To me and to him.
Snap out of it, Emilia… before you make an even bigger mess of things.
Cold air washes over my skin. Like waking up from a dream, the past few minutes flash through my mind, sharp-edged details tearing like knives. Horror wells inside me as the haze of lust clears completely from my head. I stagger backward, as far away from him as I can get without leaving the clearing, a hand pressed over my mouth.
What have I done?
What have we done?
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry,” I whisper, staring at his expression. Poignant vulnerability, so contrary to his typical callous smirk. Seeing it nearly sends my to my knees. I want to walk over to him, to take his face between my hands and kiss him until I’m lost all over again.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
“This…” Haltingly, I force myself to say the words — words that feel so incredibly wrong. “This was a mistake.”
He pushes to his feet and starts toward me, eyes flashing. “Emilia—”
“No, Carter.” My head shakes. “We can’t.”
He stops short, jaw locked tight, and growls, “We already did.”
“And it was a mistake! We should… we should just… forget it ever happened.”
His face flattens in an instant, turning to the mask of indifference I’m oh so familiar with. The heat in his eyes morphs into frost.
“You could honestly do that?” he asks in a subzero whisper. “You could forget? Just like that?”
I avert my eyes, so ashamed of myself I can’t even look at him.
“I have to.”
My voice breaks. There’s a sob gathering at the back of my throat and I’m not sure how much longer I can contain it. Not waiting for him to respond, I turn and run down the path, my torn skirt flapping around my legs. It’s not till I’m back in my bedroom with the door locked that I realize I’m still wearing his suit jacket. Without taking it off, I curl into a ball of misery on my bed and cry myself to sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Every little girldreams of living in a castle.
Even me.
Perhapsespeciallyme, given my particular family history.
But now that I actually live in one, I wish I could go back and tell my five-year-old self to dream about something better. Not to waste her wishes on a cold, stone keep full of winding corridors and drafty bed chambers.
Then again, my perception could beslightlyskewed, given the fact that I am, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner here at the lovely Waterford Palace. True, my prison cell is a massive suite done up in peaches-and-cream silks and ornate gold fixtures, with a terrace that overlooks the courtyard… But a cage is still a cage, even if it comes with a king-sized bed, high speed internet, a soaking tub, and a perpetually stocked mini-fridge.
The whole Lancaster clan moved here from the Lockwood Estate the day of the press conference — the same day I stood in front of the world, smiling like an idiot, and declared myself royalty.
All hail Her Royal Highness Emilia Victoria Lancaster, Crown Princess of Germania.
Surrounding me on all sides during this painful interlude was my beloved family: Linus, the father I’ve always dreamed of; Octavia, the loving stepmother who instantly embraced me as her own; and my wonderful siblings, with whom I’ve bonded so quickly, you’d think we shared actual blood ties.
Oh! Wait.
No.
That’s total bullshit.