CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – FINN
Rage.
It’s all I’ve felt for hours.
Ever since I walked out of that ballroom and saw that bastard who calls himself a father getting ready to raise his hand against his daughter.
Against my fiancée.
My Harriet.
I have no idea what the fuck he was thinking, but thank God Valentina got me when she did. A few seconds later, and I’d have been walking into a completely different scenario.
One where I fear I wouldn’t have been able to control myself.
I’ve never seen William Sinclair that angry in my life. I have no doubt he would have followed through and hit her in the heat of the moment, and that’s exactly what’s feeding this simmering anger in the pit of my stomach.
Not even my stomach.
It’s under every inch of my skin, bubbling away.
A rich, penetrating fury that shows no signs of fading away.
It’s only grown. With every tired blink she’s fought through, every forced shake of a hand, every plastered-on smile.
I doubt anyone else noticed the fight she was having with herself just to continue with her newfound sense of duty, but for me, it took far too long to finally convince her we could call it a night.
The only saving grace is that we already had this planned. Tonight was always supposed to be at the palace. With no way of knowing exactly how her family would react to our announcement, it was the only way I could protect her.
Not even I can station bodyguards inside the Sinclair house.
Even now, I have no idea how she’s going to be treated when she goes back. All I know is that it won’t be well. Not after seeing William almost raise his hand to her.
In the privacy of the Sinclair residence, there’s no telling what she might be subjected to.
Whatever it is, I don’t want her to have any part in it.
If I could, I’d lock her away. Chain her to the walls of this palace and keep her away from anything and anyone that seeks to hurt her.
She’d hate it.
It’s the only thing stopping me from acting on those darkest impulses.
Maybe, just maybe, I can convince her to stay here. With me. Instead of going back to that place of hatred. God only knows we’ve discussed it enough times.
Maybe her father’s actions are enough to convince her to move in.
“Do I have to be there for that meeting tomorrow?” Harriet walks out of the bathroom, squeezing water out of her long, blonde hair with a towel.
“That depends,” I say, my gaze quickly flitting down her half-naked body.
“On?”
“Whether you feel you’re able to attend.”
She pauses mid-squeeze. “All right,” she says after a moment of lingering silence. “I suppose I’ll make that decision tomorrow.”
I nod, and she tosses the towel over the back of a chair before turning to her suitcase. She pulls out a button-down nightshirt and tugs it over her head, briefly giving me a view of her arse as her towel falls away from her body.
It’s the first time we’ve been properly alone since our first night together, and as she pulls out some pink underwear to step into, I adjust my trousers over my cock.
Fuck.
She’s going to think I’m some kind of horny maniac.
Truth is, I am. For her.
Ever since that night, I’ve thought about her. Imagined what it would be like to have her naked in my arms again, have her soft skin beneath my fingertips. If I’m honest, I’m fucking desperate for it.
I’m dying to touch her. Dying to run my fingers through her hair and kiss her warm lips. Dying to lose myself in the whirlwind that she is—the wonderful, intense storm of a woman that is my fiancée.
Fiancée.
It’s official.
No more hiding, no more sneaking around, no more of her being forced to live in secret.
She’s lived enough of that. And hiding herself is something I’ll make sure she never has to do again, not for me or anyone else.
“You’re staring at me.”
“Mm.” I tilt my head to the side and let my gaze rove over her body. “That a problem?”
“Depends.” She turns to look over her shoulder, grabbing her towel and bringing it to her hair. “Is there a reason for it?”
“Just thinking how lucky I am that you asked me to marry you.”
She freezes with the towel on top of her head, then turns and stares at me. “Don’t start sweet-talking me now. You’re lucky I was patient enough to wait for your answer.”
“I haven’t forgotten how I almost missed your deadline.”
“Mm.” She returns her attention to her wet hair and her reflection in the mirror. “Just as well. I will be holding it against you.”
“For how long?”
“Probably until your obituary.”
“Wow. You’ve already decided that I’m dying first.”
She turns her head, looking over her shoulder, as she runs a brush through her long hair.
“Statistically speaking, men die before women, and you’re older than me.
Don’t worry, though—I plan to stay alive just long enough to make sure everything is in order before following you.
Can’t have you having too much peace in the afterlife, after all. ”
I grin. I can’t help it. “Would you prefer if I stuck around and haunted you?”
“Haunt me? No. I’m the haunter here, thank you very much. Besides, your ghost would just get in the way.”
I laugh, and she finally cracks a smile. “Oh, I just saw our entire life together.”
“Good. At least you know your place.” Her smile widens into something a little brighter, and she clicks the button on the hairdryer before I can say a word.
That’s fine by me. I’m happy to simply watch her. I’ve lived in this apartment within the palace for the past ten years, but this is the most like home it’s ever felt. I had no idea how empty it was until she filled the space with her energy.
That does it.
I can’t let her go back to the Sinclairs.
I shove an extra pillow behind me and lean back on the stack of them, never taking my eyes off her. If she notices—and she probably does, because she notices everything—she doesn’t pay me any attention. She’s completely focused on the art of blow-drying her hair, and I’m completely focused on her.
God. I could stare at her all day.
All day, every day.
I’m lost to her already.
There isn’t a mountain I wouldn’t move for this woman.
“Staring at me appears to be becoming a hobby of yours, Your Royal Highness.”
I link my fingers behind my head. “Can you blame me?”
She tilts her head to one side, eyebrows slightly raised.
“What’s that look for?”
“I’m trying to decide if I should be humble or not,” she replies, brushing her hair out. “Should I?”
“You can be whatever you want to be, Hattie.”
She falters, just for a moment, before she recovers and spins around to face me. “A starving artist?”
“Impossible. I’ll keep you fed.”
“A shopping addict?”
“Whatever. I have lots of money.”
“A homicidal maniac?”
“I’ll help you hide the bodies.”
“Damn, you’re good.” There’s a gentle warmth to her laugh I haven’t heard often as she sets the brush down and runs her fingers through her hair. “I’ll hold you to that. Although you probably shouldn’t be breaking the law as the crown prince.”
“True. Wait until I’m king, then.”
“Why?”
“Then I’ll be the law.” I grin and pat the bed. “Come here. I want to ask you something.”
“Something that requires me to be right next to you?”
“I’m becoming rather fond of you being right next to me, so yes.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, you know.” She gets up and comes over, perching on the edge. “What is it?”
I reach for her hand and toy with her fingers, gently tickling her palm. “Tomorrow. The day after. Whenever you were planning to. Don’t go back to your father’s house.”
Hattie pauses. “Why not?”
“I’m deeply concerned about his reaction to you tonight. I truly believe he’d have hit you if I didn’t come in time.” I meet her conflicted gaze. “That’s before I even think about how Rosalyn and Jasmine might treat you. I can’t protect you inside that house, Hattie.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows, and she looks down at our hands. “You’re right. I don’t want to believe it, but realistically, I know you’re right. I’ve never seen him like that before.”
“I’m worried. They could do anything to you and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
Her shoulders tense. “They wouldn’t. I mean, not now everyone knows about us. Maybe.”
“Hattie. If there’s even a sliver of a doubt in your mind…”
She peers up, meets my gaze, and hesitates. I can see it in her eyes—she can’t say for certain. She doesn’t know.
“Stay here. Please.” I reach over and rest my hand against her cheek. “Move into the palace right away, instead of waiting like we were planning. I don’t trust them.”
“I…” Her uncertainty is written all over her face, and she looks down again.
She doesn’t want to believe it.
I’m not going to convince her this way. Even though she saw him lift his hand, she isn’t ready to accept that he might hurt her.
Rosalyn? Sure. Jasmine? She already has proof of that.
But William? Her dad? No, she can’t believe that, and I understand why. Nobody would. Nobody would want to. It’s unfathomable to think your parent would hurt you.
“Okay, let me rephrase that.” I raise our clasped hands and kiss her knuckles. “I want you to move into the palace. Even temporarily while emotions are so high and what we’ve just done is so raw to them.”
“I know what you’re doing,” she mutters. “You’re just changing tactics to convince me.”
“Is there anything you don’t notice?”
“My father’s true dislike for me, I suppose.” She sighs and looks up, pushing her hair from her eyes. “You’re right. It’s not a good idea, but is it really all right for me to move into the palace? Where would I live?”
I blink at her. What on Earth is she talking about? “Here. With me. In my apartment.”
She presses her lips together. “Before we get married? The media will have a field day with that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I already bowed to you tonight—the headlines tomorrow will all be how besotted the crown prince is with his fiancée. This’ll just help sell the story.”
“Finn—”
“It’ll be fine. I promise.” I cup her face and lean in, brushing my nose against hers. “Just say yes, let me protect you, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“I’m not exactly used to being looked after.”
“I know it’s hard for you.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “But it’s something you’re going to have to get used to eventually, so try for me.”
She blows out a breath, one that stutters on its way past her lips.
“All right. I’ll try. I’ll stay.” She pulls back slightly, a storm spinning in her green eyes.
“If anyone asks me why I’m already living here, though, I will tell them it’s because you’re absolutely obsessed with me and will die if you’re apart from me for longer than one hour. ”
I grin. “Why not? It’s the truth.”
“You—”
I pull her towards me and clamp my arms around her body, trapping her in place, and kiss her. She resists for all of a second before relaxing and sinking against me.
Warmth spreads through me at the comfort she must feel in my arms for her to relax so thoroughly.
Maybe, hopefully, this means she’s starting to trust me.