Felix and the Prince (Forever Wilde 2)

Silence descended with a whoosh as if all the air had been sucked from the room. I felt my own body begin to tremble as his words hit me like airgun pellets, but before I could even remove my hand from his leg and bolt to the safety of my guest apartment like I wanted to, Lio stood up.

“I’m going to call Milane. The PR department is probably having kittens,” he spat before storming out of the room.

The three of us sat there staring after him for a beat before Hen’s eyes came back to mine with sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Felix,” she said softly.

“For what?”

“For my brother being an asshole.”

I shrugged, trying to pretend that Lio’s outburst hadn’t completely gutted me. “It doesn’t matter really. I’m leaving tomorrow. You’re the one who has to live with him.” I tried to laugh it off, but the words tasted like the lies they were. Of course it mattered. I cared about the asshole even though he’d just pointed out how impossible a relationship was between us. Even without the whole “gay prince” thing, the two of us together would be ridiculous. A royal couldn’t build a life with the bastard son of a former porn star.

Hen let out a big sigh and looked over at Jon. “Are you ready for this?”

Jon’s face softened, and I noticed something I’d obviously missed all week.

He loved her.

“Of course I’m ready, sweetheart. The question is, are you? It’s going to suck. You know how the paparazzi are when they get a story like this.”

Hen looked up at Jon with the same strong affection in her eyes. “You’re worth it.”

Before they had a chance to sprout goddamned lovey-dovey angels out of their eyeballs, I skedaddled and made my way as quietly as I could to my quarters.

It was time to pack my bags and say goodbye.

Chapter 23

Lio

Half the day was spent on the phone with my parents and the family’s public relations liaison. Milane was professional as always and handled the situation with as much grace as possible despite the rest of us losing our fucking minds with stress about the fallout. Or, as in the case of my father, hypocritical judgment.

I’d finally called him on his hypocrisy once he’d complained for the millionth time of Henriette not thinking about the family before she jumped into a relationship with “the help.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I’d railed at him through the phone. “First of all, she’s not in line for the crown, so who gives a fuck. Secondly, you have the audacity to sit there on your high horse and rant about people jumping into a relationship? Have you lost your goddamned mind? Prepare yourself, old man, because this is nothing compared to what’s coming for you and Eleanor as soon as your own news breaks.”

I heard the sharp intake of breath from my mother as someone most likely scrambled to turn off the speakerphone function on their end. My mother’s voice was cool when it came on.

“Lior, control yourself,” she warned. “This is no way for a man in your position to act. You’re supposed to be the sane one, so I expect you to act like it. Now come home so we can deal with this as a family. Milane says the optics will be better once we’re all together.”

I let out a breath and ran my fingers through my hair for the millionth time. “We’re scheduled to fly out tomorrow morning, Mother. Jon’s family will meet us at the palace.”

Another sharp intake of breath. “And why is that?”

“They’re going to announce their engagement.” It was a total lie, but I couldn’t help myself. My parents were acting like the biggest snobs on the planet, and I was sick to death of it. I’d had a chance to see my sister and bodyguard through different eyes today and realized they seemed to have found the real thing with each other. I couldn’t help but feel envy.

At that point, my mother completely lost her cool. “Over my dead body,” she growled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lior. Fix this.”

The call ended before I had a chance to reassure her. I put the phone down and dropped my face into my hands.

I thought about how Hen and Jon’s scandal in the media was nothing compared to what would happen if news of, or god forbid, photographs of Felix and me got out.

Just the thought of it made my stomach churn.

The photos published that morning were of Hen and Jon kissing by a window in the front of the castle. Because the photo had to have been taken on the estate property, even with a long lens, it meant a serious breach in security for the royal guards. That meant Jon was in double trouble for his part in not fully securing our privacy while at Gadleigh, and Arthur’s beefcake was history.