Page 14 of Royal Deception (Royals of the Underworld #2)

CLARY

A s I sit at the small table in The Regency Room, my sketchbook open in front of me, my pencil glides across the page. I get lost in the design taking shape, barely noticing the hum of conversation around me, the clatter of silverware, the echo of footsteps across the marble floor.

I don’t realize Miranda has arrived until she sets her purse down and slides into the seat across from me.

“What are you working on?” she asks, leaning in slightly.

I snap the sketchbook shut, my heart racing. No one has ever seen my sketches before—except Kate, and she never had anything nice to say.

But Miranda isn’t Kate. She won’t make a snide remark just to cut me down.

With a shaky hand, I open the sketchbook and slide it toward her. “Just messing around,” I say, my voice soft in the busy café.

One neat eyebrow arches as she studies the design, her lips pursing as she flips through a few more pages.

“This is good,” she says, tapping her chin. “You have a strong eye for structure. Your details are deliberate.”

Heat rises to my cheeks at the praise, and I curl my fingers under the edge of the table. “I thought maybe I’d be a fashion designer,” I admit. “Back when I was a kid.”

Miranda glances up, her gaze sharp with interest. “Why didn’t you go to fashion school? You have a lot of promise.”

Something tugs inside me at her words, but I wave a hand, letting out a small, self-conscious laugh. “Fashion schools are expensive. My stepmother told me to stick with something practical. So I went to community college, got my associate’s in business instead.”

She doesn’t respond right away, just flips back to the sketch I was working on when she arrived. After a long moment, she taps a manicured finger against the page.

“You could still go back,” she suggests.

I shake my head, staring down at the design. “It’s just a dream now.”

Miranda doesn’t take her eyes off me as she says, “Dreams don’t have expiration dates, Clary.”

Something stirs in my chest—something hesitant, uncertain. I don’t let myself think too much about it.

As she flips through a few more pages, her expression turns thoughtful. “You have true potential, Clary,” she says, stopping on a design I’d made for an imaginary awards show. “I see something in your sketches. You have a vision.”

Her words render me silent, and I swallow, my fingers tightening around the stem of my wineglass. I have no idea what to say. No one has ever told me that my designs had potential before.

Miranda shuts the sketchbook and turns to face me, leaning back as she crosses one leg over the other. “I have connections, Clary. You say the word, and I could pull some strings, help you get into a good program. Maybe we’ll arrange for a scholarship for you.”

Her offer knocks the air from my lungs. For a moment, I let myself dream. Miranda’s connections could take me somewhere I never thought I could go. Maybe even get me out of debt with my stepmother, get out from under her thumb, away from the only home I’d ever known.

But then reality slams me back into place. Some people just aren’t meant to fly. I smile, shaking my head. “Thank you for such a generous offer, but I can’t take it.”

Miranda tilts her head, lifting one brow as she looks me over. I feel like I’m under scrutiny now. “Whyever not?”

Running a thumb over the edge of the notebook, I stare down at it. “It’s because… because even if you think I’m good, it doesn’t mean an admissions committee would.”

And if they did let me in, I’d always wonder whether it was because Miranda pulled the strings for me or I got in on my own talent.

Miranda exhales, then gives me a slow nod. “I understand.”

I force a smile. “Besides, I’ve got too much going on right now to even think about school.”

Miranda hums, but there’s something knowing in her gaze, something that tells me she isn’t entirely convinced. “Maybe,” she says lightly. “But I’m always here if you change your mind.”

Her words settle deep in my chest, but I don’t let myself hold onto them. I’ve long since learned that dreams like mine don’t lead anywhere but to disappointment.

As I head back to the office after lunch, my thoughts are all tangled up in the conversation I’d just had with Miranda. Even as I step off the elevator, some part of me is demanding that I turn back around and tell Miranda I was just kidding, that I’d love to get help achieving my dream.

But I’m a realist and I’m determined to put those what-ifs and impossible dreams out of my head and focus on reality.

Just as I’m settling back into my desk, the door to Rory’s office swings open and Callie Fitzgerald steps out.

She’s dressed as impeccably as always in a tight-fitting purple velvet dress with a lace cut-out neckline that shows off the colorful tattoos that line her arms, contrasting with her sleek curls styled in a vintage coif.

I feel like I’ve seen her constantly over the past few days, coming in and out of Rory’s office at all hours.

I know ostensibly, it’s probably for her to go over security for her book release party, but when I see Rory step out of the room after her, a small smirk on his face as he stops to murmur something to her, I have to wonder.

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her vampy purple lips curving into a smile as she replies in a low whisper, something that makes him laugh.

My chest tightens and something ugly twists inside, something I refuse to name. It’s none of my business what Rory does or who he spends time with. I have no claim on him.

And yet the emotion lingers, pressing against my belly.

I try to push the thoughts away as I power up my laptop. I have too much on my plate right now to be distracted by petty jealousy. It doesn’t matter. Rory has made it clear that he’s not interested in a relationship, anyway.

At least, not one with you , my brain supplies as I open a browser tab. No. We’re not going there , I remind myself. Focus on work.

I try to focus, but as the afternoon wears on, my mind keeps drifting back to the way Rory and Callie smiled at each other. The way he looked at her. Their easy banter.

I need to get a grip. It’s nothing. I’m sure it’s nothing.

But what if it isn’t?

Shaking my head, I shove the intrusive thoughts away. This is ridiculous. I have no claim on Rory. He’s free to do whatever he wants with whomever he wants.

It’s just… I’ve never seen him act that way around anyone before. Not even his brothers.

I stab at my keyboard, scrolling through my inbox like I might actually accomplish something, but the nagging voice in the back of my mind won’t shut up. Callie’s been coming and going from his office so much lately. What if their meetings aren’t just about security planning?

What if he’s sleeping with her?

My stomach knots, and before I can stop myself, I pull up Rory’s inbox. I have access as part of my job, but only for business purposes.

My brain seems to shut down as I type in Callie’s email, telling myself I’m just making sure I’m on top of their meeting schedule.

I shouldn’t be doing this. This is insane.

But what if I find something? What if all my fears are about to be confirmed?

The sound of the office door opening snaps me out of my haze. My pulse skyrockets, panic flaring through me as I slam the browser closed like I’ve been caught red-handed. My hands tremble slightly as I force them into my lap, swallowing hard.

Oh, God. What am I doing?

A flush of shame burns my cheeks. I’m not like this. I don’t snoop through people’s emails. I don’t let jealousy make me act like a paranoid, suspicious mess. What the hell is wrong with me?

A slow, embarrassed chuckle escapes me as realization dawns. It has to be the pregnancy hormones. That’s the only explanation. I never give in to intrusive thoughts like this. The baby is messing with my head.

I shake my head and turn back to my work, refusing to let my mind wander to Callie and Rory again. I’m deep into working on some timesheets when I get a sudden text, pulling me from my thoughts.

When I glance down, my stomach swoops as I see the message.

Rory: Come to my place this evening .

There are no other messages, just this simple command. Suddenly, it dawns on me that this evening is supposed to start our arrangement.

Heat licks through my belly, and I don’t hesitate, shutting down my computer for the afternoon before I grab my sweater and head out.

By the time I arrive at the penthouse, my pulse is racing, a mix of anticipation and nerves thrumming through my skin. The place is quiet when I step inside, the only sign of Rory’s presence a single note left on the entryway table.

I pick it up, glancing it over, and clench my thighs, trying to keep myself calm.

There are only three instructions and they’re simple. Ordered.

Take off your clothes and fold them neatly. Leave them on the armchair.

Fasten the collar I’ve provided around your neck.

Kneel on the pillow and wait for my arrival.

One quick glance at the armchair and I spot the collar lying neatly on the pillow.

Rory isn’t even here yet and he’s already in complete control.

A shiver runs down my spine as I toe off my shoes and set them next to the chair. Reaching for the buttons on my shirt, I take my time pulling them apart, allowing myself that moment to regain control of myself.

The air conditioning sends goosebumps across my skin as I fold each article of clothing and set it on the chair.

The leather of the collar is smooth against my fingertips as I lift it, fastening it around my neck with steady hands, though my heart pounds wildly beneath my ribs.

I lower myself to my knees, settling onto the plush pillow, hands resting palm-up on my thighs.

And then I wait.

Every second seems to stretch into eternity as anticipation builds inside me. I’m totally exposed now, completely vulnerable from the moment Rory walks through the door.

The thought of surrendering control to him is enough to calm the chaos in my mind. I’m ready for him to come, to claim me totally and completely.

The door clicks open, and I flick my eyes up briefly, meeting Rory’s. The heat in his gaze sends another flicker of desire through me, and I lower my eyes, keeping my hands steady on my thighs.

The look on his face is full of promise for our evening together. I can’t wait to see what he has in store for me.