Page 51 of Royal Desire

I pull back far enough to look down at her and wait for an answer. A frown puckers between her brows.

“Answer me,” I whisper.

She exhales, and in true Ruby fashion, she agrees but does it with her own flair. “Fine.”

I nod and feel a smile tug at my lips. I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead before I claim her hand and turn to the lounge. I raise my voice enough for everyone to hear. “I want to thank you all for coming this weekend, but more than anything, I want to thank this woman for the private performance.” I pull her to my side and wrap my arm around her so my hand lands on her ass. “Ruby Sinclair, ladies and gentleman ... the love of my life.”

Ruby gasps.

My smile is wide and satisfied as I turn to the audience. Felicity looks like she’s seen a ghost. I’m pretty sure Devon is muttering a string of Britishisms and every other word is bloody or piss. Art raises his glass to me with a wolfish grin.

And Reid.

Fucking Ansel Reid.

He’s recording the entire show for prosperity ... or to send to the Caruso Mafia.

Either way, this changes everything.

Whether it’s real or fake, Ruby is mine again. And the thought makes me as hard as a rock.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

TALKING AND TEQUILA

Ruby

I’m not sure how I got through the rest of the night.

That guy grabbing me by the arm so tightly that I’ll bruise was a lot. But Payne kissing me in front of the entire bar before announcing I’m the love of his life is more than I can deal with.

I was hired to sing. That’s all.

And Payne hates me. If I were him, I’d hate me too. I did what I did for a reason—a damn good one—but it still doesn’t make what I did easy to forgive. It doesn’t matter how much time passes.

It tore me apart beyond repair. I hate that I had no other choice, and more than anything, I hate that I hurt Payne.

I knew I’d see him eventually when I came back to Winslet. I expected the cold shoulder, but not the one-eighty turnabout. And I never expected the kiss or to be claimed as the love of his life.

Ever since, he’s positioned himself at the end of the bar and has barely taken his eyes off me. He chatted with clients, sipped on a glass of water, and acted like the last twelve years never happened. The only difference is we’re not twenty, he’s not in college, and I’m not pretending to have my shit together.

I straight up know I don’t have my shit together.

I didn’t take the planned break between the second and third sets. I feel bad. Blake’s hands must be cramping. I’m going on pure adrenaline, but I wasn’t about to see what Payne would do on another break or what the guy’s deal was who looked like he was out for revenge because I ran over his favorite squirrel.

Between Payne and squirrel man, I could barely concentrate when Blake and I started the show again. A few minutes after the kiss that made me forget the last twelve years, squirrel man stalked out of The Speakeasy and never returned.

One thing for me to check off my list of things to worry about.

But the time has come to end this thing. I’ve pushed it forty-five minutes past schedule. I even took requests, which wasn’t a part of the plan, but I was desperate to put off the part of the night where Payne demanded I not leave without talking to him.

“Thanks for hanging out with Blake and me this evening. Enjoy your weekend at the manor.”

I hang up the mic, and Blake takes an adorable, dramatic bow. He’s about to go to the bar where Payne waits, but I grab his hand and pull him to the storage room. And it’s not lost on me that Payne licks his lips as he watches me bypass him.

My shit is so far from being put together, it might as well be scattered like glitter across the mountain range that flanks Winslet.

Blake shuts the door behind us, drags his forearm across his sweaty forehead, and sets the stuffed tip jar on a stack of boxes. “I didn’t think it could get better, but that was fire. You didn’t even take a break. If the tip jar is anything to go by, they freaking loved us! And by the way, what in the ever-loving heck is going on with you and Payne?”