Chapter 43 Leticia
LETICIA
WATCHED
I don’t even look around me. I know the feeling of being watched is Royal through the cameras. I haven’t felt alone or unwatched since I arrived home yesterday. But now it doesn’t feel as spooky. It’s oddly comforting.
The feeling follows me through the penthouse as I fetch my bags from where the guards left them earlier this morning, then back up to my bedroom. I open the suitcases on the stands and start unpacking just to pack all over again.
It’s the silence that’s killing me. I’ve tried turning on the television, but it’s not enough noise, or rather, it’s not the right kind of noise.
I’ve changed in the couple of days I spent at the Cavanaghs. I know what it’s like to sleep next to a man, to be curled up in his arms, and I know what it’s like to have a best friend.
There’s nothing saying we can’t be friends, though, is there?
I grab my phone and agonize over the word choices.
Leticia:
Does this mean we’re not best friends anymore?
Royal:
I would love to be best friends with you.
His response brings an immediate smile to my face and a sense of relaxation to my soul.
Leticia:
Want to call with me while I repack?
The next response isn’t immediate. I don’t know why I expected him to answer at all, but given how fast the first response came in, it felt like the next one should follow soon after. Right?
It takes five minutes — me unzipping my suitcase and staring at the pristine folded clothes, the dirty laundry items washed, dried, and repacked — before he responds.
Royal:
I had a late night, so I might fall asleep on you. But we can call.
Leticia:
I promise to hang up if you start snoring.
I’m still giggling when my phone starts to ring.
“I do not snore,” Royal says when I answer.
He definitely sounds groggy, and when the option to video call comes through, I don’t hesitate to accept it.
Royal looks worse for wear. Heavy dark circles shadow beneath his eyes, and he’s almost more pale than he’d been before.
“Are you okay?” I shove the suitcase back on the bed so I can sit and look at him more thoroughly.
His hair is unkempt, more than usual, and he’s lying in bed with a pillow pulled against his chest and another resting under his head. I ache to be back in that cozy warmth with him. I miss how safe it felt to be with him. Even while sleeping, I felt safer than ever before.
He nods. “Yeah, I just worked way too many hours at once, then I had to take my wolf for a run because he’s pissed at me.”
“Let me put headphones in!” I gasp, quickly muting my phone.
Oh my god, and he was worried about me letting their family secret out?
Once they’re tucked in my ears, his voice in surround sound, he says, “Gorgeous, I’m monitoring your house. No one is hearing anything I don’t want them to.”
I miss you. It’s on my lips, but I have to push it away. “What were you working on?”
“Some boring paperwork stuff. I had over a year’s worth, and I figured I’d just bang it out all at once rather than dillydallying with it any longer,” he says, but there’s a smile on his face.
I almost call him out for it, but he’s probably so tired he’s delusional.
“Dillydallying, is that the technical term?” I lean my phone against a suitcase so he can see me and then start unpacking.
“No, the technical term is lollygagging, but for the bystanders I try to use plain language and not jargon.” Royal jokes before letting out a big yawn. “I hope you don’t mind that I washed your clothes. It felt wrong putting a couple dirty things back in a clean suitcase.”
“You washed them?” I don’t mean to sound so shocked. “I would have thought Betty . . .”
Royal is shaking his head. “No, Mom would have lectured me about not ruining any of your nice clothes with mine. But I wanted to make your life easier by not having to do laundry in case those were things you’d want in Italy.”
“Yeah, I do. Thank you.”
I pull one of the sweaters he washed up to my nose. It smells just like him. The warmth and sweet chocolate smell fill my nose and my lungs, and stress fades from my system.
But when I pull it away, reality smacks me in the face again, making me raw to the world all over.
“Flying out tomorrow,” I say.
“I know, gorgeous.” Royal sounds so sleepy. “I’m still watching you.”
“Planning to watch me forever?”
His blinks get longer, and he nods a little. “Won’t need to stalk you forever. Just until you’re safe here with me.”
“What does that mean? It sounds a lot more than ‘just friends.’ ” I try to ask, but Royal is definitely asleep.
His head is bowed forward a little bit, his mouth parted just so slightly.
Royal looks so peaceful. I give it a couple more minutes before disconnecting the call.
I wanted him to be all my firsts, and I was able to give him so many of them. My first kiss, my first orgasm, my first time having sex. He gave me the choice and the opportunity to be myself. The choice of how my life happened was something I never thought was possible.
The offer to marry me, the way he so quickly jumped to what life would look like if we were together. It was reckless, but it was kind and compassionate. More than that . . . it’s what I want. I want to choose Royal, and he gave me that possibility.
It took so much strength to say no, and now? It was so hard not to tell him to come get me. I want him to rescue me from all this. I want to find what other firsts I can give him.
But I know at my core that whatever deal my father has made for me to be married off isn’t one that comes cheaply. To get between him and this deal would be deadly.
After Antonella called the truce, I listened outside his office door and any room he would go into to all the terrible things he’d say.
How she disgraced the family, how she’d be better off dead, how he should milk the Cavanaghs for every penny they’re worth, and how I’d better not be learning any of Antonella’s headstrong ways.
The threats against Valor and Kerrianne were unrepeatable.
The words he used were ugly and hateful.
I don’t think the threats he made, although in anger, were empty.
If I thought there was a way I could be with Royal and not put his life in jeopardy, then maybe I’d give it more thought. But truce or not, if Royal gets between Dad and the deal he cut with Steffano, then there will be bloodshed.
I can’t put Royal’s life in danger like that.
But a little fantasy about it while packing can’t hurt. I pull the sweater that smells like him back up to my nose. Long deep breaths, and I pretend I’m packing to go back to Barrington rather than the Italian Alps.
What is your life when you’d trade chateaus in the Alps for mansions in the suburbs?