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“Lady Luna?”
I spun around and got my second shot through the chest. Lucien spread out on his bed, divested of every dark, fitted layer of those Victorian clothes, wearing nothing but white, thin undergarments and the fine black hairs on his ropey bare chest. His underwear was so white and thin... I could see right through it.
“Holy hell, Lucien! Where are your clothes?”
Calm as ever, he pointed to the corner. “In that hamper over there. Everything okay?”
“Cover up, please.” I didn’t give him the choice. Snatching a throw off the coffin, I tossed it over his bits. Lucien just eyed me through the exchange, forehead wrinkled like there was something wrong with me. I did burst into his room, freak out, and throw things at him, so he may have a point.
“I’m fine,” I said, willing myself to relax. It helped to firmly put the image of Lucien’s and Rafael’s manhood in a box, lock it, and mentally blow it up. “But while I’m here, there is something I need to ask you.”
Lucien and I talked. The whole time, he didn’t see the need to cover up his chest, or stop posing like a damn vampire supermodel basking under the full moon. I thanked my fortune that his bottom half stayed under the blanket.
After we were done, I was clear to take a shower and get ready for dinner with Victor and his parents. I borrowed Rafael’s car and left for the mansion on the hill. It would’ve been easier to have Victor pick me up and drop me off—except that wouldn’t be easy at all. The guys conveniently forgot I was engaged whenever it suited them. I didn’t want to find out how they’d act around Victor.
“Evening, Miss Bowden,” the guard greeted.
I didn’t bother correcting him. “Evening.”
“Please, drive up to the second garage and park inside. Mabel is waiting to receive you.”
“Thank you.”
The gate rumbled open, unveiling a sight more magnificent than the last time I’d seen it. Technically, the life of the young and wealthy was mine. Regalians cracked jokes about the Tire King, but his Royal Highness was sitting on a seven-figure business. Before we lost Winter, my folks sat down and explained that they would take care of us for as long as we needed, and when they passed, Jack’s fortune would go to us.
This life was mine now, and no matter how many times I repeated that, it wouldn’t sink in. I was out of place among these Royals—separating people into categories, fighting over status, playing chess with real lives, sacrificing families, fortunes, and reputations as pawns.
I didn’t fit in among crowds buying two homes twenty minutes from each other just because one was closer to the beach. I wasn’t the one tossing my coat at the butler, demanding the chef bring me breakfast in bed, or vacationing in the tropics. This was my world, but it wasn’t my life.
Mabel welcomed me with a bow and a tray carrying refreshments. I thanked her, helping myself to a pink lemonade, and followed her inside to the sitting room. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson rose at my entrance. Her pink, long-sleeved gown and his tux proved I made the right choice with my red satin empire-waist dress.
“Luna.” She honed in on my hand like a heat-seeking missile. “Where’s my grandmother’s ring?”
“It’s being cleaned.”
“Cleaned? What have you been doing that it’s gotten dirty?”
“Nothing,” I said, standing taller under her shrewd look. “But it’s recommended to clean your engagement ring once a week, and it’s important to me to take care of such a beautiful family heirloom.”
“Hmm. All right.” Martha grasped my hands, kissing me on both cheeks. She drew back and held out my arms to take me in. “Oh, dear. Red is not your color.”
My polite smile burned up. Red is not your color. See? I said she only needed five words or less.
“Isn’t it?” I said tightly. “I’ve always loved this dress. It flatters my figure.”
“Figure?” She laughed. “My dear, you’re a thin little rake of a girl, and I’m jealous. I remember when I was that thin. Two sons saw the end of that.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or insult. Maybe a little of both.
“Anyway, I didn’t know how to accentuate my shape back then either. But don’t you worry.” She flicked my nose. “Now that you’re about to become my daughter, I’m here for a shopping trip whenever we’re both free.”
Insult. Definitely insult.
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Wilson. I can’t wait.” To not do that ever.
She clicked her tongue. “None of that. I told you to call me Martha.”
“Of course, Martha, and may I say, you look beautiful.”
She beamed. “Yes, you may.”
Martha Wilson truly was a beautiful woman. Middle age and two kids did nothing to dismiss the youthful color in her cheeks; soft, shining red crown; piercing gray eyes; and the perfect symmetry of her upturned nose and heavy lower lips.
