Page 52 of Fallen Crown

I release a deep sigh and drop my shoe onto the mat. “And the rest of the scones are mine.”

“Sounds fair,” he says, but there’s a melancholy edge to his voice, and I’m reminded again of why I’m here in the first place.

We go to the chairs, and as I’m taking my first bite of scone, Brice crosses his arms and slumps into his chair.

“The Advisory Council.” He raises his eyebrows in mock challenge. “What do you think of them?”

His tone is already bored, but I’m going to play along. Neither of us needs to steer back into territory that confuses me. At least politics feels relatively safe in comparison.

“I’d disband it all,” I say. Might as well start with anarchy. Seems fitting for a night like tonight.

When I wake up to an unfamiliar ceiling, I lie very still. Brice and I talked for hours about nothing of significance, and when I finally claimed exhaustion, Brice said I couldn’t possibly drive home when I was so tired. He said I could have the bed because he claimed he wasn’t tired.

His arm slung across my middle says otherwise.

I inch out from underneath him, and I sneak over to my shoes. As I creep out the door, I take one last look at his sleeping form, and I hate how much my heart contracts at the sight of him.

Instead of going home, I head to Caitlin’s office. I don’t have an appointment, but it’s almost noon. It’s rare for me to sleep this late, but since Brice and I were up until the crack of dawn, I must have needed the sleep.

Outside her office, I shoot her a text offering to take her to lunch. She doesn’t respond right away, and I tap my fingers on my steering wheel while I contemplate going up to her office and taking my chances she’ll be free. Working lunches are a real thing in her law offices.

My phone beeps beside me, and when I glance at it, my stomach drops.

Enzo.

Once I’ve opened the message, I see he’s sent me a throwback photo from when we were in college. The memory of the night we took the photo rushes back to me. We were happy, once. So freaking happy. If only I could blink and take us back there.

Before I can reply to him, Caitlin texts me to grab some food and bring it to her office. A quick lunch is all she has time for. She must sense I’m desperate to talk. I am not the sort to drop in without an appointment.

Down the street, I stand in line for a sandwich I won’t eat and the wrap I know Caitlin loves from here. The whole time, I keep thinking about Enzo’s text, about lying in that bed with Brice last night and wishing for something I shouldn’t. What is wrong with me?

Pam, Caitlin’s secretary, must be gone for her own lunch when I arrive. Caitlin’s office door is open, but she’s on the phone. She waves me in while she talks, and I slide her wrap over before taking a seat across from her. My stomach is rioting, and I toy with my wrapped sandwich, as though that might restore the incredible hunger I had last night when I ate through half a dozen scones while chatting to Brice.

“All right,” Caitlin says as she drops her phone back on the receiver. “Tell me what’s going on.” She undoes the wax paper around her wrap and takes a big bite.

“I’m not my father.”

“Confirmed,” Caitlin says around her mouthful of food. “Who said you were?”

“I almost cheated on Enzo last night.” Did I? Even that I’m not sure about. But I think I would have if Brice hadn’t been teasing me or flirting with me or whatever he claimed was really happening to get that electrical snap between us. Whether or not he truly meant it, the sexual tension was there.

“With who?” Caitlin’s eyes have gone very round.

I bite my lip and shake my head. “That’s not important.”

“Yes, it is.” Caitlin sets her sandwich on the desk. “There’s ‘I need to get laid’ cheating, and then there’s ‘I’m starting to feel something for someone else’ cheating. Which is it?”

“And then Enzo sent me this throwback photo, and I remembered how happy we used to be. So happy. I married him because I believed we’d be happy together forever.”

“You went through a traumatizing experience with pretty significant consequences. Neither of you could have seen that coming.”

“I’m not a quitter.”

“But he seems to be.” Caitlin raises her hands when I glare at her. “A few drunken phone calls and some pictures of when you used to be happy aren’t a relationship.”

“I feel sick,” I say, and I leave my uneaten and unwrapped sandwich on her desk.

“Who is tempting you?”