CHAPTER NINETEEN – HATTIE
Three knocks sound at the door, and I turn towards it, dragging my gaze away from the mirror.
“It’s me.” Finn’s voice is slightly muffled by the door. “Are you ready?”
“No,” I call back, pressing my hands to my stomach.
He chuckles lightly. “Can I come in?”
“I suppose.”
The creak of the door fills the room, and the moment I lay eyes on him, it’s almost as if everything else around us ceases to exist. He’s not wearing the full ceremonial wear he was in our photoshoot, but rather a sharp, tailored black tux with a pocket square that matches the hue of my dress perfectly, along with some Royal Orders.
It hugs every taut muscle on his body, just begging me to roam my gaze over every inch of him to drink it in. And I do. I look him up and down, soaking in every inch of his strong body in that perfectly tailored suit of his.
Good grief, he’s handsome.
And there’s a little part of me that just wants to rip it off him and leave it in a heap on the floor.
I drag my gaze upwards to his face. He’s barely moved from his position a few steps inside the door, and he’s completely fixated on me. All he’s doing is staring at me, unashamedly, unabashedly, like there’s nothing else at all in this room other than me.
Heat prickles across my skin, and I dip my chin, feeling the warmth spread up my neck to my cheeks. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Finn opens his mouth, and his lips move, but no words come out. Just a weird, almost gargling noise that seems to get caught in his throat.
“What’s that noise for?” I mutter, gathering my skirt so I can step back down from this stupid pedestal.
He rushes over and holds out his hand before I can. I hesitate for a second, then rest my hand on top of his. His fingers curl around mine, and he helps me step off it, his eyes never leaving me the whole time.
I peer up at him. “Are you going to say anything? Or are you going to keep staring at me like this?”
He brings his closed fist to his mouth, turns his head, and coughs into it. There’s an almost light pink sheen to his cheeks, and I narrow my eyes.
Is he... blushing?
That’s new.
“Shit,” he whispers into his fist, still holding my hand. “You... I can’t... Fuck.”
“Why, Your Royal Highness,” I say teasingly. “Do I look that beautiful that you’re rendered speechless?”
His blue gaze latches on to mine, and despite my tone, there’s no hint of playfulness in his. Just a deep, dark seriousness that makes my stomach flip.
“If ‘beautiful’ were an adequate word to describe how you look right now, I’d have used it,” he says, his voice low. “So, forgive me for squawking like an imbecile, but I truly do not believe there’s anything I can say that would do you justice.”
“You could have just said ‘yes,’” I mumble, turning my face away from his. If I don’t, he’s going to see just how badly those words have affected me.
Maybe he’ll even see how fast my heart is racing. Because it is. Like it’s been struck by a thousand lightning bolts, constantly jolting it to life.
“Hattie.” He rests his hand gently on my cheek, careful not to touch my hair and ruin it, and turns me back until our eyes meet. “You have no idea how breathtaking you are right now. I’m going to be the envy of every man in that ballroom tonight.”
“You’re exaggerating.” I pull my hand from his and step to the side, putting a bit of distance between us. I don’t know if the twirling in my stomach is from his closeness or my nerves, but I’m not even sure it matters.
“Am I?” His gaze follows me. “I don’t even think I want to take you out there and show you to the world, God forbid anyone get any ideas about stealing you from me. My response wouldn’t be very becoming of my position.”
With a sigh, I look back over my shoulder at him. “Stealing me? I’m not a possession to be taken.”
“And you’d pull a knife on anyone who tried it, right?”
I purse my lips. “Where exactly do you think I have a knife hidden on me right now? Wait—are you under the impression I’m some kind of vigilante who keeps a penknife hidden in my boot or something?”
He grins in the kind of way that makes his eyes twinkle. “Just wondering if I need to be prepared for your chaos this evening.”
“Well, you do.” I check my make-up in the mirror, smooth down a couple of wayward hairs, and turn back to face him.
“Except I think most of it will come from the meltdown the Sinclairs will have when I walk out instead of you approaching Jasmine. Which will rather serve to make me look good, I suppose.”
“You know,” he says, approaching me and offering me his hand. “I have no idea which version of you I’m going to see out there tonight, but I must admit that I’m very much looking forward to finding out. Let’s go.”
I lay my hand in his, and he tucks it into his elbow. “You make it sound like I have multiple personalities.”
He tilts his head to the side, looking almost pensive.
“Finn!”
He laughs, resting his hand on top of mine. “Relax. I see it for what it is—an act. It’s almost like an armour you wear to protect yourself. Although the knife thing did make me wonder about the real you for a bit.”
“The real me? Does that mean you think I’m acting right now?”
“A little bit.” He peers over a me with a smile toying on his lips.
“But then again, I believe little parts of the real you are in every act you put on. That’s how I know you’ll be fine tonight.
You’re resilient, and you have what it takes to deal with the arse-licking and bullshitting that comes with this position.
Do you think I’m going out here and showing these people who I truly am? ”
That’s an annoyingly good point.
“You have a lot of faith in me for someone who just admitted he has no idea who I really am.”
“Does anyone know who they really are?” That smile tickles at the corners of his eyes again. “In your case, I wager you’ve just never felt safe enough to truly find out.”
I swallow. What is he, a fucking therapist? “You—”
“But that changes tonight.” He slips my hand from his elbow and raises his arm, then lays my hand softly on his forearm. “Whatever happens out here, whatever they say to you... You’re safe. Nobody will ever hurt you again, Hattie. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that,” I say quietly. “Nobody can.”
“You’re right.” There’s an edge to his voice—a dark, chilling sharpness that makes my skin prickle. “Then I promise that if they do hurt you, they won’t have a chance to make that same mistake twice.”
I lift my gaze to his face right as he looks down at me. As if a switch is flipped, his eyes are bright, and his lips are curving into a warm smile that dampens down any chill I felt at his words just now.
Huh.
I’m not the only one with a dark side.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs. “Are you ready?”
“You’ll stay with me, right?” I glance at the door, wishing I could clench my fist and dig my nails into my palm. “You won’t... Leave me alone?”
“I’ll be with you.” He faces the doors. “You won’t be alone anymore.”
I nod, swallowing back the lump in my throat. “You promise?”
“On my life.”
And, for the first time in my life, I believe a promise.
I believe—no, I trust—that he’s telling me the truth. That he won’t leave me to face this alone. As if this isn’t a situation entirely of my own making, of my own machinations, of my own sick desire for revenge.
As if this isn’t something he didn’t have to have anything to do with at all.
“Just like we practiced,” he murmurs, leaning in.
“Don’t let me trip on the stairs this time,” I mutter back.
He stifles a laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch you if you do. It’ll be quite the show.”
“You aren’t helping.”
The doorman nods at us, and I draw in a deep breath.
It’s go time.
There’s no backing out now.
When these doors open, my entire life will blow up. Everything as I know it will shatter into millions of irreparable pieces, and the cogs of my dreams will finally begin to turn.
I will draw the first weapon. I will take the first blood.
And I will show the Sinclairs exactly who I am.
I’ll show them that my childhood traumas didn’t weaken me. They strengthened me.
They didn’t make me fear.
They made me feared.
And if they don’t fear me, then they’re going to learn to. Very, very quickly.
“Introducing His Royal Highness the Crown Prince and his fiancée, Miss Harriet Sinclair!”
The doors before us are opened, and we take our first steps into the ballroom. There’s almost a hesitation, as if the echo of my name haunts its way around the room. The silence holds, thickening almost suffocatingly, as the air ripples with tangible shock and surprise.
Then, slowly.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Just like that, raucous applause drowns out the classical music being played in the corner.
And, just as Her Majesty promised they would be, my family are at the foot of the stairs.
My father with his face ashen, his jaw slack, his eyes glazed with shock.
Rosalyn with her flushed cheeks, furrowing brow, and clenching jaw.
And Jasmine.
Poor, sweet, innocent Jasmine, gripping onto her mother’s arm, staring up at me as her world crashes around her, as all the pieces of her carefully constructed fantasy melt away into nothingness.
Shock.
Anger.
Hatred.
It emanates off them in waves, thick and stomach-twisting, a bitter ripple I can almost taste in the air.
But me?
I feel only one thing.
Euphoria.
It’s the only way to describe this… this… this.
The rush hits me like a drug. A sweet, heady, dangerous hit of delight that hurtles through my body, touching places I didn’t know could feel so good.
It’s satisfaction.
Pure, unadulterated satisfaction.
The ultimate ‘fuck you.’
Everything I’ve ever dreamt and more.
Finn leans in, bringing his lips close to my ear. “Well?” he murmurs, his voice rough. “How does it feel?”
I turn my face towards his, meeting his apprehensive gaze, and let my lips curve into a full smile. “Better than I ever dreamt it could.”
“Good.” He takes my hand from his arm, then wraps his fingers around mine and raises my hand to his mouth. He takes a step back as he presses his lips to my knuckles, bowing his head to me.
Warmth blooms in my chest, edging out the sick satisfaction wedged firmly in my heart. It’s an act—I know this. Nothing more than a show for the benefit of the onlookers.
A performance for the entire country.
“What are you—” I whisper.
He smiles up at me. “There’s only one person in this country I must bow to, but I choose to bow to you. It’s a declaration so there can be no mistake that I chose you to be my wife, Hattie. That I will always choose you.”
Ah.
There’s a weird lump in my throat.
Finn takes a step closer to me, still holding my hand. “Now nobody can argue with my decision.”
He’s protecting me.
By coming out swinging, he’s saying that this was his decision, and his decision only. He wasn’t forced or manipulated into it.
That, like he said, he chooses me.
How… strange.
To be chosen.
To be wanted.
“Let’s go,” he whispers, still smiling, still bright-eyed, like he hasn’t just displayed a quiet yet grand gesture of affection just for me.
We make our way down the stairs together, his steady grip of my hand about the only thing stopping my shaky legs from giving out. The Queen and Prince Louis are standing next to my family, and of the three of them, my father is the only one who has regained some kind of control over himself.
We reach the bottom step, and together, we lower before the Queen. Finn into a low bow and me into a deep curtsey. When we rise, the first thing I see is Her Majesty’s face—bright, happy, yet with eyes full of mischief.
“Well, William,” she says, resting her hand softly against her chest. “Your daughter will make a beautiful Crown Princess for our country, don’t you think?”
Ha.
Oh, she’s good.
There’s only one option my father can choose here. He must acknowledge me and admit to all these people that I’m his daughter.
Rosalyn shoots him a dark glare, and I’m sure Jasmine would do the same if she could do anything other than think about herself for five minutes.
To his credit, William Sinclair falls into line for the first time in a very long time. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he finally says, inclining his head in my direction and looking at me with an inscrutable gaze. “She most certainly will.”
I can act, too, Daddy dearest.
“Thank you,” I say, dipping my chin, keeping my voice soft but just loud enough for those around us to hear. “For all the support you’ve given me over the last two years since I returned home.”
Rosalyn winces, and I quickly glance at her arm. Jasmine’s nails are firmly entrenched in her skin, and both are turning an unflattering shade of puce.
But I don’t care.
What’s your response, Father, dear?
My father swallows, plastering a deceptively bright smile on his face. “Of course, darling. It’s been so good to have you home where you belong.” He turns to Finn and bows his head. “Your Royal Highness, please take care of my daughter.”
Finn’s lips curve into a smile that’s part amusement, part ‘fuck you,’ and he once again kisses the back of my hand. “But of course,” he says, meeting my gaze with a tender smile. “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything other than treating her like the blessing she is.”
All right.
‘Blessing’ is a little heavy handed.
Certainly not a word many would use to describe me, that’s for sure.
“Well, now,” Her Majesty says, pressing her hands together in front of us.
“I’m afraid the Prime Minister is waiting to be introduced to Harriet, so we must see to other guests.
Please excuse us, William, Rosalyn, Jasmine.
” She turns to us and smiles, her eyes twinkling with her tell-tale mischief.
“Let us be on our way, shall we? Busy night.”