Page 4 of Royal Deception

I sigh, smoothing the hem of my skirt as I sit at my desk. My mind replays our conversation from this morning.

“You need to let this go.” His voice had been sharp, dismissive.

He hadn’t even looked up from the papers in front of him, as if my request were nothing more than background noise.

I press my lips together, willing away the sting of rejection. I can handle more. I know I can. I’ve been working in the criminal underworld for three years now. I’ve practically given my life to this business, but Rory doesn’t see it. He doesn’t see me.

My hand settles on my belly, thumb tracing slow circles over the slightly curved bump. A quiet, conflicted breath escapes me. It’s still small enough to hide, but not for much longer.

I thought I had more time.

It took weeks to process it all, to accept that this was real. And once I did, I made a choice—I wouldn’t tell Rory until I had my footing. Until I knew where I stood.

But standing in place feels a lot like sinking.

I shouldn’t still think about that night, but I do. More than I should.

It started at Darcy and Kellan’s vow renewal. Rory and I had danced, the buzz of champagne and low music making every glance last a second too long. Each touch lingered. And when we’d slipped away from the crowd, when we’d stumbled into that broom closet—hot, desperate, breathless—I hadn’t wanted it to end.

Neither had he.

A month later, after a long business meeting at The Clover and Thistle, we were the last two left. One drink turned into two, turned into his hands on my waist, my fingers in his hair. I slipped out of his apartment before sunrise.

The last time had been months later, the night that led to this.

The next morning, he had approached me, his tone calm, steady, unreadable. “It can’t happen again.” No explanations. No room for argument. Just a finality that lodged itself in my throat.

I tried to move on, tried to ignore how much it stung. Then the nausea hit. Right in the middle of planning Miranda Voss’s baby shower. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Miranda hadsuggested I take a test, laughing about how “pregnancy brain” was contagious.

She had no idea the can of worms she was opening.

And now I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.

If Rory won’t even trust me with more responsibilities at work, how the hell am I supposed to tell him he’s going to be a father?

As I finish tidying Rory’s paperwork, I hear the soft murmur of voices in the hallway. That’s my cue to head back to my own desk.

Just as I sit down, Rory and Senator Burns appear, all jovial smiles and firm handshakes before parting ways.

“I need you to pick up my dry cleaning,” Rory says as he passes, already heading for his office. No please. No thank you. Just another order to follow.

I exhale slowly, brushing imaginary lint off my pencil skirt before pushing to my feet. The carpeted hallway muffles the sound of my platform heels as I make my way out of the building.

Outside, the fresh air is a welcome relief, a cool breeze against my flushed skin. The dry cleaner’s is just a block away, and I stop to grab Rory a coffee on the way back. He can get a little sluggish after lunch. I know he’ll appreciate the pick-me-up, even if he won’t say it.

I’m just stepping out of the dry cleaner’s, carefully balancing the neatly pressed clothing, when my phone buzzes. Juggling the bags, I dig into my purse, my stomach knotting at the sight of Kate’s name on the screen.

She doesn’t do courtesy calls.

Bracing myself, I press the phone to my ear. “Hi, Kate.” I keep my tone polite.

“Clary,” she says, sharp as ever. “I was just wondering if you’d forgotten about the rent. It’s due, you know.”

My grip tightens on the phone. “It’s not due until tomorrow.”

There’s a pause, long enough to make it clear she’s annoyed. “Well, I was hoping you’d pay it today. I have bills of my own, you know. And you’re lucky I don’t charge you extra for being late last month.”

I wasn’t late. I sent the payment at 11:58 p.m. on the first. But there’s no point in correcting her. It won’t change anything.