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Royally Screwed(69)

By:Emma Chase


“Hi, Ezzy.”

She shakes my hand in a friendly grip. “Lovely to meet you, sweets. Tell me, are you a virgin?”

Nicholas groans. “Ezzy.”

“What? I’m just making conversation.” She elbows him. “If you want a shot at this sorry sack, the V-card has to be in pristine condition. Is it, Olivia?”

I stand up tall. “Does anal count? If it does, I qualify.”

Esmerelda’s red lips open wide in a contagious laugh.

“I like this one, Nicky.”

Nicholas laughs too, and something like pride glows in his green eyes.

“So do I.”

He grabs two glasses of wine off a waiter’s tray and hands me one.

But then another woman approaches us—another blond in a royal-blue gown, with soft, pretty features and ice-blue eyes. A sedate, uncomfortable silence falls over Nicholas and Ezzy.

“Hello, Nicholas.” Her voice is delicate—like a wind chime.

Nicholas nods. “Lucy.”

Her eyes fix on me. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new toy?”

His jaw tightens. “No, I’m not.”

She gives a tiny shrug. “No matter.” She holds out her hand. “I am Lady Deringer, and you are?”

“Olivia Hammond.”

“I heard about you. The coffee waitress.” Her mouth purses and her gaze flicks to Nicholas. “You always did enjoy slumming it, didn’t you, darling?”

It’s the “darling” that gets to me—that pokes at the flesh of my heart like a thorn.

“That’s enough, Lucy,” Nicholas says sternly, in that deep, authoritarian voice.

It has no effect on her, at all.

“No, I don’t think it is enough,” she hisses like a cornered cat. “Not even close.”

Her eyes slide back to me and she leans in.

“He’ll crush you, you know. It’s what he does. Breaks you, then crushes you into dust with the heel of his shiny shoe.”

It’s the way she says it that’s most disturbing. Gently. And smiling.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Lucille, get over it,” Ezzy barks, waving her hand. “Be gone before somebody drops a house on you.”

She raises her glass to me. “Remember that I told you so.”

And then she drifts away, like smoke after a blaze.

I take a big gulp of wine and decide not to get into whatever that was with Nicholas. At least not now.

“So…ex-girlfriend?” I ask, clearly unable to resist.

“More like ex-psycho stalker,” Esmerelda answers for him. Then she takes my hand. “Forget about her. Let’s go lose some of Daddy’s money.”

Nicholas takes a breath, nods, and we head off to the tables.





But I don’t lose anyone’s money. An hour later, I’m up eight black chips at the blackjack table. I think, I hope, they’re worth a thousand each—if it’s any more than that, I’ll be too freaked out to touch them. My dad taught me to play the game when I was twelve. On his good days, we still play a few hands.

Nicholas’s big, warm hands squeeze my shoulders, and he speaks close to my ear. “I have to head to the little lads’ room.”

I look at him over my shoulder. “Okay.”

Our eyes meet and I know him well enough to recognize the look burning in his. He wants to kiss me—badly. He stares at my mouth like a starving man.

But then he pulls back, looks around the room, remembers where we are.

“Ezzy—mind Olivia for me a bit?”

“Yeah, sure.” She nods and Nicholas walks away.

But fifteen minutes later, he still hasn’t come back. And Esmerelda spots a group of friends she hasn’t spoken to “in ages.” With a pat to my arm, she says she’ll “be back in a jiffy” and she heads off to them.

Leaving me alone in the center of the room, feeling like an alien surrounded by Martians who sweat money and shit gold.

I watch a white-gloved waiter slip through a swinging door—probably to the kitchen—and my feet itch to follow him. Because my home planet is behind that door—my people.

Dozens of curious, unkind eyes appraise me as they float past, in groups of chatting, laughing twos and threes. So I lift the hem of my shimmery dress and walk closer to the wall, to be less conspicuous. I slip my phone out of my purse and text Ellie, asking what she’s up to. I talked to her and Marty last night, just after they’d finished closing the coffee shop. They sounded good. I sent them pics of my room and the palace grounds—Marty replied with so many emoji’s, he probably broke the button. He’s expressive like that.

When she doesn’t respond a few minutes later, I put my phone away. And I don’t want to smother Nicholas, but at the same time—where the fuck is he? Five more minutes pass and my stomach turns twisty and sour. He knows I don’t know anyone here—why would he leave me alone?