Page 23 of Cross Me

“Edward,” Norris began gently, sensing I was on edge.

I held up a hand. It was time to show that I could be reasonable. “It’s okay. He’s right.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Edward dropped onto the sofa and folded his hands into his lap. “It’s okay to worry about her, Alexander. I do, too. But you can’t lock her away—or you’re going to lose her.”

That was the heart of the issue. Allowing her away from here, away from me, away from safety, felt like a terrifying risk. Why couldn’t he see that?

“But if I don’t protect her, I lose her forever. How many times has someone tried to take her away from me?”

“That could happen. No one can control the whole world—not even you. But if you keep levelling demands at her, keep blocking her way, keep presuming to know what’s right for her, you will lose her without question.”

“But she’d be safe,” I said in a small voice I rarely allowed to speak. This was the voice of my fears, the one I tried to force deep inside until it was so distant, so hidden, even from myself, that I could barely hear it.

“Either way, it would be a life without her.” He paused and gave me my answer. “There’s only one chance at keeping her.”

I knew I could no longer win. Not the way I had wanted. In the end, there was no decision to be made. Everyone seemed to have conspired to make it for me. I turned to Norris and sucked in a deep breath. “Cancel my meetings. Call Brexton and Georgia.”

CHAPTER NINE

CLARA

A half dozen cars flew past, and I clapped my hands over my ears as the deafening roar of the engines pounded in my head. Next to me, Belle bounced up and down on her heels. I stole a glance at her, wondering if this was some weird pregnancy thing. I never realized that she was into cars before. Maybe she could explain what was happening later, because I wasn’t getting anything except that cars were going around the track very, very fast. It was making me nauseated to watch them.

I hadn’t known what to expect at Silverstone, except the obvious: fast cars and a hovering security team. I still couldn’t believe I was here. My new role as official host of the Sovereign Games came with a few unwanted perks, though. Alexander had been perfectly clear on that.

At one end of the stands, Georgia’s attention was on everything but the track. On the other side, Brex was doing the same thing. I couldn’t help but notice they’d been keeping their distance from each other the whole time. Splitting up meant they could cover more ground, but it wasn’t as if they were the only two members of my security team. Alexander had sent an embarrassing number of people to the track with me today. I felt like I was heading off to war, not to deliver an official invitation to participate in this year’s Sovereign Games.

For the most part, my husband had stayed out of things. Ever since he gave in and told me the games would proceed—and that he supported my decision to be part of them—he’d holed up in his office. I suspected his focus was on matters of national and personal security, like studying every entrance and exit at the Silverstone track. As far as I could tell, he’d covered them all. It would take another nation’s entire Armed Forces to reach me.

I didn’t argue with him. After all, this was the most flexible he’d been since we were married. It might have seemed like a small step, but I knew it was huge. I hoped it was a sign of things to come.

The screech of rubber yanked me back to the present moment and I leaned against the guardrail to see a driver’s backend slide off the track. It was particularly icy this morning and my breath caught as the car spun in a wild circle before narrowly clipping its rear bumper on a cement barricade.

I turned to Belle, who seemed to know what was going on, and yelled over the noise, “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” she called back. Then she yelled something about opposite lock at the chicane.

I suspected I’d heard her wrong or she was speaking another language.

The other racers finished their race and pulled into the pit, instantly dropping the decibels in the stadium to normal levels. I made a mental note to bring earplugs to drown out the sounds of the race next time.

“That was impressive. Your guy managed to keep from flipping when he spun out. Icy track and slick tires don’t mix.” She whistled as she watched the crew inspecting the vehicle. “Of course, he was out ahead of the others. That’s why he lost control. He kept hitting that corner faster and faster. He stopped accounting for the conditions. He’s good, but reckless. Of course, he is young.”

My mouth fell open and I closed it quickly. “When did you learn so much about cars and racing and racecar drivers?”

I didn’t even think she had a driving license. I couldn’t remember her driving during the entirety of our university careers. It was like she’d just revealed she had an entire secret life. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“I’ve always loved cars,” she said, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. It vanished, replaced by a sad one. “My dad loved them.”

I reached out and rubbed her shoulder. She didn’t talk about her father often. Belle had been the one to discover his body after he’d committed suicide. She’d been young, robbed of the chance to really know him. Instead, her memories of him were colored by the unimaginable. “I didn’t know that.”

“Most people don’t.” She shrugged, her grin looking a little forced now. “When I met Smith, I discovered he loved them, too. He gave me a chance to enjoy them again, outside memories of my father.”

I understood that. Love gave us the courage to be the person we were afraid to be.

“Smith drives some fancy car, doesn’t he?” I’d seen it on occasion when we’d gone out. Unlike Belle, though, I knew very little about cars. I could drive, of course. Part of me was still American, so it was practically ingrained in my DNA. But apart from knowing where the ignition was and what to do when the oil light came on, my knowledge was limited. I’d driven very little in the last year. Alexander wasn’t a fan of me being behind the wheel. In all fairness to him, I’d nearly killed myself in an accident on our ill-fated trip to Scotland. He didn’t need to worry, though, I wasn’t about to take up racing.

“It’s a Bugatti,” she told me as if I should know what that meant. When I didn’t respond, she rolled her eyes. “It’s a really fancy car.”