His Majesty's Mistake

It was the last thing Emmeline had expected him to say. She struggled to process what he’d just told her. Her mouth opened and closed without making a sound. She tried again. Failed.

“He was in surgery all night,” Makin continued. “There was a lot of internal bleeding. His condition is extremely critical.”

Reeling from shock, Emmeline clasped her hands tightly together, too stunned to speak.

Penelope was dead. Alejandro might not survive surgery. And yet both had been so beautiful and alive just hours ago.

Impossible.

Eyes burning, she gazed blindly out the glass doors to the garden beyond. Behind the walled garden the red mountains rose high, reminding her of the red dress Penelope had worn last night. And just like that, the desert was gone and all Emmeline could see was Penelope’s vivid red dress against the billowing fabric of Alejandro’s white shirt.

Her throat squeezed closed. Hot acid tears filmed her eyes. “Alejandro was … driving?” she asked huskily, finally finding her voice.

“He was at the wheel, yes.”

“And Penelope?”

“Was thrown from the car on impact.”

Emmeline closed her eyes, able to see it all and hating the movie reel of pictures in her head. Stupid, reckless Alejandro. Her heart ached for Penelope who was so young—just nineteen.

A tear fell, hot and wet on Emmeline’s cheek. With a savage motion she brushed it away. She was furious. Furious with Alejandro. Furious that he took lives and wrecked them and threw them all away.

“I’m sorry, Hannah,” Makin said, his deep voice rumbling through her. “I know you imagined yourself in love—”

“Please.” Her voice broke and she lifted a hand to silence him. “Don’t.”

He crouched down before her, his powerful thighs all muscle, and caught her chin, forcing her to look at him. His silver-gray eyes glowed like pewter, hot and dark with emotion. “I know this isn’t an easy time for you, but you’ll survive this. I promise.”

Then he surprised her by gently, carefully, sweeping his thumb across the curve of her cheek, catching the tears that fell. It was such a tender gesture from him, so kind and protective, it almost broke her heart.

She hadn’t been touched so gently and kindly by anyone in years.

She’d never been touched by a man as if she mattered. “Thank you.”

Makin stood. “You’ll be all right,” he repeated.

She wished she had an ounce of his confidence. “Yes.” She wiped her eyes dry. “You’re right. I’ll shower and change and get to work.” She rose, too, took several steps away to put distance between them. “What time shall I meet you?”

“I don’t think you should try to do anything this afternoon.”

“I know there must be stacks of mail—”

“And hundreds of emails, as well as dozens of phone messages all waiting for your attention, but they can wait a little longer,” he said firmly. “I want you to take the rest of the day for yourself. Eat, sleep, read, go for a swim. Do whatever you need to do so that you can get back to work. I need your help, Hannah, but you’re absolutely useless to me right now.”

She felt her cheeks grow hot. “I’m sorry. I hate being a problem.”

He gave her a peculiar look before his broad shoulders shifted. “Rest. Feel better. That would be the biggest help.” Then he walked away, leaving her in the living room as if this was where she belonged.

But as the door closed behind him, she knew this wasn’t where she belonged. It was where Hannah belonged.

These rooms, the food in the kitchen, the clothes in the closet … they were all Hannah’s. Hannah needed her life back.

Emmeline glanced down at herself, feeling grimy and disheveled in her creased cocktail dress, and while she longed for a shower—and food—she had something more important to do first.

She had to reach Hannah. She’d put in calls yesterday but they’d all gone straight to voice mail. Hannah had texted her back, asking when Emmeline planned to arrive. Hannah was expecting Emmeline to show up in Raguva any moment to change places with her before anyone knew the difference. Which obviously wasn’t going to happen.

Taking her phone from her small evening purse, Emmeline dialed Hannah’s number, praying that she’d actually get through this time instead of reaching Hannah’s voice mail again.

The phone rang and rang again before Hannah answered breathlessly. “Hello?”

Emmeline dragged a dark red embroidered pillow against her chest. “Hannah, it’s me.”

“I know. Are you okay?”

Emmeline squeezed the pillow tighter, her insides starting to churn. “I … I don’t know.”