Page 78 of Scarred Crown

Maybe I stopped things if she was too drunk, especially if I was that drunk too? I’ve wanted her for so long, I can’t imagine the brakes were mine. But I would never want her to regret being with me. I’d want her to remember, and I would definitely want my memory clear or clearer too.

Memory loss sucks.

“I feel like we’ve slipped into an alternate dimension,” Jules says without looking at me. She fishes her phone out of her purse.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her tense as she slides her phone from airport mode into eating up data. Immediately, her phone pings with a flood of notifications.

“Oh, no,” she mutters.

“You should really turn off those push notifications.” I gaze out the window and don’t touch my phone. “Bad for your mental health to be connected so much.”

“Oh,” Jules says, her voice tight. “It’s not the social media notifications that are the problem. Although someone leaked photos of us getting married. What happens in Vegas did not, in fact, stay in Vegas. So I guess we don’t need to break that news to anyone.” Her fingers fly across her keyboard in response to something or someone. “My ‘oh, no’ was related to your brother’s ranting text messages.”

My heart kicks. That gets my attention. I’m fine with the whole world knowing Jules and I got married in Vegas in some quickie ceremony that probably cost a couple hundred bucks. Robbie made sure anyone who cares about this sort of gossip already believed we were having an affair in Tanzania. An elopement is frugal. Responsible, even. Who needs all the pomp and circumstance when it’s the right person?

Alex giving her a hard time is a whole other level of piss-me-off.

“Alex?” I hold out my hand. “Show me.”

She passes me her phone and then stares out the window while I scroll through his irate messages, all about how she’s let people down with such a massive breach of royal protocol, how irresponsible we’ve been, how we’ve derailed the coronation ride with a cheap Vegas wedding.

My blood boils, and I take out my own phone to see whether he’s dared to send me the same messages.

Nothing.

Brice sent me an ‘atta boy’ complete with a gif from Wedding Crashers suggesting I ‘lock it up’ which would have made me laugh under different circumstances. His bottle of tequila and deck of cards is partially responsible for this mess.

Except, I don’t regret what’s happened, exactly. I just wish I remembered. It’s hard to justify something you don’t recall doing.

“I’ll talk to him,” I say through gritted teeth. He sure as shit won’t be sending any more messages like this to my wife. Not a fucking chance.

Jules sighs. “You don’t have to. He’s right, isn’t he? What were we thinking?”

Just wearing my heart on my sleeve again to have you shred it.

“Does he have any reason other than royal protocol to be this mad at you, Julia?” Asking her the question causes a piece of my heart to break and hover, ready to drift away or reattach.

“What?” The color drains from Julia’s face. “No.” She shakes her head, and when I cock mine in response, she doubles down. “No.”

“Then he doesn’t get to send messages like that to you. If you want to handle it, fine. But if not, I’ve got no problem defending you. We might not remember what happened, but we’re adults. You’re my wife.” I flash my tattoo of Jules in a swirling cursive at her. “Might as well be written in blood. He owes you more respect than those texts suggest.”

We stare at each other, and I can’t read her expression. Her phone vibrates in my hand, and I glance down to see a message from her mother.

“The former Secretary Jensen is on the rampage too,” I mutter and pass Julia’s phone back to her. That one I will not offer to handle. While the former Secretary Jensen doesn’t intimidate me like she once did, I’m not keen to explain how I lured her daughter into yet another questionable decision after all these years.

The vehicle cruises through the massive palace gates, and soon we’ll be at the main entrance.

“This will be a fun conversation given that I can’t remember anything. Being drunk was never a good enough excuse for anything else. Tattoos and marriage aren’t likely to go down well either.”

“At least you waited until you were thirty to do both.” I can’t help a partial smile. “I mean, that’s gotta count for something.”

“With her?” Julia matches my half-smile. “Probably just that I definitely should have known better.”

“We all make mistakes,” I say in a glib tone, but swallowing what we’ve done as though it’s a minor mistake tastes bitter.

She searches my face, a pinched expression on hers. “We should talk later, Nick. I just—I don’t know what to make of this. Do you?”

I’ve got no regrets, but I’m not sure it’s wise to say that when she seems so unsure. “Still processing.” That’s neutral, right?