CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT – FINN
Did she really just ask me that?
“My favourite colour?” A tinge of amusement creeps into my tone, and I desperately try to fight back my smile.
“Yeah.” Her voice is tiny, almost uncertain.
I want to ask her why.
Why does she want to know? Why now? Why is she asking after that rough, almost aggressive sex?
It’s red, but what comes out of my mouth instead of that question is, “Green.”
Like her eyes.
The same eyes that haunt me every waking moment and consume me in my dreams.
“Green?” she repeats back, her voice still small and almost wobbly. “I had you for a red guy.”
“Mm. Only when it’s on you. I find myself very fond of green these days, though.” I rest my chin on top of her head. “What about yours?”
“Red.” She pauses. “Actually, no. Lavender. The exact colour of the flowers.”
Huh.
I don’t know what I was expecting her to say, but it wasn’t that. Yet it makes perfect sense—it’s a colour that feels soft yet bold at the same time, just like her.
“What about animals?”
“Hmm.” I trace little circles on her forearm with my fingertip as I think. I don’t think she’d appreciate me saying ‘you when you’re angry,’ so I settle for the much safer option of, “Tigers, I guess. What’s yours?”
“Pandas.” She pauses. “I’m not even sure they’re real animals. They’re so dumb.”
“That is why they need help in the old breeding department. Otherwise, they’d probably die out,” I reply. “Their simplicity is quite adorable, though, I agree.”
“They’re so endlessly happy,” she murmurs. “What’s your favourite food?”
“Will you hit me if I say you?”
A small laugh escapes her, making her upper body shake. “I’m not food!”
“All right, all right.” I sigh, deliberately heavily, and she prods me in the side. “Aside from you… Probably potatoes.”
“Potatoes? Like, in general?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure potato is the one food item you could realistically live off. You can cook it in so many ways, and it’s nutritionally dense, so…” I stop when I realise she’s still laughing. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No, I…” She trails off, definitely laughing. “That’s the most diplomatic answer I think you could have given.”
“I’m not sure a potato has ever been described as a ‘diplomatic’ option for anything, but I guess I can see it.” I bite back my own laugh, although it’s more at her than the conversation. “Let me guess yours. Cake?”
“How did you know that?”
“I’ve seen you eat cake. I’d have to be blind not to see how happy it makes you.”
She tilts her head back, dislodging my chin, and peers up at me with her lips pursed. “It doesn’t make me that happy.”
“I disagree. You get a little smile when you take the first bite.” I tap the corner of her lips and smile. “It’s cute.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever been called ‘cute’ before.”
“Well, you are. Sometimes.” I trace the shape of her full mouth with my fingertip. “Like now when you’re pouting at me and you don’t even realise it.”
“I’m not pouting at you.” She presses her lips together in direct defiance of me, and even when I tease her lower lip with my thumb, she doesn’t move.
“All right, fine, no pouting.” I replace my thumb with my lips, and she finally softens to kiss me back.
Hattie slides her arm up my chest and around my neck, holding me against her. Her tongue flicks at my mouth, and I part my lips, meeting her tongue with my own.
This kiss is soft and slow. My heartrate picks up until it’s beating ferociously against my ribs and my pulse thunders in my ears. I could kiss Hattie forever. There’s something so right about the way it feels to be with her.
Maybe I was right with what I said earlier to her.
Maybe she was always meant to be mine.
Maybe I was always meant to be hers.
There’s no other way to describe this overwhelming sense of belonging whenever we’re together. Or why, the first time we met, something deep inside me said, “There you fucking are. Finally.”
As if I knew.
As if I knew in the moment our eyes met for the first time that she was made for me.
As if I knew then that I was taking the first steps on the path that would lead me to fall helplessly in love with her.
“If you keep kissing me like that, I’m going to hold you responsible for what I do next,” I murmur against her lips, pulling back to see her flushes cheeks. Her green eyes are dark and shiny, and she’s looking at me as if she wants me to do exactly that.
“Well,” she mutters back, rubbing her thumb against my neck. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“No. You’ve done enough today. You need to rest.” I catch her hand and press a kiss to her palm, letting my lips linger there for a moment. “Especially after what I just did to you.”
“I liked it.”
I stare at her.
Her lips quirk to one side. “I wanted it, Finn. I liked it. It felt good.”
“Oh, so now you find your words?” I raise my eyebrows, letting a small smile creep onto my face so she knows I’m teasing her. “What, did I fuck them out of you earlier?”
She grins. “Pretty much.”
My cock twitches at that, and I groan, pressing my face into her hair. “You’re going to kill me, baby.”
“Not yet.” She rakes her nails through my hair, making me shiver. “Wait until after you marry me, would you?”
“Oh, yes, I forgot the most important part of your plan. Using me for my crown.” I nip at the side of her throat, and she giggles, squirming away.
“Well… It was just your crown before. Now I find you useful in more ways than one.”
I pull back, grinning at her. “I knew my crown drew you in, but who knew it would be my cock that won you over?”
“Who mentioned your cock?” She leans up to kiss me and drags my lower lip between her teeth, and the simple action sends another round of desire to that very body part. “I was thinking about your mouth.”
“Mm.” I capture her mouth with mine, giving her the same treatment she just gave me. She whimpers, and my fingers clench, digging into her. “Come on,” I say before I get too carried away. “I’ll run a bath, and you can relax in it.”
“Are you getting in with me?”
I blink, staring at her.
She simply returns my gaze, fluttering her eyelashes over those irresistible green eyes of hers. “What? It’s a fair question.”
I groan and drop my head back. “I’m not just saying it. You really are going to kill me.”
***
The Sinclair mansion might as well be in Antarctica for all the warmth it gives off.
The pathways of the gardens are all illuminated, but they could be nothing but leafless, dead sticks for all I care. There’s nothing welcoming about this place, no matter how much light creeps through the windows or how many flowering plants crawl their way up the brick walls.
I’ve never paid it much attention.
I’ve never needed to.
But now… my life begins and ends with the woman who despises this place and almost everyone inside it, and because of that, I’m here to deliver a little warning.
One that even the bastard that is William Sinclair will understand.
I knock three times at the front door. A long moment passes before one of them swings open and Marina appears, quickly taking a step back with a gasp.
As if she didn’t know I was coming.
I fight back my smile when she bows and stutters out a loud, “Y-Your Royal Highness!”
The woman can act; that’s for sure.
I’d tell Alec he did well when he chose her if I was inclined to compliment him in the slightest.
“I’m here to see William Sinclair,” I say firmly, ignoring the eyes from the people that have rapidly multiplied in the foyer.
Jesus Christ. It’s past midnight. Why are so many staff working?
“I’m not sure where he is,” Marina says, opening the door wider. “Please, come in. I’ll find out.”
“Thank you.” I step inside as she barks an order at another one of the household maids who quickly scurries off.
And I see it.
The first thing that makes my blood boil.
On the largest wall in the foyer is a life size portrait of William, Rosalyn, and Jasmine. Jasmine is front and centre in a chair with her parents standing behind her, looking almost regal.
It’s reminiscent of a portrait I would take with my parents, one that would be shared as an official image of the Royal Family.
Except it’s not quite right—their lifeless eyes stare down at everyone who enters in a cheap imitation, and it’s plain to see that they haven’t been hiding their ambitions at all.
It’s sickening.
No wonder my mother despises them all so.
It’s not the only photo of them, either. Everywhere I look, there are framed pictures of them, but mostly Jasmine. The gaudy entryway is almost a shrine to her and her soulless achievements, and it makes me sick.
If anyone walked in here, they’d not be remiss in believing that the Sinclairs only have one daughter.
There isn’t a trace of Harriet anywhere. Not even one of her hairs. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that every inch of her DNA has been scrubbed from this place.
I raise my hand to my mouth and glance at the wall of photos of Jasmine. “Is it like this everywhere?”
Marina’s head is still slightly bowed, and she answers my quiet question with a slight, albeit hidden, raise of her thumb.
I can’t bring myself to reply.
I knew it.
Hattie has made it clear that her mother was persona non grata in this household, and given that she herself has been hidden for over two years… What the fuck am I expecting, really?
Even if there’d been any hint of Hattie in this place before, I can only imagine the carnage that ensued to remove it all the moment our engagement was announced.
The maid from earlier runs down the staircase and stops, curtseys towards me, then hurries to Marina’s side to whisper in her ear.
Marina straightens up and clears her throat. “Mr Sinclair is in his office waiting for you. Would you please follow me, Your Royal Highness?”
I nod at her, and she motions for me to fall behind her as she walks. A thousand questions whir in my mind but asking any now will only serve to expose her as the spy she is. As much as it pains me to find out what’s going on in this hellscape, I must wait.
Marina knocks at a large door and says, “Mr Sinclair, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince is here.”
“Come in,” William says from the other side.