JULES
“I’m here! I’m here!”Stella rushed through the door, her hair flying around her in a dark cloud. “What did I miss?”
I pinned the brunette across from me with an exasperated glare. “Ava.”
“It wasn’t my fault.” Her eyes sparkled with laughter. “Stel asked what we were doing, I told her, and…well, I might’ve spilled the beans.”
We’d been drinking at a bar near her apartment for two hours, during which she grilled me about my feelings toward Josh, our relationship, and our plans for the future. She was mostly joking, I think, but that didn’t stop me from sweating like I just finished the New York Marathon.
“Nothing except an interrogation worthy of the CIA.” I finished the rest of my cranberry vodka while Stella slid into the seat next to mine.
She must’ve come straight from work, but instead of a boring business suit, she wore a gorgeous white linen dress and turquoise necklace that set off her bronze skin. The perks of working at a fashion magazine, I supposed.
“I highly doubt that.” Stella brushed a stray curl out of her eye. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. All this time, you’ve been dating Josh? He’s the Mystery Guy?”
Heat rushed over my face. “Can you blame me? Look at the way you’re reacting. Personally, I don’t think it’s that big a deal.” So what if Josh and I had hated each other for almost the entire time Stella knew us? People changed. “It’s not like I’m dating the Pope.”
“You dating the Pope would be more believable,” Stella quipped.
“Funny. You’re all hilarious.” Despite my grumbles, my cheeks ached from smiling.
For all their good-natured teasing, my friends seemed genuinely happy for me—well, after Ava recovered from her initial shock—and now that Josh and I were out in the open, a huge weight had lifted off my shoulders.
There was a certain thrill to sneaking around, but I hated lying to my friends.
“At least you didn’t tell Bridget yet.” I knocked my foot against Ava’s foot under the table. I didn’t need to be accosted by all my friends at once.
Her cheeks pinked. “Erm, about that…”
As if on cue, my phone lit up with an incoming FaceTime call from a certain European royal.
“Ava.”
“You can’t expect me to keep the news to myself. I’m never the first to get a good scoop.” She held up her hands. “Besides, Bridge was in the group chat.”
I sighed, but since it was too late to put the news back in the box, I answered the call.
Bridget’s face filled the screen. “You’re dating Josh Chen?” she asked without preamble. “What? How? Why?”
“Hello, Your Majesty. Good evening to you, too,” I said pointedly. “How are you doing?”
“Don’t how are you doing me.” Bridget pushed her green cloth headband higher up on her head. She must’ve turned in for the night, because her face was scrubbed free of makeup and I caught a glimpse of her silk pajama top at the bottom of the screen. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave out any details. I always miss the good stuff over here in Europe.”
“Don’t you have royal duties to attend to or something?”
“It’s midnight, Jules, and my royal duties consist of wrangling ministers who insist on acting like grade schoolers. Please, let me have some fun.” A masculine rumble murmured something offscreen. Bridget turned her head to whisper something back before she faced me again. “Rhys says hi.”
She panned the camera so I could see Rhys, who waved at me from his spot next to her in bed. His gray eyes glowed with bemusement.
I let out another sigh, but I recounted the story again, starting with the clinic truce. When I finished, Bridget and Stella stared at me with open mouths.
“Wow. That’s…” Bridget shook her head. I’d propped my phone up against a glass so we could all see her. “Somehow you and Josh together make zero sense and all the sense in the world.”
“Does this mean you guys have stopped bickering?” Stella asked with a hopeful expression.
“Nope. We bicker more,” I said cheerfully. “It leads to great ha—” Hate sex. I cut off abruptly when Ava’s eyes widened with alarm. “You know.”
Stella wrinkled her nose. “I don’t, and I don’t want to know. I’ll never be able to look at Josh the same.”
“You will one day.” Stella didn’t date much, but it wasn’t for lack of interest from guys—she fielded suitors every day. Romance simply wasn’t a priority. “Enough about me. What about you?”
“What about me?” Wariness touched her features.
“You’re the last woman left standing.” Mischief lit up my face. “Who’s going to be the guy who sweeps you off your feet?”
“When you find him, let me know,” she said dryly. “In the meantime, I’m just trying to survive Anya.”
Anya was her boss and the editor-in-chief of D.C. Style magazine.
While Stella told us about her latest photoshoot, which apparently involved a hungover supermodel, a live python, and a gallon of baby oil, a familiar photo drew my attention to the TV hanging over the bar.
Shock stole my breath from my lungs. Brown hair, blue eyes, stubbled jaw, unsmiling face.
Max.
The volume was off, but the closed captions were on, so I could read what happened.
“…body was found in a hotel room in Baltimore. The victim, Max Renner, was stabbed multiple times and died at the scene. Renner was recently released from prison for grand larceny and is believed to be involved in an Ohio-based crime ring. Police suspect other members of the crime ring are responsible for his murder, and the FBI…”
Max was dead.
All those years, all that heartache, he was dead.
I guess his associates finally caught up with him.
Other than a trickle of relief, I felt…nothing. Not even vindication after what he did in the stairwell.
I’d truly put him in the past.