Page 8 of Striking (Red Lips & White Lies #7)

“I could—” Mrs. Smythe starts, but I raise my hand, stopping her. This woman isn’t a chore to be dealt with, and I want to get as much time with her as I can while I can.

“I’ve got it. Thank you. We shouldn’t need anything else tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” She smiles at the two of us again and scurries away. Mrs. Smythe has worked for my family since before my mother was born, and I’m certain she’s never seen another woman in this house. She probably has hearts in her eyes instead of pupils right now.

“Let’s get you settled. I have a quick meeting to attend. But I’ll be back after, and then we’ll celebrate.”

She lifts her head and sighs. “I haven’t agreed to anything yet, Your Highness .”

I catch her chin and hold it up. “You’re going to call me that on your knees one day, little bee.”

If I didn’t have this meeting, that moment would be now.

Unfortunately for both of us, duty calls.

A tticus stops me as I walk up the grand staircase of the palace. “Ahh... brother. Just in the nick of time.”

“I see you have pants on.” I move around him and down the hall toward our offices. Ceremonial rooms and staff offices are on the first floor. Royal offices and our private secretaries are on the second. The royal residences are on the third floor, and the fourth has been closed off for years.

“You win some, you lose some.” Atticus shoves his hands in his pockets. “Care to tell me why I’ve been included in this summons?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Warning bells go off in my head. “I have a meeting with grandfather and the council.”

My brother’s smile shifts into confusion. “That meeting was canceled, and I was told we were both summoned to his office. I assumed you knew.”

I replay his words over in my head.

Why the hell wasn’t I told the meeting was canceled?

I could have stayed on the island for another day.

“You don’t think this is about your American, do you?” He seems nearly giddy over that possibility.

“She can’t be my American...” But even true as those words are, they feel like a lie. Which makes no sense.

“Interesting...” he drags the word out dramatically. Typical Atticus. If he can find a way to make something theatrical, he goes for it with his whole chest.

“What are you getting at?” I corner him in front of the king’s closed doors. “Don’t make something out of this, brother.”

The warning is weak. Another lie.

“You didn’t say she wasn’t . You said can’t be,” he challenges, knowing he’s right. “Listen, I’m not sure when I became the voice of reason, but the king is going to lose his mind if you bring an American to dinner.”

“I already told you, we’re not dating,” I snap, wanting to get this over with so I can get back to Bellamy and what little time I’ll have with her before she’s gone.

I can’t explain it, not to myself and certainly not to my brother.

But something about my little bee settles me, and I’m not willing to give that up just yet.

“Semantics,” Atticus tsks with a smile that rivals the Joker’s. “Oh, you are fucked, brother.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I groan before the outer doors to Grandfather’s office swing open, and his private secretary steps out.

Munson is an older gent, with a handlebar mustache and a stick lodged firmly up his ass. “Your Royal Highnesses. His Majesty is waiting.”

“Thank you, Munson.” Might as well get this over with.

“Is he in a mood, Munsy?” Atticus and his fucking nicknames. “I want to be prepared.”

Munson looks stoic as ever as he ignores Atticus. An act he’s perfected over the past fifteen years. “He’s inside.”

Atticus grips Munson’s shoulder. “One day, you’re going to pull that stick out of your ass, Munsy. And I swear it’s going to be a glorious new world for you when you do. Just think of all the new things you’ll be able to enjoy shoving up there instead.”

“I’m sure I will, sir.” Munson’s voice is void of any emotion as Grandfather’s inner office door opens, and the King appears, apparently tired of waiting for us. Exhaustion lines his eyes as he looks down at his watch.

Not a good sign.

“For once in your life, could you leave the man alone, Atticus?” The words are spoken in a way he only does if it’s my siblings and me, a warm smile on his face the rest of the world rarely sees. Until the door closes and that smile vanishes.

Then it’s all business, and it’s all directed my way.

Well, this definitely isn’t good.

“Sit.” The order is barked at us, and I’m reminded the man in front of me is my king first and foremost as I sit in one of the two chairs across from his antique writing desk.

The crown may have attempted to modernize over the course of the past fifty years, but the king has not.

He tosses a newspaper down on his desk, and I wince when I see the headline:

Playboy Prince At It Again

T he picture under the clichéd headline isn’t even new. It’s from an event three months ago.

Must have been a slow news cycle.

“You are thirty-three years old, and next in line for one of the oldest thrones in the known world.” Well hell, he’s seriously pissed if he’s throwing that out there. “Grow up and act like it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Atticus pouring a glass of scotch before he drops down onto the couch and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. For just once in my life, I’d like to enjoy being the spare instead of the heir.

With my frustration growing, I fold the paper and hand it back to Grandfather. “It’s an old picture. Clara is just a friend.”

The woman in my arms wasn’t even my date. She was my best friend’s. The one Josselyn can’t date publicly, thanks to her old-school, narrow-minded, aristocratic asshole family. One steeped nearly as deeply in tradition as my own.

“She’s a commoner, Rhys” he groans. “A bartender. It’s like you kids are trying to be the death of me.

First your sister goes and breaks off her engagement to the douchey duke and marries the American mob prince.

And now you...” He finally sits down behind his desk, refusing to use the cane as his doctors insist.

Atticus chuckles, and Grandfather glares. “Do you think I don’t know what you all called him? I was as glad as the rest of you when she broke that off. I just wish she’d gone about it a different way.”

He’d shared it with me in confidence, one night, but judging by the way he chokes on his scotch, I’m not sure he’d ever told Atticus.

“My boy, it’s time.” His anger softens as my future shrinks to the size of a pin head.

“You need to find a partner. Someone who can help you bear the weight you’re going to have one day, because they’ll be the only one who can.

” I hate when he talks like this. Knowing what the future holds and being forced to realize it’s closer than you want it to be are two very different things.

It was supposed to be my mother next.

I was going to have a lifetime before I had to think about these things.

Before my birthright was going to become my entire life.

“Your sister’s marriage has put a magnifying glass on this family. The eyes of Mornea and the entire world are watching us.” He looks between Atticus and me and shakes his head before narrowing his eyes on me. “Especially you, lad. You are the future king. It’s time.”

“Time for what?” I regret the question the moment the words leave my mouth.

“To find a wife.”