Page 27 of Striking (Red Lips & White Lies #7)

RHYS

Rumor has it that King Rhys will have a battle on his hands today with the opening of Parliament.

Royal sources have been whispering for the past two months about the legality of his wedding to our American queen.

If their marriage isn’t legal in the eyes of the law, is it binding in the eyes of the church?

Could it be that our American queen might very well be sent back to America without her title or her king?

Stay tuned, royal watchers.

T he opening of Parliament is a Mornea tradition.

Each year, on the third Monday of January, the king is expected to open the first session of the year.

And today, I sit here as the right and left fight like arrogant children, growing more bored by the minute.

As always, taxes are the main sticking point, something I have very little say in, but today, that’s not the hot topic.

No, today that topic is me.

“A king is meant to uphold the law, not rewrite it for his own benefit,” spews Lord Allington, a particularly heinous prick whose family has held a seat in Parliament for nearly as long as mine has held the throne.

“Does he not have the right to be happy, the same as you or I?” One of my mother’s best friend’s asks from the other side of the aisle. “The right to love? Do we not think the king will be a better king if he is in a steady, happy marriage?”

Viscount Lindsey, a particularly older member with a particularly unruly beard, stands and blusters, “He’s the king of Mornea. Are the women of Mornea not fit to be his queen?”

“He is already married, gentlemen,” the sole female member of parliament stands and states the obvious.

“As the head of the Church of Mornea, he cannot be divorced. We have no choice but to sanction his marriage. Now I suggest we do so and move on to the things that actually have an effect on our country, like how the middle class is going to keep food on the table while we ride out the downturn our economy has taken.”

“He cannot change the law at his whim,” Allington demands with a fist against the table. “He is a king, not a god.”

Atticus leans in from my left. “I mean, I’ve always thought you had a god complex.”

His words are quiet and meant to lighten the mood, and they hit the mark because this is not good. “I could always abdicate, and you could play God.”

“The fuck you will.” He looks around at the arguing and sighs. “Think they’d notice if we leave?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

He looks at the agenda in front of him. “Four months until the coronation. Think they’re going to get their shit together?”

“I fucking hope so.”

Bellamy

“ D id you get the last of the boxes? Gracie said the movers are done and your townhouse is empty.” Ares has never been good at small talk. It’s not his way.

He doesn’t hold back.

Not with the people he loves.

Not with me.

Joss knocks on my open office door, then pops her head in.

“I just spoke with Devon, and everything is set for tomorrow’s state dinner with the king and queen of Norway.

Your gown is being delivered in the morning.

The jewels have been brought up from the vault, and the stylist will be here at ten am to help you get ready before you’re scheduled to meet King Aaric and his wife.

Unless there’s anything else, I’m going to head out. ”

“Thank you so much, Joss. I appreciate it. Is Clara able to get off work for tomorrow?”

“She is.” She blows an air-kiss. “Call if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” I watch as she closes the door, then bring my gaze back to Ares. “What’s really on your mind, big brother? I know it’s not boxes and my empty house.”

He runs his hands through his dark hair, frustration clear in the movement.

“Ares . . .”

“What are you doing over there, B? I’ve seen the pictures.

You’re his arm candy. You spent all those years in school, and for what?

To smile for the cameras and host parties?

To wear a crown?” He looks tortured but doesn’t back down.

“You’ve wanted to be a nurse for as long as I can remember. Have you even taken your test?”

It’s my turn to look tortured—or more accurately, horrified.

“Really? You think I’d give up my whole life to smile and look pretty?”

Anger and frustration build as I play his words over in my head.

“Bellamy—”

“Nope. Don’t answer that.” A disappointing weight settles on my shoulders.

He knows me better than this. “I love what I’m doing, Ares.

Atticus has been helping me structure the newest branch of the foundation.

I’ve already helped three separate families find temporary housing and offset their lost income. ”

His face softens as he sighs. “You loved being a nurse.”

“I did...” I look at the picture on the corner of my desk.

The one of Cross and Ares on either side of me the day I came home from the hospital.

I was so young and still so scared, but I look at that girl and remember how lucky I felt.

“Do you remember the way you and Cross would take turns sleeping in the hospital with me so I wouldn’t be alone? ”

“Of course I do,” he groans, clearly frustrated I would ask such a stupid question.

“Do you know how much it ate Dad up inside that he couldn’t be there as much?” I push.

“Of course it did, but he had to work.” Ares defends Dad, like I’m attacking him.

I’m not. My father was incredible. We were incredibly lucky.

“I know he did, but I also know the guilt ate him alive. I want to help ease the burden on families like ours. I can help so many people this way. I can make a difference. A bigger one than I ever could have made in Kroydon Hills.”

We both sit silently for a few minutes.

Neither of us speaking.

Until he does. “Are you happy, B?” I see it coming before he opens his mouth, and I can’t stop it no matter how much I wish I could. “Do you love him?”

Do I love him?

“Daddy...” Molly screams as she runs into the room and jumps on his lap, I think kneeing him in the nuts in the process.

Oh, sweet girl. You just slid right into my favorite niece slot.

“Jake said he’s a better hockey player than me because he’s a boy.”

Oh shit.

Those are fighting words in our family.

She turns and looks at me, then waves. “Hi, Aunt B. Can you come see my school concert next week?”

And there goes my heart.

Damn.

“I can’t, Molls. But your mom and I are planning for you to come see me soon.

” This is the part that sucks. I’ve never been so far from my family before, and I miss them like I’d miss a limb.

“You tell Jake girls can play hockey just as good as boys, okay? Tell him Aunt B said so. I’ve got to go, but I love you. ”

Ares narrows his eyes at me.

He knows what I just did.

He just doesn’t know why.

B y the time Rhys walks into our private residence on the third floor of the palace that night, I’ve already replayed my conversation with my brother over in my mind about a million times. Those should have been easy questions to answer.

Am I happy?

Do I love my husband?

Easy questions for an easy marriage.

But nothing about Rhys and me has ever been easy to understand.

Not this insane pull we have to one another.

Not the way my heart settles and feels like it’s at home with him in a way it’s never done before.

Not in my excitement to talk to him at the end of every day.

Not just to tell him about whatever thing I’ve done that day, but to listen to him tell me about his day as well.

My life used to make sense.

I was a nurse, working toward a goal.

I had a purpose I understood and a world where I fit in.

Now, I feel like I’m winging it. I’m fighting to find ways to make a difference in the lives of an entire country.

Going to charity events and hosting teas.

Putting together a staff for the humanitarian side of the foundation and meeting with volunteers and businesspeople to get everything in place.

The Murmur shared a poll last week where people overwhelmingly voted that they thought Rhys should be allowed to overturn the Royal Marriages Act. And their articles have seemed to be trending more and more in my favor with each new headline. For now, I’ll count that as a win.

Rhys tosses his jacket to the couch, loosens his tie, and rolls up his sleeves, giving me a peek at the ink wrapping around those muscled arms I love to lie in each night. As if sensing my thoughts, he leans over me, forcing my head up until his lips brush over mine.

I sink my hands into his hair and drag him closer.

Getting lost in the mindless moment.

In his taste and his touch.

Until I can’t breathe or think or remember my call.

Rhys hauls me close to him, picking me up and wrapping my legs around his waist before he sits down with me in his lap. His erection presses against my aching core.

Everything else may be complicated. But this . . . us . . . we make sense.

“Hi,” I murmur against his lips.

“Are you okay, little bee?” He holds me like I’m precious... fragile.

Like my answer is all that matters.

“I am now. I think the stress of everything just got to me,” I admit without making my brother sound like a dick. He’s not. He’s just overprotective. He always has been, and nothing, not even a king will change that.

“Are you worried about tomorrow?” Rhys asks as his fingers absentmindedly play with the locks of my hair. “State dinners can be stressful, but I promise I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

Shit. The state dinner. I guess I should be nervous about that.

“I guess a little.”

Without another word, he stands with me in his arms and carefully rests my feet on the carpet. “Come with me.”

“I’m in my pajamas, Rhys.” At least they’re more modest than the last time a Windsor brother dragged me through the palace.

“And you look beautiful.” He smacks my ass, sending a jolt of need straight to my core as he takes my hand in his. “Let’s go.”

I hurry to keep up with him as his long legs eat up the dimly lit halls.