“The one where I walk away and act like this is your problem.”
“It is my problem.” I glare at him, willing him to contradict me.
He sighs. “You know, it won’t kill you to let someone help you once in a while.”
“I know you think you’re all that because you’re richer than god, but you can’t just go around throwing money at every problem and thinking it’ll go away.”
“Not every problem,” he says. “But this one? Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“You want to raise a kid with me, then? Because those are the options right now.”
I hate that he’s right, but this time, I’m going to have to give him the win.
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s go wash down our mistake with a pill, and then we can forget this ever happened.”
“Fine by me,” he says, roughly pushing me off his lap and standing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I hurt him. If I thought he possessed a heart and the ability to feel, I might be fooled into thinking that look on his face was exactly what it looks like—the bewildered expression of a lost little boy who saw only indifference when he looked to the very ones who were supposed to love him. Suddenly, my throat is tight again, and I have to turn away from him.
It’s stupid to read my own lack into his expression. Not just stupid but dangerous.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Royal says. “For once in your life, will you just stay put because I asked you to?”
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll wait in your room like a good little girl.”
While he showers, I put on my clothes from yesterday—no use pretending I’m not doing the walk of shame today—and sit in the chair at his desk. After a minute, I pull open one of the drawers I didn’t go through last night. It’s filled with hotel receipts and betting slips and loose cash. My heart nearly stops. There must be a few thousand dollars in there, twenties and hundreds and a couple fifties, just thrown in there like trash. Guess that pill isn’t going to hurt him any.
A picture frame lies halfway buried under other stuff, the kind that folds in half and has two pictures in the middle, facing each other. I pull it out and open it without thinking. My throat squeezes when I see that one side holds a picture of him and the girl from the tattoo, both of them smiling in a way Royal never smiles at me, their cheeks squished together as they grin at the camera. For a second, it breaks my heart. I’m not sure what hurts worse—that he was happy with another girl, or that he’ll never smile that way again. That boy is dead.
Royal steps out of the bathroom, and my first instinct is to shove the picture back, but he’s already seen me looking. I won’t be one of those dumb bitches who assume shit and get pissed about it, running off in a jealous huff because he liked some other girl. I’m a big girl, so I used my words. “Who’s this?” I ask, staring at the two of them, both of them so painfully beautiful I don’t know who to look at.
Royal’s at my side in a second, yanking the frame from my hand and shoving it back into the drawer, which he pushes closed with his thigh. “Keep your sticky fingers out of my business,” he snaps.
“Oh, so you can be balls deep in my business whenever you want, but I can’t ask about your dead sister?”
“Now you’re catching on,” he says, smirking down at me. He hasn’t stepped away, and his penis is way too close to my face. I swallow hard, trying to keep from salivating at the thought of taking him into my mouth again.
“No deal,” I say, forcing myself to sound normal and not like my brain is a scrambled egg. “Tell me who that was.”
“You know who it is,” he says. “You just said it.”
I open the drawer, even though I know I’m playing with fire by pissing him off. I pull out the picture again and flip it open. Instead of ripping it away, he shakes his head and walks away, choosing to get dressed instead of engage with my bratty ass.
I should have known it was his sister. I suspected when I saw his chest, but I wasn’t sure. They’re both gorgeous, both with the same dark hair and luminous dark eyes, the same thick, dark lashes.
In the other frame is a picture from further away, and I spot the girl in that picture, too. There are five of them in that one, all standing on the grass in front of a church made of stone and stained glass instead of white siding like the ones around here. Their arms are around each other’s shoulders, their bodies forming a chain. I recognize Royal to the left of center, looking smaller than now, not as muscular or tall, his hair curling around his ears. To one side of him is one of the twins, though I can’t tell which one, as neither are wearing glasses and their hair is cut the same. In the center is a guy who looks almost just like Royal but taller, and then the girl again, and then the other twin. They’re all smiling, squinting into the sun, wearing white shirts with ties and dress pants, except for the girl, who’s in a modest dress.
His family.
Now my chest tightens for another reason. I wonder what it must be like to have that much love just built into your life. That many people who have your back, who make it their job to keep you alive, people ready to ride or fucking die for you.
“Ready?” Royal asks, snagging his keys from the pocket of last night’s jeans. “Or you want to keep digging through the past like it matters?”
We head downstairs, where Royal drags me into the kitchen. The twins are sitting in a breakfast nook, both of them in pajama pants and nothing else, both looking nearly as gorgeous as Royal. They’re both wearing glasses, and for a second, I can’t tell them apart. Then one of them looks up and holds up a hand like he’s expecting a high-five. I spot a swan tattoo on the underside of his arm and automatically check the other. I can only see the edge of his, but it’s there.
Royal doesn’t have one. Interesting.
“You finally tapped that,” Duke crows, a sloppy grin on his face.