s a sign,” Maisie says without looking up.
“Of what?”
“You’re meant to be lying on a bed like a pampered princess, not sorting through years’ worth of financial statements. Why are we doing this anyway?”
I massage the tight tendons in my neck. “Because I need to know exactly how much income the royal household has coming in from its various streams.”
“And you didn’t think that was something the Privy Purse could handle?”
“Considering the fact that the palace staff is currently being paid from my own trust fund because of their fumbling the budget, no I didn’t.”
She lets out a faint snort. “Fair point. What’s this company—WJCS Enterprise? I keep seeing it pop up everywhere.”
I take the page from her hand. On this statement alone are listed five sizable deposits they made into the royal household account. “That must be the private Sutherland income,” I say.
Before I can hand it back to her, her eyes go wide as she scans another document. “Holy smokes. That must be some income. Look at this.” She gives me the second page without taking the first back. She doesn’t even look at me. She’s already engrossed in the next one.
The statement she’s just handed me lists several more deposits from WJCS Enterprise, but these are much larger—likely the reason for her shock. They’re more than double the other amounts, which weren’t small to begin with.
“What does he do?” we both wonder aloud.
I glance up at Maisie. She lowers the paper in her hand to meet my eyes. “This is weird, right?” she says. “No one makes that much money without something shady going on.”
I hedge a laugh. “Not necessarily true, but it’s also not likely the duke had time to be running billion-dollar companies while also ruling a country.”
She nods. “That is a lot of zeroes.”
“Do you think any of that belongs to the royal family?” I say. If it does, that would solve most of my problems.
“I’m not sure.” Her voice drifts off as she looks over yet another page, and she shakes her head.
“These deposits are insanely large, and there are multiples every month. No wonder the Privy Purse was content to sit around on their asses all day. There was no need to do anything.” She hands me the statement without looking to see if I’m planning to take it.
I scan through it, and I must agree. These amounts are much larger than what one could reasonably expect from a Wesbournian estate these days.
With the cost of property taxes, modernization, and the amount of repairs old manor homes take, there’s often little to no income left at the end of the month.
Or, as was the case with Maison de Lierre, it costs to run it.
I set the pages down and look at Maisie, waiting until she glances up. “What are the odds you could use your witchery to figure out exactly where all of this money was coming from?”
A slow grin spreads across her face. “And here I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.” She holds up a finger and wags it. “But it will cost you.”
I shoot her a droll look. “What do you want now?”
“A steady stream of coffee.” She’s already frowning at the next page in her hand. “And a raise if I’m right about this money coming in illegally.”
Now it’s my turn to snort. “You’re lucky you get paid these days. I wouldn’t push it.”
Maisie leaves and returns to the suite with her laptop a few minutes later.
I’m still trying to work out the kink in my neck.
I haven’t heard from Henry yet, but he’s only been gone for two hours.
Is it too clingy to send him a text saying I miss him?
Probably. But damn it, I do miss him. There’s no reason I can’t tell him that.
Besides, it might make him hurry back a little faster.
I’m typing out a message when another idea strikes me.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Maisie, before slipping into the bathroom.
I peel my dress off and stand in front of the mirror in nothing but my bra and thong.
Holding my phone out, I snap a photo. When I look at it on my screen, I feel seven shades of stupid.
My thumb hovers over the delete button, but I remind myself that Henry and I are in a relationship, and even if we’re not committed yet, it’s completely fine to send him almost-nude photos of myself. I attach it to the text and hit send.
When I get out, Maisie is typing away faster than I’ve ever seen her. I’m a little surprised to see that there’s no smoke rising from her fingers.
“I’d ask how it’s going, but I’m a little scared to stop you,” I say.
She grimaces but doesn’t slow down. “Not well. You wouldn’t believe the number of decoys this guy has in place.”
I bark out a laugh as I sit down. “Like father, like son, remember?”
She shakes her head. “Henry’s was nothing compared to this.”
“Care to explain?” I ask.
“For starters, Henry just hid his companies within shells. This one uses shells too, but everything’s encrypted.”