10
27 February
Xavier Hall
Rowan didn’t sleep well, hadn’t since the accident. In the beginning, it was the nurses and doctors, waking him to check for a pulse in his leg, injecting him with blood thinners, monitoring for infection. After the nighttime bed checks had ended, it was mostly discomfort that woke him several times a night. So, he was awake when he heard the door to the suite open. He pushed himself to sitting when the clang of a dropped object hit a weight machine. His hand found the switch on the lamp next to his bed when the giggles from the sitting room drifted through to him. Leaning back against the headboard, he waited for the inevitable appearance of a certain princess.
The wrist monitor told him it was two thirty in the morning, and he watched as his heart rate ticked up along with his annoyance.
What was she thinking, coming here in the middle of the night?
He worked hard to control his exasperation. He’d been impressed with her, albeit reluctantly, after their performance with the duke. She had appeared just nervous enough about their “discovery” and shown him this maturity he hadn’t expected. He thought they might actually be able to handle the charade, and he might be able to tolerate her presence. Unfortunately, it seemed he’d been premature in his assessment.
His bedroom door inched slowly open, and Juliana peeked around the edge. Her eyes widened when her gaze fell upon him, sitting up in bed.
His eyes narrowed. “Bit late for a visit, Princess. Don’t you think?”
She pushed the door fully open but with a bit more force than needed and tumbled into the room. She caught herself in the loose-limbed way of the intoxicated, and then with a quick balance check, she sauntered toward his bed. Her hair had been pulled back into a haphazard ponytail, which bobbed unevenly as she walked. The skimpiness of her dress seemed to be in direct contrast to the winter weather.
Where are her wool stockings and turtlenecks?
And this he had come to expect based on the handful of times he’d seen her out—the impossibly high heels. She resembled a house on stilts and just about as sturdy.
“You’re up,” she stated as she searched for a place to sit. Finally settling on the ottoman at the end of the bed, she perched on her bent knees and leaned her elbows on the foot rail.
She looked impossibly young, and he tried to shake off the feeling of unease.
“Actually, I was sleeping,” he said without any of his irritation coloring his words. “What are you doing?”
She lay her head on her cushion of arms and blinked over at him. “Sobering up maybe?” she answered, a big, silly smile on her face. “We went to the casino.”
Picking her head up, she rubbed her eyes and then ran her fingers underneath them before lying back down. The whole motion was unconscious, and again, her youth struck him.
“How old are you?” Rowan asked suddenly.
“Worried about being a right proper cradle-robber?” Then, she snickered.
Rowan had pet peeves. Stupid people topped the list, but silly drunk people were a close second. He didn’t have a problem with the occasional night out. Hell, in the off-season, he was good for more than a couple legless binges. His kind of drunk was mellow and smooth, like the slide of a good bourbon down a throat. He didn’t giggle or stumble, slur or trip. Everything just loosened up, so he could let go of his freakish control. Much like he would have suspected if he’d even thought to wonder, Juliana’s drunk was high-pitched and giggly, mosh pits and different-colored shots titled Do It on the Beach, Watermelon Candy, Slippery Nipple. He envisioned raves and fluorescent paint, wobbly knees, and incandescent laughter.
And as he stared at her, perched like a child at the end of his bed, he had to consider her question. A right proper cradle-robber indeed.
“I don’t know,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you act like the sophisticated, third in line for the throne princess you are, I probably won’t even notice the age difference.” Lie.
She mumbled something, but he didn’t hear it.
“Did you say something?” he asked.
“No.” She lifted her head but stayed on her knees. “Did you know they know about you?”
“Was that supposed to make sense?”
“I suppose they don’t really know about you per se. They know of the existence of you. Which baffled me at first. But then I thought you would have wanted me to plant seeds. So people wouldn’t be totally surprised. So, I confirmed that you exist.”
Rowan scratched his head and continued to peer over at her. The dress caught the soft rays of light from the bedside lamp, making her look like disco ball, all silver and flashy. She was slender, but he was surprised to see little scratches that outlined lean muscles. There was also the faded yellowing green of an old bruise on her bicep. She was so perfectly pretty and so painfully young.
“Was that supposed to make sense?”
She squinted at him and then glanced around the room. “It was. But I can try again. The girls—Tat, Lace, Bela, and Meena—we went into the city today.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“You did?” Juliana asked, appearing confused.
“Yes. Violet told me.” Not just Violet, but she didn’t need to know that. “You are friends now with ‘the girls’?”
“Friends is a bit of a stretch. Friends are hard to come by, you know. But we aren’t strangers anymore.” She put her head back down, as if it had suddenly gotten too heavy for her. “They all seemed to know that the Duke of Waverly has another son. I confirmed the rumor.” She turned, so she could look at him. “Did you know that people know?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t say much, do you?” she asked.
“Not to drunk people.”