Chapter 35
LOUIS
Sunlight streams through the gaps in the blinds and splashes across the bed in golden stripes. Addison is still asleep. Her hair is fanned across the pillow, and one hand is tucked under her cheek. She looks at peace, and she’s real.
Addison Cross is mine.
I could watch her all morning, but my stomach has other plans.
It growls loud enough that I think she hears it.
Her brow furrows before she relaxes and drifts back off.
I press a kiss to her bare shoulder and slide out of bed, grabbing my boxer briefs from the floor and pulling them on.
The candles from last night have burned down to nubs on the windowsill.
My feet are cold against the hardwood as I move toward the living room, where my duffel is, and grab my toiletry bag. The city noise is a hum in the background as I brush my teeth. I make my way to the kitchen and find the coffee cup she drank out of yesterday is still in the sink.
Her fridge doesn’t have much in it, but I can work with eggs, butter, and milk.
There’s a container of takeout sitting next to a bottle of ketchup.
The pantry is stocked with flour, sugar, baking powder, vanilla extract, and a bag of chocolate chips that’s been opened and clipped shut. Pancakes it is.
I find a mixing bowl in the cabinet above the stove and a whisk in the drawer beside it. Measuring cups are shoved in the back, behind a stack of mismatched plates. Everything in her cabinets is jammed wherever they fit, but it’s charming, and I can tell she actually uses her kitchen.
Cooking is one of the few things that’s entirely mine. Now I’m in Addison’s kitchen, whisking batter while the morning light streams through her windows. It feels like home.
In a separate pan, I crack eggs and let them sizzle in butter while I pour circles of batter onto a griddle I found hanging on a hook by the stove.
The first pancake is always a throwaway.
There was too much butter, and the heat was uneven, so I scrape it into the trash and start again.
The second one spreads into a perfect circle, and I watch the bubbles form on the surface, waiting for the right moment to flip it.
The comforter shuffles in the bedroom, and a minute later, I hear footsteps behind me.
“Are you cooking?” she asks, her voice soft from sleep. Her arms wrap around my waist, and she kisses my back.
I spin around and capture her lips. “Hope you like pancakes.”
“I had mix?” she asks, confused.
Addison is wearing my T-shirt, and the hem hits mid-thigh. Her hair is a mess on top of her head. Her eyes are still half-closed, and there’s a pillow crease on her cheek.
“No,” I tell her. “But you had the ingredients to make it.”
“Oh.” She smiles sweetly. “I could get used to this.”
“Fuck, me too,” I tell her, flipping a pancake. It’s perfectly golden brown on the underside. “Coffee?”
“Please. Mugs are—”
“Already found them,” I say, grabbing one and pouring her a cup.
She wraps both hands around it and takes a long sip, her eyes closing as the caffeine hits her system.
“You’re a god,” she mutters into the mug, admiring me.
“I’ve been told.” I turn the eggs.
She watches me while I cook. The morning light catches her face and warms her skin. I have to force myself to focus on not burning the food.
“You look good in my kitchen,” she says.
“I look good everywhere.”
“And still oh-so humble.”
“Of course.” I plate the eggs and stack three pancakes beside them, then grab the syrup from the pantry and set everything on the bar top.
Addison grabs forks from a drawer and napkins, then sits on a barstool as I make my plate. I take the seat beside her, and we cut into our pancakes together. She drags a bite through the sugary syrup before placing it in her mouth. She chews, and her eyes widen.
“Are you serious?”
“Um. Yes?”
“Wow. This is”—she points her fork at me—“the best pancake I’ve ever eaten. You’re smart, hot, and you can cook? Pick a struggle.”
“Don’t forget how big my package is. How great I am at eating that cake. Oh, and the prince thing. That seems to matter to some people.”
She bursts into laughter. “True. You have a lot going for you. What’s the real reason you haven’t found someone?”
As our knees touch, I realize how intimate it is, sharing a meal like this. She’s got syrup on her lip, and I want to lean over and kiss it off, but I also want to watch her enjoy her breakfast. If we start this now, this food will absolutely be abandoned.
“You first,” I say.
She tilts her head at me. “No one has been able to keep me intrigued.”
“And you believe I can?”
This makes her chuckle. “Yes, drama king, I believe you can. There’s never a dull moment with you.”
“That would make most women run,” I say.
“I’m not most women. I always choose adventure over monotony. Now, tell me.”
I pick up my coffee and take a sip. “My mother always had a way of pointing out my girlfriends’ flaws, to the point where I couldn’t take it. And if they didn’t get along with my sister, it was a deal-breaker. If Delphine hates someone, I know it will never work out.”
Her brows rise. “Really?”
“Yeah. And I don’t think anyone has ever understood me on a human level, until you.”
She reaches over and grabs my hand. “I feel the same.”
We eat in comfortable silence, and her foot brushes against mine.
“What do you want to do today?” she asks.
“I think I want to pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist,” I say.
“Oh, love the sound of that. I have a list of terrible rom-coms saved and a box of popcorn. We can rot together.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Once we’ve finished eating, I gather our plates and move to the sink. She stays on her stool, finishing the last of her coffee.
“I like watching you do domestic things,” she says. “It’s weirdly sexy.”
“Yeah? Rinsing dishes does it for you?”
I scrub our plates and set them in the dishwasher when there’s a pound on the door. It’s not a knock.
Addison freezes, setting her mug down.
“Are you expecting someone?” I ask.
“Nope.”
The pounding comes again.
“Addison! Open the fucking door. Right now!”
She sighs. “It’s Patterson.”
I haven’t seen him since before any of this started.
The last time we hung out was when I visited Dyson a few months ago.
I gave him relationship advice, which apparently worked, considering he’s dating Kendall Hart now.
I should’ve told him how I felt the moment I found out Addison was his little sister, but I knew he wouldn’t accept it.
We’ve been friends for a decade. He’s one of the few people who’s ever treated me like a person instead of a title, and I went behind his back.
“Should I hide?” I ask, keeping my voice light.
“Would you?”
“Absolutely fucking not,” I say with a smirk.
“Didn’t think so.” She slides off the stool and crosses to the door with a huff.
I stay where I am, leaning against the counter in my boxers. Part of me knows I should put on pants because this will probably set him off. The rest of me decides Patterson deserves to see exactly what he interrupted.
She unlocks the deadbolt and cracks open the door. “Patterson—” Addison starts.
He pushes past her without a word. Crosses the loft. He looks pissed when his eyes find me over Addison’s shoulder.
It’s not anger on his face; it’s betrayal.
His fist is already cocked back, and he swings when he gets close.
I duck left, and his knuckles graze my ear instead of connecting with my jaw.
Before he can reset, I step into him, hook my arm around his neck, and put him into a headlock.
He’s strong, but I’ve got leverage and position—something that’s been drilled into me since I was a kid.
Being the next in line for the crown does make me a target.
“Fuck.” He struggles, trying to break free. “Let me go—”
“Are you done?”
He throws an elbow. It catches my ribs, and I grunt, but don’t release.
“Are you done?” I ask again as we struggle with each other more.
“Stop, please,” Addison says.
“I’m not letting him go until he calms the fuck down,” I say, wrestling with him.
“Okay,” Patterson finally says.
I release him and step back, putting the kitchen island between us. He straightens up, rubbing his neck, breathing hard.
Addison bursts into laughter, and we both heave and turn to glare at her.
She’s doubled over near the couch, shoulders shaking.
“This isn’t funny,” Patterson says.
“You’re right. This is hilarious.” She wipes her eyes. “You thought you’d be macho and got shown.”
Patterson doesn’t laugh. He’s looking at me now, and the anger shifts.
“We’ve been friends for ten years, Louis,” he says.
I don’t say anything.
“You had opportunities to be honest.” He shakes his head and bitterly laughs. “My sister isn’t your fucktoy.”
“Pat—” Addison steps forward.
“Don’t.” He holds up a hand. “I’ll get to you in a minute.”
“No.” Her voice sharpens. “You’ll get to me right now.”
Patterson blinks.
“You want to be pissed? Fine. Be pissed. But don’t stand there acting like he’s the villain when I willingly pursued him.
” She moves between us, arms crossed. “I went to Montclaire. I kissed him first. I made every single choice that led to this, so if you’re going to throw punches, at least know who you’re really mad at. ”
“Addy—”
“I’m not done.” She steps closer to him. “You’re my brother, and I love you, but you don’t get to decide who I’m with. You don’t get to show up at my apartment and try to beat my boyfriend’s ass because your feelings are hurt.”
“My feelings aren’t hurt. I’m—”
“You’re hurt. I can see it.” Her voice doesn’t lose its edge.
“And I’m sorry you found out the way you did.
That was wrong. I should have told you myself, and I didn’t because I was preoccupied.
Things happened fast and got out of control.
” She gestures at the space between them. “But none of that makes violence okay.”
Patterson stares at her.
“You’re my favorite brother,” she continues. “And I need you to be okay with this because I’m not giving him up. Not for the press, not for the palace, and not for you. The only person who can end this is Louis.”
Patterson’s eyes move to me, then back to her.
“You pursued him? Why?” he asks.
“Because I wanted to. Louis was a perfect gentleman until I made it very clear I didn’t want him to be.”
I cough. “I’m standing right here.”
“Shut up,” they say in unison.
Patterson drags a hand down his face. When it drops, he looks exhausted.
“You could’ve told me,” he says, and it’s aimed at me.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Would you have been okay with it?”
“No.”
“Then you understand why I didn’t.” I move to stand beside Addison. “I’m sorry for not respecting you and saying something. You deserved better than that. Know that I was locked down, and my right to communicate with people had been stripped. I lived as a prisoner in my own home for weeks.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. His eyes move between us.
“Since when do you know how to fight?” he asks.
“Since always. I just never had a reason to use it on you before.”
His mouth twitches. “You’re a dick.”
“Fuck you.”
Addison reaches for Patterson’s hand. “Are we okay?”
He looks at her for a long moment. Then he sighs and pulls her into a hug, squeezing tight before letting go.
“I’m still very pissed,” he says.
“I know.”
“At both of you.”
He looks at me and extends his hand. I take it. His grip is firm, harder than necessary.
“If you hurt her—”
“I’d deserve it.”
Patterson holds the handshake a beat too long, his grip crushing mine. Then he lets go and steps back.
“I need time,” he says, turning away from us. “To process.”
“Pat—” Addison starts.
“I’m not asking.” He moves toward the door. “I’m telling you.”
“Take it. But don’t shut me out.”
He pauses with his hand on the knob, but doesn’t turn around.
“I’ll text you later,” he says.
The door shuts behind him. He doesn’t slam it, but it’s hard enough to make the point.
Addison stares at it for a long moment. When she turns to face me, her eyes are wet.
I cross to her and pull her into my arms. She resists for a second, then melts against my chest.
“He’ll come around,” I say.
“What if he doesn’t?”
“Your brother loves you.”
“Love doesn’t fix everything.” Her voice is muffled against my shirt. “What if we lose everyone for each other and this breaks us?”
I pull back enough to look at her. “It won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know Patterson. He’s angry, and he’s hurt, but he didn’t walk out without saying anything to you. That means something.”
She considers my words. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“And he said he’d text.” I run my thumb along her jaw. “Patterson’s not the type to even reach out when he’s angry. If he was done with you, he would’ve just left with middle fingers blazing. He has no patience.”
Her shoulders relax a little. “When did you become an optimist?”
“I’m not. I’m just paying attention.” I kiss her forehead. “He needs space, so we’ll give it to him. And when he’s ready to accept it, we’ll be there together.”
She nods, then exhales. “Okay.”
I take her hand. “Now, you promised me terrible movies and rotting on the couch.”
“I did.”
“Shall we?” I ask.
She takes my hand and pulls me toward the living room with a smile.