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“Only when it’s deserved.” I reach up and pat his cheek. As I do, I see the worry in his eyes, and it’s almost enough to make me say fuck it to the whole walk idea. Almost. But I can barely breathe in here and my skin feels like it’s way too tight. I just need some fresh air and a few minutes to myself.
Still, seeing the concern in his eyes knocks the teasing—and the annoyance—out of me in a hurry. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon. I just need…”
“To be you for a few minutes, not the new girlfriend to Wildemar’s ex–crown prince.”
“Yes. My God, yes. I mean, except for the ‘ex–crown prince’ part, because we’re totally going to fix that.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he says with a shake of his head. “Just go. And be careful.”
“Didn’t you know? Careful is my middle name.” I put my arms out to my sides in an obviously kind of gesture.
“I think you’ve got the definition for careful confused with the one for ‘reckless as all fuck.’?”
“Aww, look at you. We?
?ve only been dating for a few days and already you know me so well.”
“Seeing it is no great shakes, sweetheart,” he says with a snort. “You wear reckless like French women wear lipstick. Subtle some days, red hot on others, but always, always, always essential.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Chapter 23
Garrett
Goddammit. We’ve been in France for exactly an hour and a half and already I’ve fucked things up royally with Lola, no pun intended. Could I be any more of an asshole?
I slam into the suite with a roar of annoyance—as close to that temper tantrum Michael wanted to see as I’ve ever been in my adult life. But this time it’s not my captors I’m mad at. Not my father, not the press, not the bullshit circumstances that led me here.
No, right now, all the rage roiling around inside of me is directed at only one target: myself. What the fuck was I thinking?
Tagging along on this trip, pretty much without Lola’s permission.
Courting the press to advance my own agenda.
Dragging Lola to a hotel that obviously makes her uncomfortable and refusing to let her go to the one she likes.
Insisting she take a bodyguard with her when her body language was screaming that she just wanted to be alone.
So, to answer my earlier question, no. I couldn’t have been any bigger of an asshole if I’d tried. Merde. What the fuck was I thinking?
I wasn’t thinking. Obviously. Sure, most of what I’ve done has been for her safety, but I could have at least talked to her about it instead of being such a fucking autocrat and just presenting her with a fait accompli. It will be a miracle if she doesn’t just keep walking until she gets to the Pullman and decides to hell with me and this whole harebrained plot of Kian’s.
I’m reaching for my phone—ready to order Xavier to do whatever he has to do to make sure that doesn’t happen—when the damn thing rings. It’s my twin, and for a second I think about not picking it up. He’s the asshole that got me into this mess, after all.
But duty runs deep. He had a meeting with Parliament today over the Pacific Rim treaty I brokered two years ago and I want to make sure it went okay. They’ve been trying to weasel out of it pretty much since it became law, but I’ve always managed to stay a couple of steps ahead of their plotting. I just hope Kian can say the same.
“How’d the meeting with Parliament go?” I demand as soon as I swipe to accept the call.
“Well, good to talk to you, too, brother. Especially since you ran off to another country without even mentioning it to me.”
“I’m in France, not Patagonia. I can be home in an hour if you need me—not that you will.”
“Poor Garrett. All dressed up and no one to strong-arm. It must be a sad day for you.”
“Yeah, yeah. If you called to harangue me, I’ve got better things to do.” Like check in incessantly with Xavier to make sure Lola is okay. And that she hasn’t made a run for it.
“I bet you do,” Kian says, insinuation ripe in his tone.
