Page 57

“I was just leaving.” Holt pushed his thick-framed black glasses up his nose. He wore a checkered shirt and a crisp pair of khakis, paired with a vest. “You okay, man?”
He looked like such a straight-laced computer geek, but Gordon had a feeling he was the opposite of that typical stereotype. He might look quiet and harmless, but he had that whole wounded warrior shit going on—including the inner rage that went with it. Just like they all did. His blue eyes…they were empty and hollow and lonely.
So fucking lonely.
Gordon knew that feeling all too well.
“Yeah. Just have some female drama going on.”
Holt nodded. “That’s why I avoid any relationships. I’ve got enough shit going on without throwing a woman into the equation. Without having to deal with someone else’s baggage.”
“I used to feel that way, too,” Gordon said. “Maybe I’ll get there again.”
“I hope so, for your sake.” Holt shifted the bag higher on his shoulder. “I’m going out for a drink. Wanna come with me? You can tell me all about your princess while we drink, if you’d like.”
He’d never really hung out with Holt outside of work, but the guy seemed cool enough. Truth be told, he’d do pretty much anything to avoid going home. Having a few drinks with a fellow military man was the least of the things he could do to avoid seeing his empty bed. To avoid missing her.
“Sure, but I’m not pouring my feelings out. We’ll drink, but no talking about her.”
Holt shrugged. “Whatever you say, man.”
…
Even though he’d planned on going straight home after he’d left Holt at the bar, somehow he ended up parking at Belle’s hotel. He sat in the parking lot, gripping the wheel tight and cursing himself out. He hadn’t meant to come here. Hadn’t meant to fuck with her life more than he already had.
If she wanted to marry a prince, then good for her. She should. Except…she was supposed to marry him. She was supposed to be his.
Cursing under his breath, he shoved out of the car and stalked to the door, each step growing surer. He didn’t hesitate when he wanted something. Didn’t give up. So why was he being such a pussy when it came to this? As he rode the elevator up, he went over everything he wanted to say to her in his head.
She had to give herself a chance to be happy, while still helping her people. She had to stop living for other people and start living for herself. She had to give them a chance to fall in love, because he knew they could.
It could be a love for the ages, or some sappy shit like that.
But first, she had to fucking marry him.
She could still change her mind. They weren’t married yet, her and George.
The elevator doors opened, and he stepped out. Walking right up to her door, he raised his fist to knock. Before he could make contact, the door swung open.
Instead of Belle, he met the eyes of her PR rep, Mary. And she was smiling. “Just the man we wanted to talk to.”
Gordon dropped his hand back to his side. The evil woman was smiling. This couldn’t be good. Maybe she’d killed a helpless puppy or something. Surely nothing else would bring that woman joy. “Okay. What’s up?”
“You’re off the hook. That should make you happy.”
Gordon frowned. “This about George’s proposal?”
“Prince George has decided he still wants to marry her,” Mary said, clapping her hands together under her chin. “So your services are no longer required. You’re free to go. Please refrain from being seen in public with her between now and when she leaves.”
“What are you going to tell the country about those photos?” he asked.
“We’re going to say it never happened. That it was all photoshopped.” She laughed. “It’s brilliant, really. They wouldn’t have believed it without Prince George, but he’s going to claim that she was with him when the photos were taken.”
“And they’ll believe him,” Gordon said, his voice hollow.
“Of course. He’s a prince.” Mary set down a folder. “This is the best possible solution. I’m glad Princess Isabelle was able to convince him to marry her after all this. We shouldn’t have doubted her powers of persuasion. She is her mother’s daughter, after all.”
His gut twisted. That couldn’t be right. Sure, she might have taken advantage of the situation and said yes when asked, but she couldn’t have asked him. Could she have? No. He didn’t believe it. “She asked him?”