Going Royal 02 - Some Like It Scandalous (16 page)

“You didn’t have to be such an ass to her,” Sebastian began, but swallowed whatever else he might have said when their gazes clashed.

“If not for the gravity of your injury, I’d break that nose of yours and shove your teeth down your throat.” He might yet. It took every ounce of his self-control to keep his hands at his sides and not fisted. Only a handful of weeks before, a knife had been thrust between Sebastian’s ribs and punctured his lung—had his bodyguard not reacted so swiftly... Armand ended the path of that thought. “Explain exactly what you did.”

Sighing, his brother clasped his hands behind his back. “When you called me to ask for my advice, it was the first time in years I heard hope in your voice. Hope and desire—for something other than a new project for orphans.” His brother sighed, his face twisting as though he struggled with the words. “You haven’t been the same since she left.”

“I did not ask for your analysis of my mental condition or my phone call. I was on the other end of the receiver.” Apparently calling his brother had been a mistake. He’d thought Sebastian might understand the conundrum—as second in line, Sebastian’s education and upbringing had closely matched Armand’s own. Like him, Sebastian did not form attachments and he dutifully went where the family sent him—save for his little rebellions. Rebellions he as the second son had been allowed. “Why did you call the press?”

“Because you’re turning into your title, and you’re getting colder. You love that woman, you’re just too damn stubborn to see it. If you’d swallowed your pride for five minutes—”

“Enough.” Armand sliced his hand through the air. Everyone wanted to argue with him. “You... George... Neither of you learn. Go have your injury seen to and no more phone calls.”

“I came to apologize to her. I didn’t consider the danger or how badly the press would react.”

“Of course you didn’t. But we did not play our parts in your little Machiavellian farce.” Sliding his hands into his pockets, Armand walked over to the windows and stared down at the city. The fourteenth floor was closer to the street and yet it felt very far removed from the frenzied pulse of life traveling beyond the walls of the tower.

After a long moment, his brother sighed, the door opened and he left.

“Your Highness.” Peterson must have been waiting for their exit.

Not turning around, Armand closed his eyes. “Yes?”

“Miss Novak is secure in the penthouse.”

“Thank you.”

“Agent Fielding called, they wanted to clarify that they have officially identified another player in the latest threats against Miss Novak.” Latest threats—four more had arrived over the course of the week. Each promised an escalation in violence.

“More than the magazine reporter?” A disgruntled magazine reporter working for a local periodical had attempted to trade on a professional relationship with Anna and she’d snubbed him by failing to respond. According to the agents, when questioned, the man pled guilty to felony threat and third-degree stalking. He’d also lost his job. Two others had been discredited as copycats. The fourth, however, had been as credible as the first. And far more violent—including three photographs of Anna taken at different points during the week as she visited potential scholarship recipients. Every one had featured her security.

They’d included crosshairs, distance references and a one-word note:
anytime.

“Yes, in addition to adding Yuri Markov—the businessman Prince George took the loan from—they have information from a credible source citing political unrest in Belaria.”

Turning around, Armand stared at Peterson. Belaria, a tiny footnote of a country straddling a landmass between Russia, Hungary and the former Czechoslovakian Republic. The independent Slavic nation established a formal government after the collapse of the U.S.S.R., but prior to the revolution it had been an ancestral home to Russian Czars, filled with noble estates and huge tracts of hunting land for young princes to cut their teeth safely.

“Good God, why there?” The family maintained few interests in the region due to the unrest. Even his cousin Frankie, with her peculiar habits for visiting hot spots, avoided the region.

“It seems they’ve developed a multiparty system over the last five years, but in the last several months one has truly begun to gain a foothold over the others.” Peterson’s implacable expression kept his emotions in check, but Armand dreaded what he was about to say. “A royalist party that has named you their titular figurehead.”

The headache behind his right eye became a red-hot poker of pain digging into his brain. “Find out what you can. Keep Sebastian and George on lockdown—and reach out to my mother’s security forces, as well as the Graces.” His aunt—his father’s sister—and her husband were likely in the United States, but their three daughters were more likely in Europe.

Peterson walked him to the elevator, they rode up to the security level where Peterson exited and if not for the camera, Armand would have leaned against the wall.

Sebastian
called the press. Of all the brash, impulsive, foolhardy things to do...

On the penthouse floor, Johnson waited outside the door, an unusual deviation from protocol. He lifted a brow at the man and the bodyguard straightened. “Your Highness.”

“Is Miss Novak secure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then why are you still here?” He didn’t bother to disguise his annoyance. To access the penthouse required the security station to allow the elevator to travel to the floor in the first place. Security did not remain on this floor unless expressly invited—not with Anna in residence. He valued his privacy—what little he could manage—especially with her.

“Miss Novak was not in the best frame of mind, sir. I thought it prudent to be available.” If Armand wasn’t mistaken, Johnson’s attitude held a firm note of disapproval and verged on insubordinate.

“I will take care of Miss Novak. Good night, Johnson.”

The man bowed slightly, and Armand waited until the elevator doors closed and he descended before opening the door to his apartment. Anna stood in the middle of the living room, arms folded with cool hostility in her gaze. He’d had a whole speech prepared on the drive over, and he’d wanted to soothe any feathers ruffled by Nikole’s ridiculous actions. But the incident with Sebastian had pushed it out of his head.

“Before you say anything...” He needed to explain. “I have no idea what Nikole was thinking when she made that statement. But it is categorically not true.” He could only hope she believed him.

“You’re not engaged?”

“Of course not.” He frowned. “I understand it was difficult to hear.”

“Not really.” Anna shook her head. “Not even a little. If you’ll excuse me, Your Highness, I’m sure you have other royal business you need to attend to.”

“Anna—” He caught her arm, and she glared at him. “I’m
not
engaged.”

“Maybe you should be—maybe she wouldn’t care if you ordered her around like a dog. I, however, do.” Jerking her arm free, she made it three steps before spinning around. “But you know what’s the worst part?”

Impassive, he stared at her. “I am certain you will tell me.”

“You don’t know, do you?” Shock replaced the upset in her expression.

“Anna, I’m tired and I have a headache. It has been an incredibly challenging day. On any other occasion, I would revel in letting you sharpen your tongue against me, but if you could simply tell me what it is that has upset you in a rational manner, we can deal with it and move on.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her eyes hardened and heat seemed to shimmer in her gaze. With a small scream of frustration, she whirled and stalked down the hall. The door to her bedroom slammed shut a moment later. Rubbing a hand against his forehead, he decided against following her. Letting her cool off seemed the prudent choice.

* * *

In her room, Anna had to fight against opening the door to slam it again. She settled for kicking the edge of her bed and tears sparked in her eyes at the punishment to her toes.
Of all the arrogant...pigheaded...overbearing...

She let out another little scream and clenched her fists. How the hell could he dismiss her—order her out of a room—and then act like he’d done nothing wrong? Fuming, she slammed into her bathroom, showered. He’d dismissed her—effectively told her to get out.

Bastard.

Bracing her hands against the tile, she bent her head under the spray and ignored the tears running down her cheeks.
Why?
He’d been angry with his brother. Of course he’d been angry. Sebastian told the press they were together. The burning in her eyes doubled and she swallowed a sob. “
You two were good together.
I
do not believe he’s ever gotten over you.
”

Could have fooled her. She washed her hair twice and then leaned against the tile, letting the hot steamy water drown out her tears. Charlie never got angry. In all their years together, she’d never seen him behave...

Like what?
A
prince?
A
man who expects his orders to be obeyed?
When they were together, he’d been her Charlie. Her best friend. Her soul mate.
God
,
I
am so stupid.
How could she continue to think of him that way? Hadn’t that little episode demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t Charlie?

So why then did he come to see me?
He didn’t know Sebastian was there—I
saw the shock on his face.
Nikole’s ridiculous statement to the press had been the first thing he’d brought up.
So why throw me out...?

Because Charlie didn’t lose his temper and he’d been furious. Anna straightened and shut off the water. Controlled. Everything about him was so controlled. Every word deliberate, every action—every reaction—he moderated them. He behaved in all things...

“Like a prince. Like he’s on display and he is very aware of the impressions he makes.” Even to her. He’d been furious with his brother and he wanted to yell at him. And he hadn’t wanted to yell in front of her. After climbing out of the shower she toweled off swiftly, pausing only to finger comb her hair.

Grabbing the first thing she found in the dresser, she dragged on an old sweatshirt and a pair of shorts. She had to talk to him—clear all of it up. Her courage flagged at the door, and she hesitated.

What if he didn’t want to talk to her?

Indecision rippled through her. Pacing over to the bed, she picked up the phone and dialed her sister.

“Hello, Blocked Number, you have reached the residence of ‘what the hell do you want?’ You have three seconds to answer or I hang up...”

“Good evening to you too.” Laughter escaped, she forgot that the private penthouse wouldn’t have caller ID. She should have used her cell phone.

“Well, hello, stranger. You sound suspiciously like my sister, but that can’t be. She’s been too preoccupied with recapturing the past to call and let me know she’s still alive.” The snarky tone belied the real concern echoing beneath the words.

The horrible rocks settling on her chest dislodged at Penny’s voice. “I have been busy and I am sorry, I would say you could’ve called me—”

“Oh, I did, but calling you requires your cell phone to be on and since I ring straight through to your very full voicemail, I’m guessing it hasn’t been.” Water echoed behind Penny’s words followed by a metallic thud. “Okay, teakettle is on. I’ve got a soothing blend of chamomile waiting for me—give me the deets. What’s going on?”

“We’ve set up the fourteenth floor for the scholarship fund.” She grasped on to the relative normalcy of it all. She needed it. “Kate—she’s the new assistant is a Godsend—she’s more organized than I am. Becca’s got some great design plans for the brochure. I have some more numbers to crunch and it could take a while to make a real impact, but I think we have a lot of potential.”

She rolled onto her back and stared at the texture of the ceiling. Penny was silent for a long moment. “And?”

“And what?” Anna fidgeted, sitting up and balancing the phone between her ear and shoulder. She’d hoped a shower would help the too-tight feeling of her skin.

“Helloooo—hot ex-boyfriend—hot,
royal
ex-boyfriend. What’s up with you and Charlie?” The kettle whistled in the background.

Shrugging, she scrambled to catch the phone when it fell and grimaced as her foot impacted the edge of the bed. “Dammit.”

“Hey, you called me,” Penny pointed out.

“No, I hit my foot on the bed.” Again.

“Oh, are you in bed with him right now? Wait—if you’re in bed with him, why the hell are you calling me?” Her sister’s tease didn’t help the cramp twisting her insides up.

Scrubbing a hand against her face again, Anna sighed. “We’re not in bed together.”

“Bummer. Why not?” She slurped her tea noisily and Anna stared up at the ceiling.

“Penny, I didn’t call you to talk about Charlie.”
Liar.
“How’s school going?”

“It’s fine and boring. You did too call me to talk about Charlie—I can hear the tension in your voice. I bet your nostrils are flaring and your mouth has that pinched, sucked-on-a-lemon look to it. So, what did he do?” Blithe, carefree Penny didn’t stand on ceremony with anyone and certainly had no concepts of privacy.

“Does it really matter?”
He’s breaking my heart and I don’t even know why.
We’re not really together and then it feels like we are.
How can this stranger be so damn familiar?
Her life was not this bag of insanity—she liked everything in its place. She kept it in place.

“Hey, if I need to fly to Los Angeles and kick his royal tushy, I will grab the red-eye. So come on, sis—let the anxiety out. It has to be giving you heartburn by now.”

The acidic bile in the back of her throat confirmed her sister’s assessment, but she didn’t need to tell her that. The sweatshirt was too hot, and her skin itched. After rolling off the bed, she walked back over to the drawers and rummaged through them—she wanted something of her own. It seemed a number of the “guest” clothes had been intermingled with hers. “It’s nothing like that.”