The Dare Collection September 2018. Stefanie London
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grin—not because I think I’ve found closure with at least my own feelings about my first love, even though I’m pretty sure I finally have.
I grin and kiss my wife, because when I closed my eyes, I saw her.
It’s nothing more than a snippet of the time that was stolen from me, but it’s something. It means I’m getting close.
“I believe you,” I say. “I can’t remember anything more than a broken shoe and your injured leg, but I believe you.”
She forces a smile, and I understand.
I remember a sliver of that first night. But I don’t remember her like she wants me to. I don’t remember what I felt that possessed me to make love to her like I’d only ever done with my own brother’s intended. I don’t remember falling in love.
But maybe I don’t need to. Maybe letting go of Victoria means I can fall all over again.
For now there are no right words, so she lets me kiss her until both our eyes fall heavy. And for the first night since I’ve been home, I sleep without waking from dreams or guilt—my beautiful, patient, pregnant wife’s limbs entwined with mine.
Juliet
We wake to a knock at the door.
“Are you two decent?” It’s X.
I fly to my feet, grabbing my scattered clothes in a pell-mell motion before dressing as if in a race. Damien doesn’t stir. It seems cruel to wake him when he is so peaceful. Even as I’m struggling into my bra, I take the time to study his face. The way his full lips part in slumber. The impossibly long length of his lashes.
Despite the tattoos and scars, I don’t see a bad boy. I see a lost man. Someone who has been starved of love and affection and cursed, hated and feared. A man who never complained, never cracked, who made himself as hard as granite to face an even harder world.
And as ridiculous as it seems, given the strength of all those cut muscles, one thought rises above all others.
“I will protect you,” I whisper.
He’s been hurt so many times. I won’t hurt him again.
I crack open the door. X is alone. He is polite enough not to swing his eyes in the direction of the bed. I wonder if he knows what happened in here. If the power of our passion tattooed the very air.
“Can we talk?” he asks in a quiet voice.
“Alone? I don’t want to wake the prince.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t.” His enigmatic eyes give nothing away. Not for the first time I wonder, Who is this man?
With regret I slide from the sanctuary of our sparse yet somehow perfect bedroom, quietly closing the door.
As we head down the hall, X gives me a sidelong glance. “I understand you were quite...passionate last night.”
I dig in my heels, refusing to take another step. “You said there were no cameras.”
“There were not. And the room is soundproofed. Or so we had assumed. Either I need to write a sternly worded letter to the door company or you two are more powerful than some of the most state-of-the-art security equipment.”
A blush creeps up my cheeks.
“No one minds around here,” X answers. “I think in truth, everyone was a little jealous.”
“Why?”
“We aren’t a monastic order. Nor do we prize virginity. But working in The Hole takes single-minded commitment and mission focus. This means that when our operatives are stationed here they agree to celibacy for the duration. Keeps things simple. So I’m sure many were biting their knuckles last night.”
He chuckles, something that seems so not X. But then again, he is a man of mystery. Everything about him surprises me.
“You’re—celibate?” I blurt, not able to believe a man so virile would deny himself physical release.
“Me?” That earns an honest peal of laughter. “I’m not assigned to The Hole. I’ve been in the field for years...which allows me to play the field.”
“But there isn’t anyone special?”
His unexpected mirth fades. “In my line of work, it is strongly discouraged to get close to anyone. It’s not safe, for others or for us.”
“Can you be reassigned to The Hole?”
He shrugs. “Sure. If I piss off the right person. Luckily I have a very influential friend who makes sure I don’t.”
“Who’s that?”
He presses his hand against a screen, and sliding doors open.
“Just wait.”
I enter a meeting room empty but for a massive table surrounded by twelve chairs.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“Hello, Juliet,” a woman purrs in my ear.
I turn, startled, swearing no one had been there a moment before. Now an attractive middle-aged woman sizes me up with intelligent eyes. Eyes that are a brilliant, stunning green. Eyes that I’ve only ever seen on the faces of the three princes of Edenvale.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last,” the woman says, moving to a seat at the head of the table. She wears black knee-high boots; the stiletto heels are at least five inches and thin as toothpicks.
She exudes power, arrogance and brains.
I feel like a naive schoolgirl in comparison.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“That’s an interesting question,” she says, crossing her legs. “X, bring our guest a mug of Belgian hot chocolate, light on the whipped cream. That’s the way you like it, yes?”
X bows once and is on his way.
“How did you know my favorite drink?”
“Another interesting question.” The woman trails a finger over her lower lip. I don’t know what she’s hoping to learn from my features, but it’s as if she’s memorizing every detail. “I propose a trade. Every time you answer three of my questions, I answer one of yours.”
“But that’s not fair.”
“No,” she says, sighing. “But life’s not fair, is it?”
I narrow my gaze. If she does indeed know who I am, then she should treat me with the reverence fit for a future queen. “Very well. What do you want to know?”
“Did you want to rule Nightgardin?”
The way she pronounces the name of my kingdom, it’s with a native-born tongue. She’s one of my subjects, if I could call her that. I get the sense she answers to nobody and no one.
“I did,” I respond. “But not as my parents intended—kept by a man for whom I cared nothing and who himself cared no more for me than as a means to an end.”
She leans closer. “Did you ever get the sense that your life was in danger? Were you exposed to any strange accidents? Especially in the past five years?”
“Accidents?” I frown. “There was a fire at our summer estate. And once when I was riding my horse on a mountain trail a large boulder was dislodged from above.”
She steeples her fingers. “Did you ever wonder if these...accidents were intentional?”
“Not until now,” I say curtly. “That’s three questions. Here’s mine. Who are you?”
“No one.”
“That’s not an answer,” I scoff.
She arches a brow. “It’s the truth.