Chapter 10
Ten
Daphne
Brooks being in Calira still didn’t make sense.
I’d spent half the night trying to figure out how the hell he’d pulled it off.
No one in his family had stepped foot on Caliran soil in years.
Yet, even after the asshole had dangled me over a cliff, guess who I thought about during my morning trip to Pleasureville?
Brooks fucking Byron.
The jerk starred in most of my fantasies. I deserved prison time just for that.
Mom had already texted to let me know I’d landed on my grandfather’s shit list for missing her speech last night.
I’d apologized to both her and my grandmother. Missing her moment broke my heart. I’d just been a little preoccupied with hanging off the side of a damn cliff.
Not that I told them that.
It’d only cause me more problems.
I showed up to dinner early to get back into everyone’s good graces.
Mom was the only one there, scrolling on her phone with a half-empty wine glass beside her. She looked up at the sound of my heels and slipped her phone into her lap.
We shared smiles as I collapsed into the chair beside her.
Vittoria arrived next, followed by Oriana and her husband, Ralphael. He didn’t attend many meals. As the highest general in the Caliran army, I rarely saw him.
Oriana’s eyes never left me on her walk to her seat. She needed to get over her jealousy before it ate her alive.
Moments later, my grandparents arrived, arm in arm.
Everyone stood and bowed.
They only made it a few steps until my grandmother stopped to straighten his crooked crown. Grandfather beamed as she fixed his shoulder-length hair, then leaned over and kissed her cheek.
My grandmother was the brains behind Calira.
Grandfather might’ve worn the crown, but everyone in this family knew who really kept the country running. Without her, we’d probably be screwed.
They settled in their chairs, and I caught Oriana still glaring at me. I discreetly flipped her off under the table. Some traditions from childhood deserved to live on.
“There he is! The First Son of the United States has arrived!”
I nearly gave myself whiplash turning toward the doorway.
Brooks stood there in another black suit, looking like he’d wandered into a funeral instead of a Caliran family dinner.
My grandfather spread his arms wide in greeting, as if the man who’d nearly killed me last night was our guest of honor. “Welcome!” His voice boomed louder. “Welcome!”
What the actual fuck?
Of course. Brooks had used my grandfather’s desperation to repair Calira’s relationship with the States to score himself a seat at dinner.
The King never doted on foreign representatives like this. He hadn’t even been this welcoming to Brooks’s father.
My stomach soured as Brooks stopped to bow at my grandparents. It was respectful, but still half-assed. He did the same with my mother and Oriana.
But me? He skipped right over.
Oriana let out a smug little laugh.
There was no love like family love.
I briefly considered throwing my wine in her face. Then smashing the glass and stabbing Brooks with it.
Murder seemed to be my mood for the evening.
I’d have to sage the hell out of myself before returning to Saint Vale.
I caught Oriana and Vittoria openly eye-fucking Brooks, and my wineglass started looking useful again.
“The seat beside my lovely granddaughter is open,” my grandfather announced, gesturing toward me. “Per your request.”
I refused to look at Brooks as his familiar cologne drifted over me and he sat. I balled my napkin in my fist before smoothing it over my lap like the perfectly behaved princess I definitely wasn’t.
The second the servers came in and distracted everyone, I rammed my shin into his.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I whisper-hissed.
“I was invited,” he said, unrolling his silverware while a server placed bowls of clam chowder in front of us.
“And what did you trade for that invite?”
“None of your concern.” He licked his lips, stole my wineglass, and took a drink. “Mmm … that’s good.”
“Are you kidding me?” I spat, grabbing for the glass, but he pulled it back.
He drained the rest and set the empty glass neatly beside my plate.
Everyone at the table was watching us, enjoying the show. Well, except for my grandfather. He was not amused.
As we ate, Brooks slipped a hand under the table and gripped my thigh. I nearly choked on my next bite when he raised his fingers higher.
The asshole was casually discussing politics with my grandfather like his hand wasn’t right between my legs.
Being the mature adult I was, I decided to ignore him.
Even when he stroked his thumb right over my pussy and heat swarmed in my belly.
I shoveled another spoonful of chowder into my mouth while trying hard not to stab him with my knife.
By the time dinner ended, I was damn proud of myself for not losing my shit. I hadn’t yelled. Hadn’t even thrown my wine in his face.
Brooks stood and purposely dropped his napkin. When he bent to retrieve it, his mouth stopped beside my ear.
“When can I do that throne fucking, Princess?” he whispered into it.
I lifted my chin, smiling up at him. “I’ll meet you in the Throne Room in ten minutes. Be naked when I get there.”
What a great headline: Brooks Byron Caught Butt-Ass Naked on Caliran King’s Throne.
He chuckled and tossed the dirty napkins into my glass. “Soon, you’ll be begging me to fuck you.”
“I’d rather slit my throat with my own tiara before doing such an abhorrent thing again.”
“With what tiara?”
Motherfucker.
“I want that back.”
He turned to my grandparents and thanked them for such a lovely meal, like he hadn’t spent all of it tormenting me under the table.
“Brooks Byron definitely wants to fuck you,” Vittoria said, staring dreamily at me through the mirror’s reflection while Elodie untied her corset.
Somehow, Elodie had talked her into coming to my room to get ready for the yacht party.
Fine by me. Vittoria wasn’t the problem. Her mother was.
“Hard pass,” I grumbled from my bed.
“What?” Vittoria asked with a gasp. “The man is gorgeous and pretty much US royalty.”
“And I’m not pretty much royalty,” I replied. “I am royalty. We are. He’s nothing special to me.”
Vittoria sighed, her shoulders falling. “He’s so handsome.”
Yes, Vittoria. I have eyes.
Elodie snorted behind her while fighting with one of the corset laces.
“So is the devil.” I clicked my tongue. “You’d better be careful, or he’ll drag you into his hell—take my word for it.”
I grabbed my phone and started scrolling before anyone noticed the jealousy on my face.
I stopped scrolling when I hit a photo of Brooks and me. Some weirdo had taken separate pictures of us, stitched them together, and drawn a bright yellow squiggle between us like a celebrity breakup announcement.
I read the caption with Brooks’s quote, and my urge to strangle Brooks came back.
“Disgraced Senator Kenward’s daughter was in no way responsible for any assassination attempt on my father. If she had been, I’m sure she would’ve had better aim than the losers who were responsible.”
On one hand, I wanted to throat-punch him for calling my father disgraced. On the other, I liked him defending me.
It was the most passive-aggressive compliment I’d ever received.
Against my better judgment, I scrolled to the comments.
Imagine going from a princess to a literal killer.
Keep that traitor bitch in Calira. We don’t want her back.
Lock the slut up.
The GIFs piled on too.
One with Regina George.
Elmo engulfed in flames.
Right to Jail.
I was happy at least some people had functioning brains when I read the comments sticking up for me.
Blaming her for something her father did is weird.
Why are you all dragging her and not the actual guy who pulled the trigger?
Blair’s comment caught my eye. She’d recently made a profile against Enzo’s wishes.
The misogyny in these comments is insane.
I liked hers before another comment stopped me.
You can tell those two have fucked. Go look at the video of this. The way his face changed when the reporter said her name. That isn’t hate. That’s a man pissed he’d lost the girl he wanted.
I immediately found the video, turned the volume low, and watched it three times.
Something changed when the reporter said my name. Just barely. Most people probably wouldn’t have caught it. But I did.
I knew every version of Brooks’s face by now, and that wasn’t his I-hate-Daphne look.
At least, I didn’t think it was.
I played it again.
What the hell were you thinking, Brooks?
“Daph!” Elodie snapped her fingers in my face. “Your turn.”
Groaning, I tossed my phone aside and dragged myself out of the bed in my sports bra and boy shorts. I’d ripped off my dinner dress the second I got upstairs.
Now I got to squeeze into another torture device.
At least this one could be semi-formal.
As Elodie laced my corset, Vittoria kept rambling about Brooks.
Gorgeous Brooks. Perfect Brooks.
I considered kicking her out. Instead, I tuned her out.
Soon, I’d be on a yacht, drinking away every thought of Brooks with zero chance of seeing him.
Finally, some damn peace.
I really should’ve known better.