Don't Tell (Don't 1)

I sighed when the snooze ended and the alarm chirped again.

“Fine,” I groaned. I tapped my phone, and slid my feet to the floor. I had a lot of work to make up after I disappeared yesterday.

I walked to the shower. I brushed my teeth before stepping into the tub. The curtain was chained to the ceiling and only covered one side of the tub. It didn’t matter. There was a small radius where the water splashed. I had to stand in just the right spot to wash my hair or else I’d never get all the shampoo and conditioner out.

I performed my morning ritual, although I didn’t feel as routine as I did before The Talon. Something was different.

I tipped my head back, letting the water pour through my long hair. The angle reminded me how Damon yanked the nape of my neck, pushing me into submission. There was something entirely erotic about giving my control over to him. But it was a give and take. I’d never experienced anything where my body craved giving as much as it did needing to be pleasured. I felt my body heat from the inside out remembering how I begged him to give me more. I’d never done that.

I finished rinsing off and stepped from the shower, wrapping a towel around my chest. I pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top. I twisted my hair in a bun and poked a pencil through. It could dry later.

The apartment was quiet. Brooklyn was still sleeping.

I started the coffee and turned on the TV. I froze when I saw the same pair of eyes that were in my dream.

“The king has been in closed door meetings with the prime minister of XXislands for the second straight day,” the reporter stated. “We expect a full briefing from the palace this afternoon.”

I sat on the loveseat, careful not to disturb my rows of notecards. I hadn’t touched them since arriving home.

A picture of Damon flashed on the screen along with the prime minister.

“A palace spokesperson has confirmed the prime minister’s trip has been extended.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. Part of me felt a sweeping sense of relief. Maybe he hadn’t forgotten me. Maybe the country’s work had prevented him from returning. But that was naïve hope creeping in. Trying to convince me that my one night with the king meant more than it did.

The reporter stood in front of the palace at the main gates, not by the private entrance I had used. “Sources close to the king say that trade with XXislands is at risk unless the king can turn the talks around. XXislands accounts for twenty percent of our trade economy, so this meeting is critical for all of Galona’s citizens. We will broadcast the palace announcement live.”

I blinked. That sounded serious. I turned the volume up and walked back to the kitchen. The coffee was ready. I didn’t want to miss any of the reports.

It was silly, but I was desperate for more glimpses of him. Maybe a sound bite. Video footage of him walking the palace grounds or in the meeting with the prime minister.

I poured the coffee into my I heart Freychon mug. It was nothing like the delicate china cup I sipped from yesterday on the balcony. The mugs were one of the first things Brooklyn and I bought when we moved. We had a matching pair.

I returned to the love seat. The report now focused on the XXislands. There were scenes from their sugar cane fields. Apparently, Galona imported ninety percent of its sugar from the prime minister’s country. The country was dependent on them for huge trade profits.

I watched old news clips from previous meetings between the two leaders. Damon hadn’t once implied his meeting was as critical as the reporter claimed. He had been calm. He didn’t rush my tour of the library. I never would have guessed this was going on.

I wondered if that made him a good leader. He was hard to read. He could present one side, while concealing his emotions. Or did that make him dangerous? Make him unpredictable? Unreliable?

“What’s going on?” Brooklyn emerged from her room. “Did something happen?” She yawned.

“No. I’m just watching the news.” I hadn’t looked away. I was absorbed in the intricacies of the relationship between the two countries.

She staggered to the kitchen. “Thank God there’s coffee.”

I nodded absently.

“Oh, it’s the king?” She sat next to me with a steaming mug.

I didn’t respond.

“What are they saying?” she asked.

“Trade

meetings. Sugar taxes. That kind of thing.” I acted as if the details of trade tax bored me. And under any other circumstance, it did.

“Oh.” She lifted the mug to her lips. “I didn’t know you were interested in Galona politics.” I saw the smirk behind the coffee mug.