Royal Elite Epilogue (Royal Elite 7)

Aunt was a little sad when I chose Oxford over Cambridge, but she quickly got over it.

“Do you have anything to add to the discussion, Ash?” Aiden asks his American friend.

All the team members focus on the latter.

Some girls blush. Others stare up at him with dreamy eyes.

If only they knew what lurks under the beautiful façade.

He’s just like Aiden. If not a little more unhinged. I still have no idea why he left his prestigious college back in the States to join us here.

“Yes, actually.” He flops into a chair, his arms hanging off the edge. “See, Aiden. I don’t have to prove it to you because we’re not under legal obligation. I can choose to prove it, but it’s only voluntary.”

“When does voluntary end and the obligation start?” Aiden shoots back.

They go on and on. The audience are watching two titans clash with gaped mouths. Even the president doesn’t dare to say anything.

Me, on the other hand? I’m done watching two sociopaths trying to outsmart one another.

As Asher goes on and on about legal texts and whatnot, I squeeze Aiden’s hand and whisper, “I’m tired. Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t even stop to consider it.

Still clutching my hand, he stands, taking me up with him and effectively cutting off Asher. “My wife needs to rest.”

“Loser,” Asher mutters.

Aiden smirks. “I’m taking a rain check.”

“I’ll be here,” Asher calls to our backs as we head to the door. “Now, where was I?”

He launches into a long, one-sided argument.

“Why are you even friends with him?” I ask as soon as we’re alone.

“Because he’s fun, sweetheart. We need fun people who aren’t politically correct.”

“You mean sociopaths.”

“Every society needs old-fashioned villains.” He grins down at me, then his brows crease. “Why are you tired?”

“I’m—”

Before I can say anything, he slams his palm on the middle of my chest.

“Aiden!” I watch our surroundings. I know he’s just checking my heartbeat — like he does every day. Actually, he sometimes sleeps with his head on my heart to make sure it’s working properly.

“I told you to check my wrist pulse when we’re in public,” I whisper. “People are watching.”

“Fuck people. I’ll check my wife’s pulse any way I like.” He removes his hand and places two fingers on my neck. “Hmm. Your pulse is fine.”

“It is,” I say as we step into the cold air.

“Then what is it? Do you feel chest tightness?”

“No.”

“Palpitations?”