Page 45

I freeze as I read the note, taking the next man’s rose and unfolding the card.

To my beautiful Princess. May she reign. -MM

The next man’s card is smudged, as if he’d written it while standing in line.

To my beautiful Princess. May she reign. -PT

I accept the rest of the roses with mechanical motions, tucking each inside the cradle of my elbow as I give quiet, bland thanks for each. I only glance back at Lex once, finding his eyes fixed to the book that’s fanned open on his thighs.

I’ve never felt more like an idiot in my entire life, recalling that flutter of butterflies in my stomach at the breakfast table when I read his note. To think I’d believed for even one moment that Lex Ashby had been trying to… what?

Flatter me?

To create is to reign. That’s the East End motto. Those words don’t mean these men want their ‘beautiful’ Princess to reign in any literal sense. They just want me to hurry up and get pregnant.

The people around us watch the spectacle as the PNZ members filter through, rushed and pointed. By the time I accept the last rose, the bundle has swelled in my arms, and I cradle it like a baby, stomach roiling at the thought.

“Finally,” Wicker says, jumping down from the wall and approaching me. He lets his hand travel down my back to perch on the curve of my ass. “Father had our schedules aligned so we’ll have the same break. We’ll meet you back here at noon.”

“Fine,” I say, not bothering to ease out of his grip. Wicker might be vile, but he’s never been less than up front about it, and I think…

I think I might respect that.

In an odd, West End’ish way.

“I’ll meet you here,” I tell him, raising my eyes to his.

Looking surprised at the easy acceptance, he tilts his head. “You’ve figured it out, haven’t you, Red?” He tucks that curl behind my ear, and then curves his palm around the base of my neck. “Father is always watching. Pretend you like it.”

My eyes slide to Pace’s and he nods, as if confirming his father has eyes everywhere. Looking back at Wicker, his gaze moves from my eyes to my mouth, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip. It’s a performance, one that makes my stomach bottom out, because Whitaker Ashby is a master at seducing women, and I’m not immune. His eyes are a startling blue, even more so outside in the daylight. His features are almost otherworldly, and for the first time, I wonder where this man comes from.

I brace myself for impact, expecting the hard, relenting anger that he unleashed on me during the ceremony. But my expectations are wrong, because his lips are soft. The kiss is firm but gentle, the sweep of his tongue, a slow, toe-curling caress against mine. It’s over before it begins, my heart lodged in my throat.

“Noon, Red.”

He saunters off, backpack hitched over his shoulder, leaving me breathless and confused.

It’s only when Lex approaches me, brows crouched low, that I realize this is just like the roses. A conveyor belt of kisses. Compulsory participation.

Lex bumps his kiss into my temple limply, without any feeling whatsoever, and the resentment twists inside of me. Not toward him–toward me, for expecting anything different.

Pace, however.

Pace is the worst.

“You’re our first, you know.” He captures my chin in a strong grip, fingers digging into the hinge of my jaw. His eyes aren’t so dark in the harsh light of day, looking almost as amber as Lex’s. “Going raw on a girl? Never fucking without a condom was one of the first rules Father made for us.” His eyes dip down to my lips, pursed against the grip of his fingers. “East End can only afford so many accidents, and coming from one of his own sons? That would have been a death sentence.”

The first touch of his lips on mine is exactly what I expected Wicker’s to feel like: demanding and hard, tongue prying my lips apart for his invasion. He tastes like heat and the sharp edge of coffee, and even though I don’t struggle, accepting it with my eyes clenched tightly shut, his fingers still press into the hollow beneath my ears, holding my jaw open.

The kiss slows, his rumble vibrating against my lips. “I wonder how it’s going to feel, putting a piece of myself into you...” There’s a short pause, the heat of him leaving, and then something warm and slick suddenly bursts against my tongue.

My eyes fly open at the sound, and Pace is clamping my mouth shut, trapping the wad of saliva he just spat there.

“A little something to remind you of me until later,” he says, finally releasing me.

My gag reflex triggers, and the urge to vomit is overwhelming. Pace stares at me, almost daring me to fail.

Wicker’s words echo in my head,Father is always watching.