London Royal (London Royal Duet Book 1) Page 3

  I braced for shouting, but nothing happened.

  Instead, when Easton spoke, his voice was pleading. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have kept it from you, but you have to realize that London isn’t going to happen. We won’t survive if we don’t go together. Law is a more stable profession than photography. I mean, what are you going to do with that anyway? I had your best interest at heart.”

  My best interest? My best fucking interest?

  My fingers curled around the knife handle as my anger bubbled to the surface. I forced a deep breath, then another, and peeled my fingers off the hilt. “You lied to me. Every day I asked you, and every day you hid it from me.” I searched his handsome face. How had I become this? What had become of the real me?

  He waved a dismissive hand. “Look. I did it for you. You needed to make a decision. The right decision. And you wouldn’t have been able to make it if you’d seen that envelope. Besides, you and I both know that you wouldn’t be happy in London.”

  “Don’t!” My body vibrated with fury. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. You did it for yourself because you wanted me to make the choice that you wanted. You’re dispica—”

  The stinging crack across my cheek snapped my head to the side. A pinball of pain ricocheted in my skull. The burning pain spread from my face to my neck and well into my hairline. I knew from experience now would be a good time to shut the hell up.

  But it was as if the stronger woman inside me finally refused to be silenced. I gingerly touched my cheek and glowered at him. “I will not shut up. You lied to me. You hid this from me. You made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to make this dream happ—”

  The next crack was enough to knock me over, and I tasted blood on the tip of my tongue. Desperate to steady myself, I reached up to the counter for purchase, but only managed to bring the diced chicken, mayonnaise, and chopping board down with me.

  Easton kneeled in front of me. His tight face registered a barely concealed mask of rage. This was it; I’d done it now. There would be no concealer good enough to hide the bruises he would give me.

  And I didn’t give a good goddamn. I was tired of cowering.

  Instead of lying there, I probed for the cutting board to use as a shield. My fingers wrapped around the knife handle instead. Shaking, I gripped it tight.

  Over the years, I’d lost count of the number of times he’d hit me.

  Once, I’d even tried to run home. My mother had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that Easton was the kind of man I needed in my life. And I had better learn how to please him because I wasn’t going to do much better than a Peters.

  My mother had also pointed out that Easton would be powerful someday and I would benefit from that. She’d called him to pick me up then.

  I had learned that day not to go running home with my problems. Once, I considered telling my father. He might have patriarchy infused in his blood, but he would never stand for someone hitting his child.

  But even I knew that scenario would end in bloodshed, either with my father dead or in jail for murder. Neither outcome was acceptable, so I kept my mouth shut.

  When Easton spoke, his voiced sounded controlled, but I didn’t buy it.

  “You know better than to provoke me. I don’t want to hurt you, but Abbie, you cannot speak to me like that. Are we clear?”

  Decision time. I could nod my head and say yes. Or for once, I could stand up to the person who’d hurt me over and over again. The person who’d deliberately tried to keep my dream from me.

  With the taste of blood in my mouth and my heart hammering in my chest, I tilted my head to meet his gaze as fury chased away the fear.

  Slipping the knife between our bodies, I glared at him. “No. Not clear. You have two minutes to get the hell out of my house, or I swear before God, I will not be the only one bleeding in this kitchen today.”

  Easton blinked hard, then blinked again, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “Abbie…” His voice held a hint of warning.

  My hands shook slightly as hysteria threatened to take over. “Fine, have it your way.” The tip of the knife sliced at his T-shirt as I pressed just enough to show him I meant business. The rush of euphoric triumph when the blade carved through skin was hard to ignore.

  With a wince, he stumbled backward and fell on his ass. “Abbie, calm the fuck down. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper. We can talk this out.”

  “We won’t be talking anything out. You now have sixty seconds to get out.” I dug into my back pocket and pulled out my phone. “Or do I have to call the police? Imagine what that will do to a political career not yet started. Probably not much, but think of the scandal. Your poor mother.”

  His face went ashen. “You know my family has enough money to make any charges go away.”

  “Maybe, asshole, but the media just loves a smear campaign. Promising young black lawyer fucks it all up. Imagine the headlines. Just another example of black kids behaving badly.”

  I knew I’d hit a nerve.

  He cleared his throat. “Listen to me, Abbie.”

  “Thirty seconds.” I forced my body into a wide stance, knife held with one hand and pointed in his direction. My phone stayed in the other.

  Eyes wide with panic, he pushed himself to his feet and headed for the front door with his back to the exit. “Okay. I’ll go, but we’re not done talking yet. I’ll call you later, and we’ll talk this out calmly when you’ve had a moment to think about things.”

  “You won’t be calling me, because we’re done. I will never lay eyes on you again. Ten seconds.”

  When he reached the front door, he turned and strode through then slammed it shut behind him. Despite the auto locks, I still ran and engaged the deadbolt then the chain. For good measure, I dragged one of the dining room chairs and wedged it against the door.

  Adrenaline coursed through my veins, making me shaky as I sank to the floor in the foyer.

  Jesus, had I just done that? My body shook. I’d broken up with Easton. Hell, I’d all but threatened to kill him. Now what the hell was I supposed to do?

  I laid my head against the door and stared up at the engaged deadbolt. Even though my body shook, my logical thinking functions kicked in. “First things first.”

  I pulled out my phone and called a locksmith. The call after that was the most important one I’d ever made in my life. I clenched and unclenched my fists as I listened to the double ringing, willing the line to be answered.

  “Hiya, my love.”

  I tried to steady my voice, but it trembled nevertheless. “Faith? It’s Abbie. I need a place to stay.”

  2

  Abbie…

  I sat on that floor.

  I didn't know how long. Terrified and ashamed, hysterical and… euphoric. But I had done it. I had walked away. I had left him. Or made him leave, but that was just semantics.

  I picked myself up off the floor, wincing as my shoulder popped. My knee protested, and my head threatened to explode off of my body.

  But I was standing. And that was something I hadn't thought I'd ever be able to do. I was on my own two feet. And Easton was out of the house.

  Holy shit. Easton was out of the house.

  I whipped around and stared at that lock. He still had keys.

  You can't stay here.

  Right. I had a place to go. My classes wouldn’t start for another month, but I would just go to London now. Faith had already said yes, so I had somewhere to go.

  Start moving. Passport. Clothes. Go.

  My brain sent out the commands, but they all took a moment to process. A much-needed spark of adrenaline was now breaking down to make me sluggish and slow. My head hurt. Everything hurt. God, it hurt so bad.

  But I had to worry about the pain later. Survival came first.

  I didn't waste time. I grabbed the knife from where I’d dropped it. I made sure the chair underneath the doorknob was as secure then went to my closet. I pulled out the largest suitcase I
had and started haphazardly shoving clothes into it. I would have loved to take my time and thought through what my future London style would be.

  Who are you kidding? What London style will you have? You're a mostly basics kind of girl anyway.

  That was true. I did love the basics. Jeans, sweater, some kind of cute top. But none of that mattered because I had survived. And now I was going to live to tell the tale and I was going to London. No one was stopping me from it. I packed the makeup bag, again, with just the basics. I never really learned how to do much more than foundation powder and a subtle highlight. The whole smoky eye thing had bypassed me. A fact that always irritated Easton. He always wanted me to try harder with the makeup.

  So I had loads of it, but I had no idea how to use any of it. Not that I needed to anymore, because now I was on my own. Holy cow, I had just broken up with Easton. I'd not only broken up with him, I’d threatened to kill him if he ever touched me again.

  Jesus Christ.

  I wouldn't let myself think about it. I wouldn't let myself look in the mirror. I wouldn't let the fear that often chased the worry settle in my bones. I'd done it. There was no going back. Not that I’d ever want to.

  God, how horrible would it be if, after all of this, I succumbed and went back because I was a coward?

  That's easy. Don't be a coward.

  Right. When I had enough warm weather clothes shoved in the bag, I ran to get my paperwork. I didn't even have a ticket. Shit.

  I sat down at my computer, pulled up the Bridge Early site and started to fill in the details. When I got to the portion where they asked for my passport number, I groaned. Christ, why can't they just let me buy a goddamn ticket? I ran up to the safe, and my fingers fumbled as I tapped in the code, but when it finally opened, I breathed a sigh of relief and shoved my hand in. I was really going to leave. And better yet, no one would have any idea where I was.

  I dug my hand into my identification folder in the safe, looking for that familiar texture of my travel documents, but I didn't find it. I frowned and stuck my head in to a have a good deep look for the passport.

  What had I done with it? Easton and I had gone to Costa Rica last year. I went to Ghana every other year, so I was due to go this year anyway. What had I done with my passport?

  And then I wondered if Easton had sorted it on his side by accident. Whenever we travelled, he was the one in charge of the documents. He liked to be able to hold on to them. He used to tease me that he didn't want me taking off without him.

  But now that joking phrase sent a shiver down my spine. Since we had just the one safe, I didn't have to bother trying to remember his combination. But when I stuck my hand in his identification folder and found his passport, I frowned. There were also little bits of something that felt confetti-size. I pulled out the whole folder and my frown deepened.

  Bits of blue plastic fell out. A whole mound of them, enough for two handfuls. When I looked closer, I realized what I was looking at. My passport. He'd shredded it.

  Shit.

  Had he anticipated this? Had he wondered if, at some point, I would say enough was enough and I would try to go?

  I sat back on my heels.

  Think. Think. Think. Think. It wasn't the end of the world. I knew how to do this. I could do this. I tried to talk myself through it. Okay, I could get an expedited passport. That would take maybe a little over a week. All I needed was my birth certificate and social security card. The social security card was easy. My mother had that. She'd had mine and my sisters’ since we were kids.

  I went back to my identification folder and dug around for my birth certificate.

  Jesus Christ, again, torn into shreds. Who did that? Who would do that to someone?

  I walked back and forth. He'd done this to me. He’d made sure that even if I got the courage to leave, I wouldn't be able to. At least, not right away. He'd made sure that if I ever grew a pair of balls, I would have to wait, that there would be no fast escape for me, and then he'd have a chance at me.

  I was so screwed. I couldn't stay there. Sure, I could change the locks. That was all well and good, but he had identification to prove that he lived there, so he could get a locksmith to undo whatever I did.

  I couldn't stay here, and I couldn't go to London. At least not yet.

  I was going to have to go home.

  Lex…

  "You tried to have him kidnapped?"

  I grinned as I sat back on the couch in my mother's stark white office.

  Xander lounged against the floor to ceiling windows as he looked out onto Hyde Park. He looked bored, but I knew him well. He was calculating the light. I could see his fingers moving back and forth as if he was adjusting his angles, adjusting his focus. He was taking pictures. He wasn't even there. Not mentally, anyway.

  Jean Claude paced back and forth on the carpet. My mother sat behind her desk, fingers steepled, chestnut hair cascading over her shoulders. Not a gray hair to be found. As always, she looked stunning.

  I'd always marvelled how my friends had mums who looked so much older. Not mine though. She seemed somehow perpetually poised somewhere in her early thirties. I didn't know her age for certain, because whenever she had a birthday, she wouldn't tell how old she was. Either way, she looked great… especially when she was on the verge of handing someone their arse.

  She wore off-white pants and a casual, pale pink sweater, the only pop of color in the room. Jean Claude stuttered. "L-look, I didn't really kidnap him, obviously. He's fine."

  "Yes, but you tried?"

  "I didn't try. I had to keep his skills fresh. Both of their skills fresh. We are on the cusp of something great. Your Majesty—"

  She put up her hand. "Jean Claude, I have told you to stop calling me that. I am not 'Your Majesty.' I no longer have my title, remember?"

  He pursed his lips. "But we can change that."

  She sighed wearily as if it was an old argument between them. "Jean Claude, my cousin sits on the throne. It's not a throne I have known. It's not even a throne my mother knew. We aren't close to it."

  "But you are. There's a lot of talk. People are dissatisfied. They want the old line of monarchy back."

  "And that's nice for them. But my cousin has made it clear he has no intention of stepping down, so we have to live in reality."

  "Look, you live in reality, and I will act as if the future can change."

  She sighed and sat back. "Lex, are you all right?"

  I frowned. "You should see the other guys." I was sore, and I had a cut under my eye, which was healing. The scrapes on my knuckles had healed days ago. So I was basically fine. Pissed off, but fine.

  But Xander eyed me sceptically. "And when you say we ‘should see the other guys,’ how many others were there?"

  I shrugged. "Three."

  Jean Claude rolled his eyes. "Lex, apparently, we need to work on your restraint. I suggest you go back to training."

  I shrugged. "You can train me all you want, but I will show as much restraint as I feel like at the time."

  Jean Claude winced. Xander just smirked. "You took on three guys by yourself?"

  "Yeah, where were you, brother? I was worried maybe you'd gotten kidnapped."

  "Me? I think the whole world knows better than to fuck with me."

  I winced inwardly at his reference. The whole world took him as the dangerous one. The whole world thought he was the one who was out of control. And he was out of control or had been for a time there. But it was me, the second son, who was the true menace. But no one knew it.

  My mother sat forward. "Jean Claude, this is enough. You've been with the family for a long time, so I let some things slide. But this... you will not put my sons' lives in danger."

  Xander raised his hand. "I just want to note that no one has tried to faux kidnap me in a while. Is everyone too scared?"

  Jean Claude pursed his lips. "Your Highness, I am more than happy to send men to faux kidnap you. But we all know that you are unsuitable
as an heir for your mother, so you won't be an actual target."

  I ground my teeth. I hated the way people casually dismissed him. I hated even more that he didn’t give a fuck. "Let's be clear, Xander is the oldest. I'm just a spare."

  I knew Jean Claude didn't like it. And my mother didn't like me fighting with him. But he wasn't going to treat my brother that way, whether or not Xander gave a shit. "Xander is firstborn."

  Jean Claude tugged at his jacket. "He may be the eldest, but given his—history—your mother's other advisers and I think it's best that Xander not be a consideration as the heir. He's undesirable.” He slid a glance to Xander along with a shrug that said, sorry, but true.

  Xander waved him off. "No skin off my nose. I'd make a terrible ruler anyway. Besides, I'm a photographer. That's my life. That's my vocation. That's my dream. I have everything I want. I don't want to be a prince."

  I sat forward then. "I don't want to be a prince either."

  Jean Claude threw up his hands then. "You might not have a choice. And we need a viable heir. So, if both of you forfeit your chances, we'll be stuck with your cousin Derrick from the Winston Isles."

  I wrinkled my nose at that. I loathed Derrick. "Let him have it. I'm telling you now, I'd make a shitty prince."

  My mother slapped her desk. "Everybody be quiet. There's nothing to worry about. My cousin is still sitting on the throne. So tomorrow, we're going to wake up as normal and do the same thing we did today. Live our lives. My grandparents and my mother were consumed with getting back on the throne. I never chose to live that way. I live with the truth in front of me. And the truth is I am not queen, so I'm not going to live my life as if I were. And I should point out to you, Jean Claude, that if I were to become queen by some fluke, both my sons are my heirs, both are eligible. You will follow them because I say so."