The Soldier and the Princess

Chapter thirty-five

Daphne

“Goodgrief,Ican’t drink any more of this stuff.”

I curled my lip, setting down the half empty bottle of orange Gatorade, the third I had opened today, and sat back on the couch with a huff.

It had been two days since the shooting at the hospital, and to say things had been chaotic would be an understatement.

As soon as the dust had settled, the hospital security had moved in and placed Silas in handcuffs, despite the fact that they had all stood there and witnessed what had happened.

They’d actually arrested him!

Stone and I had both lost our minds, and while I thought I was plenty mad enough for both of us, Stone had insisted that I head back to the hotel with Penelope while he “handled things.”

I had wanted to argue, I did, but I was truly exhausted; that adrenaline crash was no joke.

So, knowing that Stone wouldn’t let anything happen to Silas, I conceded and, after a lengthy question period with the NYPD, I went back to the hotel that I had grown up in to rest.

Being back in my own bed after everything that had happened was strange; the things I used to find comforting about the space were now things I found constraining, like the whole room was two sizes too small, and I hadn’t slept well since I’d been back.

Of course, that could be because I was still worried about Silas.

Stone had kept in constant communication and had assured Penelope and I that everything was fine. Between our lawyers and the contacts that my dad and Penelope both had on the force, Silas was going to be free to go and would be walking through those doors any minute now.

They were just going to question him for all he was worth before that happened.

I guessed when you were at the scene of two dead bodies in as many days, you had to be prepared to answer some questions.

So in the meantime, Penelope and I sat on the plush couch in the living room of the suite, feeling restless and stifled and really, really full.

“I hear you, girl,” Penelope commiserated, putting her own drink down beside mine. Apparently, Stone thought the answer to all our problems was neon-colored sports drinks. “Stone has had a doctor come by every day for almost a week to check on me and the baby.” She placed her hand on her stomach lightly.

“What for?” I asked, laughing. “You weren’t even the one who was kidnapped!”

I expected her to laugh with me, but when I looked over at her, Penelope’s face was dead serious.

“But I could have been,” she said gravely, and I swallowed. “I know what you did for me, Daphne.”

“Pen, I—”

“No,” she cut me off. “Let me get this out.” Taking a breath, Penelope reached for both my hands, holding them tightly in her own. “Those men, they came there looking for me. We still don’t know why. But you, Daphne, you put yourself in danger for me. For us,” she stressed, looking at her ever-growing bump. “I can’t put into words what that means to me. To Stone and me both.”

“Pen, either one of you would have done the same for me,” I insisted. “I know you would have.”

“You’re right, we would have. Because we love you.” She squeezed my hands tightly. “I want you to know that you very likely saved my life, Daphne. And I won’t forget it.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the sound of a key card in the door had us both jumping to our feet, each of us excited to see our guys.

But when the door opened and Constance walked through, I couldn’t hide my disappointment.

Apparently, my sister was just as unhappy to see me, because she sneered in my direction before turning her glare on Penelope.

“Daphne,” she said, her attitude just as strong as ever. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I live here, Constance, same as you do.”

“Yes, well. I thought you’d be in jail with your boyfriend.” She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Daphne, could you not have chosen someone at least half decent?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Constance,” I sassed, my arms crossing as I wondered where she got off, seeing as how her father-in-law was currently awaiting his trial in federal prison. “Are we only accepting of white-collar crimes in this family? Was manslaughter too uncouth for your delicate sensibilities?”

“You’re so pathetic,” she spat, her gaze once again straying to Penelope who had retaken her seat on the couch. I wondered what my sister’s problem was today; Constance was a bitch, but she was usually a relatively polite bitch. The kind that only really said horrible things behind your back, not to your face.

Looking closer, I could see that there was more than just her attitude that was off today.

Constance looked rough.

Her normally sleek bob was frizzy, looking like she had been running her fingers through it all day. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her bag, while still designer, didn’t match her shoes.

For Constance, that was a serious offense.

But, as I took it all in and prepared to ask if she was alright, Constance pushed past me, her shoulder intentionally catching mine as she moved to stand in the living room, glaring down at Penelope.

“Don’t you have your own suite here, or do you constantly have to be pushing in on everything of mine?”

Penelope’s mouth opened, the shock evident on her face as she stared at my sister, but I wasn’t about to put up with any more of that crap.

“Cool it, Connie,” I said, using the nickname I knew she hated. “This place is as much mine as it is yours, and Penelope is here as my guest. What are you doing here, anyway? You have your own place across town; there’s no need for you to be bothering us.”

Constance tossed me a look that said I was pissing her off, and reached up to try and smooth her hair.

“I was meeting mother today, if you must know. We’re doing lunch.”

I frowned. My mother told me she had a board meeting for one of the charities she chaired today, and she was supposed to be there all afternoon.

Maybe I had misheard her.

“Well, whatever you’re doing here, do it a bit nicer, will you? It’s kind of been a rough week, and I really don’t want to fight.”

Constance looked at me then, and I could have sworn I saw something that looked like remorse cross her face, but that couldn’t have been right; my sister had never apologized for anything in her entire life.

Shaking my head, I looked at Penelope.

“I’ll be right back, Pen. All that Gatorade has me needing to pee.”

I turned and stomped to my bedroom, wanting to use my own ensuite in order to get as far from my sister as possible.

I looked at my own tired appearance in the mirror as I finished up my business and washed my hands. I was going to need to stock up on concealer for the foreseeable future, that was for certain.

I had never understood what Constance’s problem with me was; it’s not like I was any sort of competition for her. She and I were on such completely different levels; we had never wanted the same thing even once in our lives.

But her hatred for me was nothing compared to her hatred for Penelope. Constance felt that Penelope had come into Stone’s life just to vex her, and she had never been shy about it.

In fact, after everything that had happened in Nevada when Stone was first launching The Alamo, it had actually surprised me that Constance had backed off as much as she had. It had been almost two years since she had really done anything remotely—

Holy shit.

I froze, staring at my own shocked reflection as the implication of my thoughts tumbled around in my head.

No way. There was no way Constance would ever.

But deep down, I knew it was possible. I had watched enough police dramas in my life to know that she had both the motive and the means.

Davis and his crew had been hired. They had answered to someone when it came to their actions, and with a sinking feeling in my stomach, I was starting to think I knew exactly who that someone was.

My own fucking sister.

Shutting off the water, I dashed out of my room and back down the hall, skidding into the living room to see my worst fears confirmed.

Because there was my sister, standing over a terrified Penelope, with a freaking gun.

Constance stood there, weapon in hand, as she glared hatefully at Penelope where she sat, arms protectively around her middle on our family couch.

“It’s all your fault,” Constance was shouting, her entire body practically vibrating with rage. “Everything that’s gone wrong, everything that’s happened to me, is because of you.”

Penelope didn’t answer. She just sat there, shaking her head as her eyes filled with tears.