His blonde hair shines in the moonlight. “What happened to your fiancée?”
My head snaps toward him. What is he playing at with a question like that?
I eye him. “You ask me as if that isn’t public knowledge.”
“It’s what’s bothering you, no?” he asks. When I raise a brow, he shrugs. “I might have listened to your conversation back there.”
He’s been here the whole time? Before he came out here, I forgot he even attended. Dad brought them in to take photos and videos, as always, but I hadn’t seen Rip and his humongous camera all night. He must have ditched the camera, because it isn’t out here.
Not only is he out here when he isn’t supposed to be, but he was eavesdropping. It’s ridiculous that none of us noticed. Now,after hearing, he’s asking questions about Sylvie. I’m sure he’s been wondering, like everyone else, and now he can finally ask. I shouldn’t even entertain Rip, but it’s like I can feel Sylvie’s gentle touch on my back, urging me to open up.
Maybe I should listen to her.
“Sylvie was murdered,” I state.
His blonde strands fall before his eyes as he leans forward. “I know, Kingsley. What else?”
“What else?” I ask incredulously. My fingers tighten around the bars. “What else is there to say?”
“It’s your dead fiancée, not mine.”
My mouth twists downward, a frown settling on my face as a hot flush spreads across my cheeks. Fuck, Rip has a way of pushing my buttons that no one has had before.
“She was shot dead in front of me,” I seethe. “Her blood splattered all over my face at the altar as I was giving my vows.”
The cool expression on his face falters, his eyes going wide as if he’s seen a ghost. “Shit. That’s not what the articles said.”
“Well, it’s what happened.” A heavy ache settles behind my eyes, and I let my head rest against the fence.
I imagine lifting my head up and smashing it against the fence over and over. Will that pain finally get rid of this constant feeling of worthlessness? Will that be enough to erase the persistent, belittling thoughts from my mind and gain redemption from the woman I failed?
Can a bit of pain fix the hollowness in me the way Rip does?
“I should’ve pressed the police more to find her murderer,” I mumble the lie.
“Why didn’t you?”
And for the first time, someone asked the question. I should be happy someone finally did, right?
“Are you playing therapist now?”
“Answer the question,” he states.
My dick twitches in my pants, and I silently curse myself. I should saw it off for even feeling something as I talk about Sylvie.
“Because I couldn’t,” I spit out. “I couldn’t do anything after she died, Rip.”I couldn’t even feel.
I keep that last part to myself. Rip is like a truth serum, compelling me to share my life’s story, but there are some things I can’t say aloud.
I never loved Sylvie. She was a bossy control freak who made my life hell. Buster’s daughter wanted me to follow her many rules because she was so adamant about marrying someone who was her perfect match, which I was not. At first, I tried to get out of it, but it was an arranged marriage thought up by our fathers, and it was necessary for me to one day take over the Crown.
But even in Sylvie’s many flaws, she was only a girl raised by an abusive father and an abused mother who turned a blind eye and shunned her. So, I complied with her crazy regulations. I got to know her, took her on dates, and made her feel like the beautiful woman she was. By the time we got to our wedding day, I was content with marrying Sylvie Crenshaw.
And then someone took that from me, and I didn’t know how to process it. But I knew I didn’t want to spend months plotting revenge, because that wouldn’t change anything. Sylvie Crenshaw died, and I let that happen. Me.
“Her death killed me,” I sigh. “The man I was when she was alive is long gone, and no one wants to accept that.”
If I had been a stronger man and not let her control me, maybe everyone would still have the perfect royal image of me. Though honestly, the more I discover about myself, the more I understand I probably needed her direction. But who wants a puppet as their leader?
