Page 99 of On Edge

Did he go to work?

I don’t remember him leaving last night, but I did wake up a few times and note how lonely the vast emptiness of a super king could be. Not that I wanted to share the bed with him.

That would have been even worse.

I turn from the breathtaking view to find a member of staff opening the door, wheeling in a selection of breakfasts. She smiles, sets the plates, coffee cups, and pot on the coffee table, then leaves.

Breakfast for two, then.

I should get dressed. What I assumed was a closet door reveals a room lined with day outfits, casual wear, and evening gowns, shoes, and accessories…all in my size, all with tags still attached. They’re the clothes I bought from Harrods. But they were delivered to Grayfleet, weren’t they?

I pick a few items out, a cute winter-green couture skirt with flowers embroidered on the pockets, a cream sweater, leggings, and then slip on my old, faithful boots.

I’m never wearing heels again.

I’m transferring the items from my purse to my shoulder bag: my phone, lip gloss, and the razor, when Troy storms in, on his phone, arguing in Italian.

He speaks Italian?

His eyes take in what I’m wearing with a frown, and then he makes a Latin-sounding curse, and hangs up.

“Are you ready?”

“I haven’t eaten breakfast yet.”

“No need, I’m taking you out to eat.”

I open my mouth to protest, but then why would I? I’m starving; I’ll go anywhere for the promise of food.

Troy drives us to an old-fashioned breakfast place right in the middle of Hyde Park. They even lift the barrier for him so we can drive along the Serpentine Road.

Troy gets out and then opens the door for me. I don’t bother trying to get out before him anymore; the last time I tried, he gave me a look that could melt tarmac. “This place is famous for its pancakes.”

My ears prick up as I slip out of the leather seat and into the crisp, autumn air. “Pancakes are my favorite.”

“Yes. I know. Kathy…mentioned it.”

I stare at him. “Oh, she did?”

He returns the look. “After this, we’ll head back.”

When he starts walking ahead, but then falters. “Can you walk?”

“I can walk. My feet don’t hurt in these boots. Thank you for the Band-Aids last night.” Without warning, my face blooms red.

He nods, but then reaches for my hand. I let him take it, awkwardly, and he leads me into the restaurant.

The place isn’t busy, even though it’s becoming a lovely October day, for once, not a cloud in sight. Outside, around the pond, the trees are all kinds of hues of orange and red. Soon it’ll be winter, and there won’t be any colors left. I much prefer Fall to any other month.

We sit in a booth on opposite sides, and he orders blueberry pancakes with fruit toppings and orange juice for us both, and then we eat in silence, watching the ducks. Or should I say, Troy works on his phone and I watch the ducks, occasionally sneaking a glance at him, wondering how the hell I got to this point and how on earth I’m going to kill him.

Instead, I reach for my phone to take a picture of the birds on the water, noting that several swans are mingling with the ducks.

Four swans to be exact.

I give a little shudder. I’m starting to hate swans, but the ducks look hungry. I start putting some of my toast aside on a napkin.

“What are you doing?” Troy eyes me over his phone.