Prince's Son of Scandal

“We were discussing where the tax rate should break.”

He shook his head, taking in the dozen people slouched over a boardroom table, surrounded by laptops and scratch pads and coffee cups while snow fell beyond the windows.

“Get the Australians on the phone. We’ll request an extension into January. We’d rather be with our families through Christmas and I’m sure their people would, too.”

Screw duty. He had to fix things with the woman he loved.

He rose just as his PA slipped into the room and hurried across with a message that Angelique was trying to reach him.

Frowning, Xavier excused himself and turned on his phone. It lit up with missed calls and texts.

What happened?

Where is she?

Are you with her?

His heart lurched. He hit reply on a video call, moving farther down the hall to an alcove where he had some privacy.

Angelique appeared, her pinched expression deeply anxious. “Are you with her? She keeps texting that she’s fine, but she’s not fine. I can tell.”

“I’m not with her—”

“Damn it, Xavier, you can’t leave her alone when she’s having an attack!”

Her tone made Xavier’s scalp prickle. He only half-believed in the twin connection, but her alarm was genuine enough that he looked for his PA to signal for his car.

“Is there someone who could check on her and get back to us?” Kasim asked.

“She’s really scared, Xavier.” Angelique sounded half-hysterical herself.

“I’ll try her right now. But if you two feed off each other’s mood, you should try dialing back your worry and send her some calming thoughts.” It came off the top of his head out of frustration and sounded too metaphysical.

Her wet face went blank with surprise. “I honestly never thought of that. God, I’m such an idiot. Of course. I’ll text her that I love her.”

His conscience twisted as he thought of his own refusal to say those words this morning. He ended the call and tried Trella. She declined to answer, but texted a moment later to say she was napping.

“Everything all right, sir?” his PA approached to ask.

Xavier held up a staying hand as he reached Vincente. “Have you seen Trella today?”

A brief hesitation, then, “Adona said she locked herself in her room after her audience with the Queen.”

“She spoke with my grandmother? The car,” Xavier snapped at his PA. “Now.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SHE WAS DOING this for Tyrol, she kept telling herself, as she bit down on one of his teethers and counted her oranges. Some women went through the pains of childbirth. Her lot was to weather waves of terror. The irrational, fearful thoughts would pass. The sweating and sobs of insecurity needed to run their course. She just had to breathe and count her oranges and wait it out.

It was easier when someone she loved and trusted sat with her and told her she was safe. She didn’t feel safe right now. She felt very temporary and unwanted. Abandoned. Forsaken.

“Shh,” she breathed, pushing those thoughts away.

I am strong. I am loved. I can do this.

She should have brought her phone in here. All the texting had been breaking her concentration. She had left it on the night table, but now she wished she was reading Gili’s comforting words. It was almost as good as having her here.

“Trella!”

Oh, God. What was he doing here? She had locked up and told Adona not to let anyone in. Now he would see her like this and know how cracked she really was.

His footsteps crossed into her bathroom. There was a systematic banging noise. He was opening all the cupboards beneath the dual sinks, looking for her.

“You’re sure she didn’t leave?”

He had someone with him? And someone who saw him searching cupboards for her? She pulled her feet in tighter, driving the curve of her spine into the wall behind her.

The closet light flicked on, blindingly bright even against her clenched eyes. She made a noise of protest and ducked her head.

“Are you here?” he demanded.

She plucked the teether from her bite. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Get out and lock the doors.”

“Yes, sir.” It was Adona and a moment later, a distant noise of a door closing sounded.

Xavier came to the back of the closet and swept aside the gowns. He swore when he found her huddled in the corner on the floor. He crouched and wiped her wet cheek with his hand, drying it on his thigh. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I have to do this alone.”

“No, you don’t,” he said grimly and started to gather her.

“Don’t.” She pressed as hard as she could into the corner, holding him off with one shaking arm.