“He’s next in line for the throne,” Sutcliffe answered.
Oh shit. That was a problem. I’d only heard bits and pieces. But Dominic’s story was starting to come together. I didn’t need his entire history to understand how the pressure could lead to his impulse to drink.
I remembered Damon telling me how the Galonian crown was passed to the next monarch. I knew he would never step down. There was only one way Dominic would become king. My stomach rolled with nausea at the thought. Damon would have to be dead for that to happen.
“Molly can have her own set of apartments,” Damon started. “She’s right. No one will know what part of the roof she’s under.”
“Sir, she doesn’t have a title. You can’t give her apartments.”
He growled. “Fine. I’ll give her a title.”
My heart pulsed an extra beat.
“That requires a ceremony. She must be presented to the court as well as your cabinet.” Sutcliffe started to perspire on his forehead. He reached for a silk handkerchief. “I believe I can put the events together in six months. That is if I work day and night.”
Damon laughed. “Six months? I said tonight.”
“Impossible.”
I held my breath. I knew Damon well enough he didn’t like to be told no, especially when he had an agenda. Right now, that agenda was me.
“I’ve been committed to modernizing the monarchy. This is my opportunity to do it publicly. We’ll have the ceremony in private and Molly will be presented this evening in the blue ballroom. Invite the court and the cabinet. Make s
ure my brothers and sister are there.”
“You want to mix the court and the government?”
“It’s necessary. Now I have to think of a title.” He winked at me.
God, I hoped he wouldn’t try to decree me as the royal concubine.
“Ahh, I have one.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Royal Consort.” He grinned.
Shit. In some cultures, a consort was the royal concubine, and in others the consort was a spouse. Could he have come up with something more ambiguous?
“Your majesty, that title hasn’t been used in Galona in two hundred years.”
He grinned. “Good. I’ll appease the traditionalists with the title and prove to the modern citizens things are changing.”
I didn’t like that they argued because of me. I was already at the center of the palace’s biggest distraction with the olive grove photo. I didn’t want to cause division. I wanted to help Damon secure the irrigation funding. Instead we were in secret meetings so I could move in.
Part of me wanted to walk away. Climb in a car and drive back to my shabby little apartment on Rue de Santa Lucia, where I could crawl into bed and listen to Brooklyn singing in the shower. Where I could get lost in my notecards. The place where I could come and go whenever I wanted.
Had I lost all of that? Had I already given it up to be with Damon?
Sutcliffe and Damon continued to discuss why there had to be a ball tonight and why it was an unrealistic request.
They argued and I grew quiet, absorbed in the place in my mind where I couldn’t escape the doubt. What was I giving up for a man I met through an auction? A man who was used to being in constant control? A man who had never had a serious relationship?
Did Dominic’s girlfriend give up too much for too long? Was she as wrecked as the prince? I didn’t know if she was as haunted by the breakup as he was. Would that be me? Was I going to end up a shell of myself with nothing left? No privacy. No freedom. And no love.
Twenty-Nine
Damon