The Dirty Series 1(129)

“Look, I’m not even going to think about telling you what to do,” Christian says, holding up his free hand. “All I’m saying is, are you going to run away from this forever?”

I cast him a sidelong glance. “That’s rich, coming from New York City’s most notorious playboy.”

“This is about you, not me,” he teases, but then his face turns serious again. “Besides, I’d give all that up if I felt that way about someone.”

“Felt what way?”

“We all saw the way you looked at him the night he came to the Swan. The moment a woman makes me feel that way, my trolling days are over.”

“I don’t believe that,” I say with a laugh. “You always said you’d never get married. What was it—even if Britney Spears begged you to give her a ring?”

A strange look flashes through his eyes, reminding me for an instant of his brother Elijah, but his expression doesn’t falter.

“Hey, it might never come—” Christian says with that thousand-watt smile of his, “—but if it does, I won’t be able to ignore it. I don’t think you can, either.”





Chapter Forty-Six





Alec



It takes most of the night and at least a hundred messages to get my plans in order. The first message I send is to Nate, telling him to get some sleep— if everything comes together the way I expect, he needs to be back early tomorrow morning.

The other messages go to the one person who can help me in New York City.

When I knock on the door to my father’s rooms at five in the morning, having slept only a few fitful hours, he’s already awake. That doesn’t come as much of a surprise. He’s always been an early riser, and since Marcus died, his nights have been even shorter. When he can’t sleep, he spends his time in the royal gym. No amount of exercise has been enough to keep Marcus—and Jessica—off my mind. I wonder if it’s working for him.

“Alexander,” he says, his hair still damp from the shower. He’s not dressed for the day yet, wearing a pair of loose linen pants and a polo shirt. “You’re up early.”

“I’ve been making plans,” I say, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me. My father moves back across the living area and sits down at the small, round breakfast table. His breakfast must have just been delivered.

“I see. Are you hungry?”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, I realize that I am, in fact, ravenous. The dinner with Mariana seems like it was years ago. “Very.”

“I’ll have some food sent up.” He reaches across to a panel set back into the wall. My father still prefers to use the palace intercom whenever possible instead of the phone. The kitchen staff answers right away, and he tells the attendant to send up a second breakfast tray, then settles back into his seat. “What have you been planning? I take it your evening with Mariana was successful?” My father has a wary look in his eyes.

“It was all right. She’s an interesting woman.”

“From what I’ve heard about her, she’s very accomplished.”

“No doubt about that.”

“But this doesn’t have to do with her.”

“No.”

He gestures with his hands for me to continue.

“On the way back from dinner last night, Nate said some things that made me realize that I’ve gone about things the wrong way with Jessica.”

My father nods, folding his hands on his lap.

“What happened between us—I can’t leave it like that.”

There’s a knock at the door, and I stand up to answer it. The kitchen staff didn’t waste any time, although I’m also sure they don’t have many breakfast orders at this hour. I give the server—a wiry man with dark curls peeking out from under his uniform, a smile and stand back to let him in. “Good morning, your highness,” he says with a confident smile, not appearing the least bit tired, the least bit shaken by our presence. That’s a guy who’s going to go far, I think to myself as he moves across the room to the table, sets down the tray, and greets my father, who acknowledges him by name. That confirms it—the man has been up much too early for far too long. The royal family doesn’t generally tip—we leave that to our assistants—but my father presses a note into his hand, and he slips back out the door.

My father uncovers his tray and I uncover mine, and we’re both silent for a few minutes. The food is, as always, exquisite.

Patting the corners of his mouth with his cloth napkin, my father clears his throat. Napkin back in his lap, he reaches for the steaming mug of coffee sitting on the edge of the tray.