Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
Daphne
This time, I rode in the back seat of the SUV like a normal human being.
The lights were low, and I kept my head down so the driver couldn’t get a good look at me. It didn’t help that Brooks had introduced me as Rachel to his driver when we got into the vehicle.
I’d gone from Daphne, to Cersei, to now Rachel.
At the club, Brooks had practically pissed a circle around me.
I still had no idea who Rachel was, but judging by the way she’d clung to him, she’d expected him to show up alone.
She also looked two seconds away from clawing my eyes out when Brooks pulled me onto his lap.
I shouldn’t have enjoyed that.
But I did.
Thankfully, no one recognized me, and we didn’t stay long. Maybe thirty minutes before Brooks announced we were leaving.
Thirty minutes of Rachel trying to stake her claim, Brooks trying to piss her off, and me pretending I didn’t care about either.
Even with the entire back seat, Brooks sat close enough that our thighs touched. His hand rested on my knee, his thumb occasionally dragging across my skin.
I could’ve swatted it away. I should’ve.
But tonight, I was supposed to be the girl Brooks Byron was taking home. So, I let him keep touching me.
For the sake of our cover, obviously.
When we reached the White House’s back entrance—one I’d used countless times with Adelina—I sank a little lower in my seat.
Brooks’s hand clenched around my knee in a reassuring squeeze.
We made it through without anyone stopping us. I kept the wig on when we climbed out of the SUV. Brooks took my hand, and I followed him through the quiet halls with my head down.
We passed an agent near the stairs. He glanced at our joined hands, then quickly looked away.
I didn’t fully breathe again until his bedroom shut behind us.
“Thank God,” I said while kicking off one heel. Then the other.
The second one nearly hit the dresser.
I dropped onto the edge of the bed and rubbed my aching foot. “Why were you being such a dick to that girl? To Rachel?”
“Because I don’t want to marry her,” he replied simply.
My hand froze around my foot. “What?”
He focused on removing his cuff links. One. Then the other. He crossed to the oak dresser and dropped them onto a small tray with a metallic clink.
“My father and hers spoke to me earlier tonight.” He leaned back against the dresser and stretched out his long legs in front of him. “Before I came in here and told you to get dressed for the club.”
I didn’t like how he wouldn’t look at me.
Whatever came next, he didn’t want to watch me hear it.
“They’re arranging for Rachel and me to marry after graduation.”
Something ugly twisted in my stomach. “Oh,” I whispered.
He rubbed the spot over the empty spot on his cuff. “I needed her to understand I’d make a terrible husband. That’s why we went to the club.”
I scooted farther onto the bed and crossed my legs. “She’s hot.”
He nodded. “She is.”
I frowned.
He could’ve at least pretended to think about it.
“She’s also very rich,” I added.
“Yeah …”
“Comes from a reputable family.”
“She does.”
I started counting Rachel’s qualifications on my fingers. “Hot. Rich. Politically useful. Daddy-approved.” I dropped my hand. “You basically hit the future-president-wife jackpot. Why wouldn’t you want to marry her?”
His head finally lifted. The humor was gone from his sharp features, his expression suddenly too controlled.
“Because …” He dragged his tongue across the inside of his cheek, like the words physically pissed him off. “For some fucked-up reason, I don’t want anyone but you.”
My heart slammed into my ribs.
He pushed away from the dresser.
One step. Two. Until he was standing in front of me.
I should’ve moved back. Instead, I moved closer.
He framed my face with his cold hands, forcing me to look at him, making it impossible to pretend I hadn’t heard his words.
“No matter how hard I want to rip off the fucking chain you wrapped around me, I can’t. You own me in every way, Daphne.”
I broke first and looked away. Looking at him hurt too much.
The words I wanted to say crowded my throat. You own me too.
Fear kept them there.
A future with anyone but Brooks sounded like hell.
Whenever I imagined my wedding day, it was never some prince waiting for me at the altar. It was him.
Sometimes, we were in a castle. Sometimes, the White House. Sometimes, Saint Vale.
The setting changed, but the groom never did.
The attempted assassination had taken so much from us.
It stole our future, but it didn’t steal the way we felt. If anything, it left the love behind and turned it into something painful.
Brooks and I hadn’t fallen for each other through grand gestures. There hadn’t been any fancy dates or elaborate declarations. We’d fallen in love through late-night conversations. Shared memes. Daily texts.
Sometimes, they were nothing more than thinking of you or goodnight. No matter how busy we were, we never missed a day. Not one.
And I’d ruined all of it.
No matter how hard we tried to bury what I’d done, the truth always clawed its way back into my thoughts. If Brooks ever found out, this would disappear.
The love he fought so hard to deny.
The way he looked at me.
The way his hands held my face like he was afraid to let me go.
All of it. Gone.
There’d be nothing left but hatred.
We’d both known this would never be a simple Son-Fawn arrangement. We were only two days in, and our masks were already slipping, no matter how desperately we tried to keep them in place.
“You ruin me,” Brooks whispered, his thumb sweeping across my cheek. “Every single day.” His next breath left slowly through his nose. “I can’t dig myself out of this pit. Every memory I have of us just drags me deeper into it.”
“Brooks,” I whimpered.
He suddenly let go of me. The loss of his hands made me want to reach for them again, but I didn’t.
Brooks stepped back and shoved a hand into his pocket. He pulled out his phone, stared at it for a second, then tossed it onto the bed beside me. “Scroll through our messages.”
The phone landed facedown beside my thigh.
“Read every reason I can’t fucking let you go.”
My fingers weren’t steady when I picked it up. Tears crowded my eyes before I even woke the screen.
“I …” I shook my head. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Brooks argued. “Passcode is 0-4-2-6.”
April 26.
My birthday.
He nodded toward the phone. “Look at the screenshots. Every conversation that made me fall in love with you.” His voice cracked on the last few words. “And I hope to God they made you fall in love with me too.”
My chest hurt so fucking bad.
Because they had.
Every stupid meme. Every late-night call. Every goodnight, Princess.
Every time my phone lit up with his name and I smiled before I even read what he’d sent.
Reliving those moments would hurt too much.
“What if …” I looked up at him.
He looked as wrecked as I felt.
It took me a second to get my words out. “What if we pretend for this year that we can be together? Just for the year.”
I could give myself that much happiness. Not that I deserved it.
If we were being honest, neither of us really did.
Brooks looked at the phone before something caught his attention.
The journal peeking out from under his pillow.
Shit.
He kept staring at the journal. He took another step.
One more foot of space between us. It felt like ten.
“You must’ve read how you broke me.” His words were quiet. That made them hurt worse.
I wasn’t staring at a ruthless Night Son.
I was staring at the boy I’d fallen in love with.
He looked down at the tiara sitting on the bed.
“Why didn’t you break it?” I whispered.
“Why would I? You love your tiara.”
“So?”
He looked at me like the answer should’ve been obvious. “I’d never want to take something you love away from you.”
My stomach dropped.
But I almost did …
“Even on the days I tried to hate you, there were still lines I wouldn’t cross.” He stepped closer and picked up the tiara. He turned it in his hands, running his thumb over one of the stones.
“Breaking something so precious to you?” He shook his head. “I couldn’t do it. Stealing it? Sure. Pissing you off by refusing to give it back? Absolutely.”
The corner of his mouth almost lifted. Almost.
“Destroying it? Never.” He stared down at the tiara. “Having it felt like having a piece of you. And even a small piece of you was better than nothing.”
I lowered my head because I couldn’t look at him anymore. I was a coward.
I blinked hard and focused on the tiara. “What did I break during the Initiation then?”
“A replica. Given a car was speeding toward you, I figured you wouldn’t notice.” He tipped his chin toward the phone. “Read them.”
I didn’t need to reread them. I remembered them.
I read them myself all the time.
On nights I couldn’t sleep, I’d read the good ones. The bad ones. All of them.
I unlocked his phone. Instead of opening the screenshots, I went straight to our messages.
I scrolled until I found the one I hated the most.
Brooks: Never contact me again.
Four words. I’d read them enough times to know exactly how they looked on the screen.
He’d sent it the night my father was arrested.
There wasn’t a text from the night his father had been shot. Brooks had called me instead, frantic and furious, his words coming out so fast I’d barely understood some of them.
I’d stayed on the phone and comforted him. I hated myself a little more every time I remembered that call.
I scrolled up once, then stopped.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
I couldn’t do this.
One more sweet message and I’d lose it. I tossed his phone on the bed.
I slid off the mattress.
He didn’t move.
One step was all it took to reach him.
I rose onto my tiptoes. His breath caught when I swayed into him, but he didn’t move away.
That was all the permission I needed. I slipped my arms around his neck. My nose brushed his. Somehow, that move felt more intimate than everything we’d done on the Resolute Desk.
I hesitated before touching my lips to his. I was scared he wouldn’t kiss me back.
He did. His arm locked around my waist and hauled me against him while kissing me.
Relief hit me first. Then everything else.