AllFreeNovel
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He reaches under the counter pulling out the bottle of Macallan, breaking the seal and pouring it liberally over a ball of ice in a crystal glass. The clink of frozen water against the glass has my throat anticipating the much needed burn.
“I was instructed to cut you off at three.” Sliding the glass to me, he adds, “But I also heard you tip well.”
I give him a sardonic half-smile, reaching into my pocket to pull a bill out of my money clip. “Keep ‘em coming and Benjamin’s four twin brothers will join him.” I slide the hundred dollar note across the bar.
Turning on my stool, I glance at Cindi. She’s taken off her shoes to dance with the guy in the Penguin mask. He’s not the lightest on his feet and with those pretty bare toes exposed, she might regret that decision.
I really don’t care though, except suddenly there’s something about her that reminds me of Elle.
CHAPTER 12
Danon
After way more scotches than is wise at a charity gala, I make my way to the men’s room. It’s filled with guys who are probably doing the same thing as I am—trying to figure out how much more schmoozing, check-writing, and dancing they have to do before they can call it a night.
As I stand in line for my turn at the sink, wishing I was back on the sailboat with Elle drifting aimlessly away from this fucking life, I catch a familiar reflection in the mirror. Mask up on his head, Clark Kent stands washing his hands. I’d recognize that face anywhere.
The muscles in my gut tighten immediately. What the fuck is he doing here? More importantly, who’s he with?
Is Elle here? My heart skips at the thought that the woman I love might be in the building and then drops when I realize that I’m not Dan tonight, I’m Prince Danon of Denmark, heir to the throne, and even if she is here, I can’t talk to her or see her. Not without giving myself away.
And I’ve already hurt her enough, telling her I’ve lied to her all this time and that I can’t be with her because she’s just a waitress from DC and I’m fucking nobility, would kill her, and that would kill me.
The realization hits me like a sucker punch as Clark Kent readies himself to head back to the ballroom affixing his mask.
His penguin mask. The Senator’s daughter’s date is the penguin. He’s cheating on Elle? Mr. Fucking Fancy-pants is slumming with Elle on the side, while he wines and dines American Royalty?
Fuck that.
Anger surges in me, and my hands ball into fists as I run them under the water. Who does this bastard think he is? Somewhere in the back of my alcohol-pickled brain I know that Elle was with me while also with Clark Kent, so she, in fact, has been cheating on him as well, but I ignore logic, favoring the irrational emotions roiling inside me.
I skip the electric dryer, and follow him out of the restroom and down the hall. I think he’s beelining straight for the ballroom and Cindi and her ice-blue Cinderella ball gown, when he stops abruptly, turning into a small alcove by the open doors. I watch as he pulls out his ringing phone and lifts it to his ear. I hang back a bit, pretending to look through some pamphlets on the Share the Earth Charity set up by the ballroom entrance.
“Hi, honey, you okay?” He smiles, nodding even though the person on the other end of the line can’t see it. “You’re only seven months along. It’s probably just indigestion. Stop worrying.”
Honey? Seven months along?
“No, not tonight. I’m sorry. I’ll be home tomorrow though. The business meeting ran long and I missed my flight.” He pauses listening to the caller. “I love you too, Lil. Oh, and I talked to Markus, he wasn’t able to get us a table at Le Moulin, but I promise I’ll take you somewhere incredible for our anniversary. Okay?”
Anniversary?
Hell.
My conscience is screaming at me not to make a scene as he finishes up his conversation and walks into the ballroom straight toward Cindi. I can’t be Dan the hockey player tonight; or ever again, because I’m Danon, Prince of Denmark, and I need to behave as such. But this dick is cheating on Elle, Cindi, and his fucking wife apparently, and shit like that pisses me off.
As the penguin wraps an arm around Cindi’s waist, I see red. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself. I storm through the crowd, shoving people aside to get to their table just in time to hear him tell her he got them a table at Le Moulin for next week if she’d like to go out again.
Jesus, did he seriously just say that? I barely register Cindi’s greeting smile as I shove into their personal space.
My fist flies and there’s a satisfying crunch as it hits Clark Kent’s face. His head snaps back with the force of my fist, and his mask flies off, falling to the floor.
As the douche stands there stunned holding his nose, commotion explodes around us. Cindi shrieks and she gets between us, looking at her date’s face. He shoves her back and I hit him again. “Don’t fucking touch her, you cheating bastard.”
“Oh my god! What the hell did you—” She stops talking, her accusing blue eyes are icy cold and my brows lower at their familiarity. But before my brain can untangle what I’ve noticed about Cindi, Clark Kent shoves her aside roughly again, and lunges at me. This time Cindi falls down.
“Bennet! Stop! He’s the prince of Denmark.”
“Why don’t you tell her about your pregnant wife, Penguin-boy? And how you told her only minutes ago you couldn’t get a table at Le Moulin for your anniversary.”
