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Even now, I refuse to believe that. I refuse to think he felt nothing for me, but maybe that’s just evidence of my own delusion. Maybe he did play me for a fool.
Sighing, I shuffle to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I tie my hair back, pull the false lashes off my eyes, and reach for my makeup remover. It takes me a full ten minutes to scrub all the makeup off my face, and then I treat myself to a long, hot shower.
I want to wash the memory of Liam off my body. Maybe I want to wash off the embers that Silas sprinkled over my skin. I want to feel like myself again, not have everything I believe called into question. Ever since I met the Prince, I feel like my worldview has been shifting. My convictions aren’t as rock-solid as they were before.
Do I really hate the monarchy, or is that some latent bitterness because of Liam? Am I really happy living a simple, luxury-free life?
What happened on that bench is something I’ve been avoiding thinking about. We almost kissed. I wanted to kiss him. The Prince, for crying out loud. I was seconds away from tasting his lips—and what kind of person does that make me? How can I pretend to be all for Nord becoming a republic when I swoon over the first royal I meet?
A cloud of steam billows out of the bathroom when I exit, twisting a thick white towel around my hair. I hug a robe around myself and walk to the desk, finding a room service menu tucked in an information folder. Dialing reception, I order half a dozen appetizers, a big, juicy burger, chocolate cake, and two bottles of wine. Just in case one isn’t enough to drown out the memory of what just happened.
It’s that kind of night—I just hope my boss doesn’t look at the hotel tab too closely when I charge all of it to the company expense account.
Flicking on the television, I settle into the king bed and finally, finally let myself relax.
Maybe I should be thanking Liam for interrupting us. He saved me from making the same mistake all over again. Saved me from falling for another man who will never see me as his equal, who will no doubt toss me aside as soon as I become inconvenient, who will lie about his feelings for me whenever he’s confronted about them.
If he even has feelings for me.
Still, as I lie on the bed in a towel and a bathrobe, I can’t deny how good it felt to be alone with Silas. It didn’t feel like he was royalty. He didn’t act like he was above me. And when Liam showed up, Silas stepped forward in a way that was almost…protective. Put his body between us so he’d take the brunt of Birchal’s stare.
Liam never did that when we were kids. If anyone came upon us, he’d always take a step away from me. Leaving me exposed, open to judgment and criticism. Letting me lose my job and refusing to take back his words when I cried and confronted him. He never would have stepped in to protect me—he did the opposite. He caused my pain.
It feels stupid to be so twisted up over something that happened when I was a teen. It’s more than just Liam, though… Seeing him made me realize I was making the same mistakes all over again. I feel silly. Foolish.
A knock sounds on the door, chasing my thoughts away. I shouldn’t be thinking about any of this, anyway. Prince Silas is no different from Liam Birchal. They’re both part of the supposed elite. They both think they’re better than the working class. They both live a life of luxury.
Both part of a world that I won’t be admitted to, even if Nathaniel Hawke dresses me every day for the rest of my life. Never going to happen.
Padding to the door, my stomach grumbles, but when I open it there’s no valet in a white uniform delivering my food.
It’s the Prince, still in his tuxedo, with a bowtie hanging undone around his neck. He holds up two bottles of wine, arching a brow. “I was told these were for you. Expecting someone?”
A flush creeps over my cheeks, and I feel so incredibly underdressed. My skin is still damp from my shower, and all I’m wearing is a towel on my head and a robe around my body. I hug the neckline tight, feeling air circulating over my bare legs…and everything else that’s bare under there. My eyes shift to the room service trolley parked next to my door. “Did the hotel take pity on you and offer you a job?”
“I volunteered.” He flashes a smile at me, and my ovaries squeal in delight. Traitors. The Prince nods to the room behind me. “May I?”
I should say no. I should take my food and gorge myself, then fall asleep with a stomach ache, bathrobe still tied around my body. But he’s here, and I’m weak, so I open the door wider and let him in. Prince Silas pushes the cart inside my room, the smell of food and the smell of him flooding my senses. It’s too much. Everything from the neck down clenches. Closing the door, I take a deep breath to compose myself, then quickly unravel the towel from my head and hang it in the bathroom. I glance at myself in the mirror, squeezing my eyes shut as my cheeks flush.
I duck out of the bathroom to the closet opposite and grab jeans, underthings, and a t-shirt, heading back to the bathroom to throw them on and quickly running my fingers through my hair.
This isn’t exactly the glamorous look I was sporting an hour ago.
When I exit the bathroom again, Silas is sitting in one of the armchairs near the window, a bottle of wine already open with two glasses poured. The room service trolley sits between the armchairs, food uncovered and ready to be eaten. I lower myself on the chair opposite his and accept the outstretched glass of wine, touching its rim to his.
“Cheers,” he says in a low voice that sends thrills shivering down my spine.
I nod. “Cheers.” The wine is a full-bodied Shiraz, and the first sip settles my nerves. I find the courage to glance at the Prince, who looks completely at ease in my hotel room. “So…what are you doing here?”
His lips quirk, and heat gushes through my core. This is bad. I have even less control over myself than I did on that bench outside the castle. Having him here, in my room, sitting right beside my bed… I suck in a breath, trying to dispel all the images I’ve conjured of him these past few days when I think of him late at night, hand between my legs.
His gaze sweeps down my shirt and over my jeans. “You left the gala, so I had no reason to stay.”
My heart thumps. I give him a chuckle, arching my brows as I try to hide my blush behind my glass of wine. “Is that right? How’d your speech go?”
“Ran away before they could force me to give it.”
I frown, glancing at the door. “How did you know what hotel room I’m in? Doesn’t this place have privacy protocols?”
