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I wince at the coming headache. “We talked about this. The Princes have a contract with the?—”

“They’d honor your decision,” he snaps. “You know they would. If you tell them you want to stay in the palace, they’d tear up the contract.”

Gently, I remind him, “I made a contract with the Dukes, too.”

Pace scoffs. “That’s not why you’re going.”

“You’re right,” I say, throwing my hands up. “I’m going because I’m tired. And because I miss being somewhere I don’t have to constantly worry about our torture victim being found.”

Finally, Wicker cuts in, eyes rolling as he tosses the massage ball in the air. “Give her a break, Pace. This shit is obviously stressing her out. That’s not good for the baby, right? Let the Dicks worry about protecting her for a while. They’re gutter rats, but they’re well-armed gutter rats.”

I send him a glare.Not helpful!

The look he gives me in return? Butter couldn’t melt.

“You just want her to leave so you can avoid acknowledging the baby for the next few weeks,” Pace snaps back.

His expression hardening, Wicker replies, “I want her to leave so we can handle our shit without worrying about her.” He pushes up, propped on his elbows as he levels me with a stare. “Look, no offense, but this baby thing is putting a real damper on our extracurricular activities.”

“None taken.” I think.At first. When it begins flaring in my chest, I blurt, “I’ve been really on board with the torture stuff, thank you very much.”

He snorts, giving the massage ball a squeeze. “Chill, Red. No one here doubts your commitment to Sparkle Motion. But let's stop bullshitting ourselves. Our focus has been divided.”

“And now it won’t be?” Pace runs his hand through his hair, frustration evident in his tone. “What about Lex? What if he’s sleeping and we’re not there to pull him off you?”

I feel my face soften at the knowledge I hold, deep down. “Lex would never let himself hurt me, and everyone in this room knows it—even if he doesn’t.”

“And what about William?” Pace’s eyes blaze with fury. “What about the fact someone’s snatching Royal assets, and the last one to be taken was driving your car?”

There’s nothing being said that wasn’t gone over last night. “I’m safe in West End,” I insist, for the millionth time. I’m expecting the same old rebuttal—blah blah, gutter rats—but I’m not anticipating the way he springs forward, words slicing through the air like a knife.

“When are you going to get it?!” he roars, uncaring that Wicker has jumped from the bed, grabbing him by the arm.

“Hey, chill,” Wicker tells him, but Pace jerks away from him.

“You’re not safe anywhere!” he snaps. “And if that hasn’t sunk in yet, then the last place I want you and our kid is somewhere I can’t protect you. Someone has to think ofhim.”

“I am thinking of him!” But before I can make him even angrier by mentioning that this baby has family in West End too—family he’s entitled to, and family that will protect him—I see the icy shutters falling over Pace’s eyes.

“No, you aren’t,” he says, the coldness in his voice cutting. “Just like you weren’t the night you ran out of here, right into William’s stupid fucking trap.”

For a moment, it feels like all the air has been punched out of my lungs. “That’s not fair,” I say, struggling to inhale. But when I glance at Wicker, his blue eyes dart away from me, the cut of his jaw suddenly tense.

Clearly, he agrees.

Pace allows his brother’s silence to speak for itself. “What’s not fair is that every time you make some rash, half-cocked decision to step foot into danger, you’re taking us with you. Not just our baby. Not even just my brothers. The Dukes, too. Your mother. Lavinia.” A new arrogance curls his mouth into a snarl. “Stella.”

The name lands exactly as he means it to, painful and jarring, snatching my breath away. It twists inside my chest, this knot of agony and shock, and I’m taken by the thought that Pace would have hurt me less if he’d punched me.

“How dare you.” My vision blurs, tears filling the edges, but I can see Wicker stepping between us, a hand fisted into his brother’s shirt.

“That’s enough,” he hisses. “You’re not putting that shit on her!”

Pace doesn’t break my stare. Not until the first tear makes a track down my cheek. “I didn’t mean—” The words bite off, and then he clenches his teeth. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter what I think, right?” His chest jumps with a clipped, humorless laugh. “This is the deal we made that day in the solarium. You get to do anything you want, and we get to deal with the consequences.” He makes a snide, mocking bow. “May she reign.”

“Fuck you,” I spit, but Pace is already retreating from the room, his footfalls nearly as loud as the hammering down the hall.

Wicker sucks in a long, fortifying breath before turning to me. “He didn’t mean it like that.”