Chapter 4 – Rowan
ROWAN
Iwake to sunlight stabbing through a gap in the curtains, a precise beam of torture that finds my eyelids like it was aimed there on purpose.
My head throbs in rhythm with my pulse, and my mouth feels like it was stuffed with cotton, my tongue like sandpaper.
Fragments of last night swim through the murky waters of my memory.
The diplomatic small talk. The women vying for my attention.
Her.
Ella. A vision in a silver-blue gown with hair and eyes like midnight.
A smile cracks across my dry lips, and despite my headache, I roll over and feel the bed beside me, anxious to grab onto her and pull her into me for another round.
For another hundred rounds. I’m here through the weekend, and there’s nothing I’d like more than to spend it in this bed with her.
Except she’s not there, and the place where her body was when I fell asleep is empty.
Cold. My eyes pinch closed, and I release a breath.
Did she run out on me? Maybe she’s in the bathroom?
But even as I twist my head in that direction, I don’t have to see the open door or note that the room is dark to know she’s not in there. It’s too quiet in the suite.
She’s not here.
Fuck.
I scrub my hands up and down my face and push away from the bed with my elbows until I’m sitting, my feet on the floor and my head in my hands.
I feel like shit. But it’s got nothing on waking up alone after the night we had.
She gave me her virginity. A piece of her no one else will ever get, and she’s gone.
The sex was incredible. But so was she, and I’m extremely disappointed she fled without a word.
I chuckle humorlessly. My pride is also more than a little wounded.
I suppose I deserve it after all the women I screwed around with and walked away from without a backward glance.
But that was before, and this is now, and…
shit. I wanted more of her. It was just sex, but I felt a connection with her.
I did. More than taking her virginity. From the moment I saw her, I wanted her.
And when she opened her smart mouth, she had me.
Clearly it wasn’t the same for her.
“Motherfucker,” I grind out, more than a little bitter. Definitely angry.
Who was she?
Pushing myself out of bed, I head for the bathroom when a sharp pain slices up the bottom of my foot and something hard presses into the soft flesh.
I step back and glance down, squinting at the object nestled into the threads of the thick carpet.
Bending, I pick up an earring. Heavy for its size, the diamonds are substantial.
I rest the twisted teardrops in my palm.
The facets pick up the sunlight, casting tiny rainbows about.
I close my eyes and try to remember the details of her face that aren’t coming in all that clear. I drank too much, and it bothers me now that I did.
Setting the diamond on the nightstand, I chug a bottle of water and get in the shower.
The hot water helps to clear my head but not that much.
I never got her last name. Never knew where she came from.
She spoke in French, and I assumed she was the daughter of a member of parliament or some French dignitary.
We danced and teased each other, and she wasn’t all that interested in doing either with me at first, but she still came back to my room.
She must have snuck out sometime after midnight, leaving me with her earring and no last name, like a modern-day Cinderella. I laugh. I’m going to catch such shit for this.
I get out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist when the clock on the nightstand catches my eye: 10:08. Damn. I was supposed to be at the post-wedding brunch over half an hour ago.
I dress on autopilot in dark slacks and a gray shirt, but just before I fly out the door, I snatch the diamond up and tuck it in my pocket, unwilling to leave it behind.
The chalet's corridors are quiet, as is the elevator ride down.
Likely everyone is already back in the ballroom, eating off their hangovers and gossiping about whatever nonsense they can.
A staff member nods as I pass, and from here, I can hear the tinkling sound of silverware against china and fake laughter.
An attendant opens the door for me, and I search around the room. Not for my brother or Bellamy or even the children, but for her. In the sea of over three hundred people, there is no one who comes even remotely close to matching my muddled memory of her.
But I do spot the event coordinator with her iPad in hand and march myself over to her.
“Your Highness,” she greets me with a deep curtsy and a small blush on her cheeks. “How may I be of service?”
“I’m trying to locate one of the guests from last night. A woman by the name of Ella.”
She pulls up her iPad and taps through until she has the guestlist at hand. “Do you have a last name for her, sir?”
And this is where I look like an asshole. “No. Just Ella. She was wearing a silver-blue dress. I didn’t see who she came in with.”
The woman presses her lips together, her expression switching from business mode to apologetic as she scrolls through the list. “I’m sorry, sir.
I don’t see anyone with the name Ella on the official list, nor do I see anyone who was checked in by that name.
” She keeps going through the list. “We have three Elizabeths, an Eleanor, and an Ellen, but no Ella.”
My stomach tightens. “What about staff? Could she have been working the event?” Maybe she was security or someone placed by security to blend in as a guest.
“All staff were in uniform, sir. Black-and-white dress clothes with name badges. You can certainly speak to your head of security, but all staff on the event side were dressed as I mentioned.”
“Thank you,” I say with my patented smile when what I really want to do is pick up her iPad and chuck it.
Instead, I walk away from what is becoming an awkward conversation.
Mostly from my foul mood. That’s what happens when the woman you had no business wanting to stay runs out on you in the middle of the night.
Unease slithers through me. Who was she?
I didn’t make her up. I wasn’t that drunk, and I have her earring.
Javier is along the far wall talking with his wife, Emily, as they stand, eating from plates in their hands instead of sitting amongst the guests. It’s tactical, and I know this because Sebastian, Bellamy, and the children are two tables over from them.
I cross the room to Javier, and when he catches me heading his way and notes my expression, he whispers something to Emily, sets his plate down on a nearby tray, and meets me halfway.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his Spanish accent thick.
“It’s nothing to be alarmed about.” I don’t think. “I was hoping we could scroll through the security footage from last night.”
“Of course, sir. May I ask why?”
I glance around us, and while no one is paying us any particular attention, I don’t want to discuss this out here. “Can we go somewhere? Is there a room we can use? Or even my suite?”
“Do you want me to get Sebastian?”
I think about this for a minute, but he’s smiling and happy with his wife and children. He doesn’t need to know about this. Not yet.
“That can wait.”
He gives me a nod. “Your suite is likely the safest place if you’re at all concerned about that.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
I flip around and, without making eye contact with anyone, grab a muffin from the side of the buffet and leave the same way I came in. My fingers work to tear at the top of the pastry, shoving pieces of cake and blueberry into my mouth while I get back onto the elevator.
The keycard snicks on the pad, and after I open the door, I swing the latch out so the door catches on it and doesn’t close all the way.
My suite is a decent size, and I drop down at the dining table that seats four, only to get back up.
I didn’t grab coffee downstairs, but thankfully, there’s a small espresso maker in here.
The sound of gears grinding and water moving through the machine fills the room, as does the aroma of strong coffee.
I down my first cup that’s as bitter as I am, not even caring if it’s burning my tongue because it’s already been a fucking day.
One that would have started miles better if I’d woken up to a warm body instead of a cold bed.
I make myself a second cup and carry it back to the table to eat the muffin, my stomach roiling from too much alcohol and uncertainty.
A moment later, the door opens, and Javier joins me, his laptop bag slung over his shoulder. He takes the seat beside me at the table and sets up his computer.
“Tell me what I’m searching for.”
I don’t have to tell him this is confidential. This is Javier, and he’s forever on the short list of people I trust.
“I met a woman last night,” I begin. “Dark hair and eyes, wearing a silver-blue gown. She spoke in French and was sort of floating around the room. I talked her into dancing with me, and we had a drink together. Once dinner began, I brought her up to my room only to wake up alone with this.” I dig into my pocket, pull out the earring, and set it on the table.
“She told me her name was Ella. I never got a last name or even who she came with, and there’s no record of an Ella on the guest list, or so the event coordinator claims.”
His lips thin. “Do you feel she was a threat?”
“No,” I reply automatically, only to think better of it and amend my statement. “I don’t know. She was just kind of there, listening to other women gossip about Bellamy and rolling her eyes at them.”
“You said this was before dinner, si? So during the cocktail hour?”
“Yes.”
He nods, already clicking buttons on the keyboard. He tilts the laptop toward me so I can see the screen, and he puts in a time for the video to begin.