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My hand is shaking so badly I can barely read by the end.
But I do read. I read the whole thing, then I go back to the top and reread it. It surprises me that the words are still here, that they read the same as they did before. It seems unbelievable. Itisunbelievable.
It’s Angel.
He’s my half-brother.
Dad, how could you?I think, but I stop myself. I don’t have time to think of that right now. All I can think about is Angel. Beautiful, tortured, dark-haired Angel, who spent so many years being angry with me for no reason that I knew of. Angel, who looked terrified out of his mind when Hector got me out of that barn that smelled of death.
Hector and Angel.
My two brothers.
My two saviors.
Of course it’s Angel; it’s always been him. How did I not see it? Or maybe I did, and I couldn’t handle the truth until now, when it’s staring me in the face. When I have to handle it, somehow. I feel as if I’ve known it was him for years and years deep down inside, just by pure instinct.
He must have known since that year he stopped talking to me. That must have been the reason. I can’t even imagine how traumatic it must be for a kid to find out that his whole life is a lie. That the king of his country is his father, and his best friend is his sister. He never told me, of course, choosing instead to ignore and hurt me. But he was just a kid; he did whatever he had to do in order to survive the pain.
I am so relieved it’s him, so happy. So mad at him.
That bastard (literally) is such an ass.
He is so annoying, so secretive. He is so dead.
“Why are you crying, princess?” Marco tightens his hands around my waist, sounding panicked. “Olivia? Talk to me, baby. What happened? Who am I freaking killing?”
“It’s them,” I say, smiling through my tears. “It’s my idiot brothers.”
As I say the word ‘brothers’ I start crying again. I’ve never said that word. Not once in my life. I’ve missed nineteen years with them. I’ve never had brothers before. The tears keep flowing, soaking his T-shirt. He inhales sharply.
“No tears,” he says. “Not today. Please.”
He is wiping them with his fingers, not caring who sees.
“I’m crying because they are just what I said,” I say, and he wraps his arms around me tightly. “My brothers.” I need to say that word approximately one million times more.
“Cry then,” Marco murmurs. “Right here, on my chest. Wait, what did you say, baby?”
“My idiot brothers,” I say it again. I like it more and more the more I say it. “My idiot brothers,” I repeat for good measure. “My brothers.”
Hector is waiting in the car; I’ll get to him soon enough. And I’ll kick his ass for not telling me about Angel. Then again, I have no idea how much—if any—communication they have between them.
But I don’t think that Angel would sign Hector’s name under his text message unless they had talked about it. Or maybe not. Maybe they have never spoken. Maybe Angel keeps writing and posting and signing all these things as ‘the rotten royals’ of behalf of them both.
Maybe… I have no idea what is going on.
It’s still a sea of secrets, a sea of lies. But at least now I’m floating somewhere near the surface. I can see a little bit of light. And there’s a hand wrapped tightly around me, and I know it won’t let me drown.
“Who are your idiot brothers, my queen?” Marco breathes against my hair.
I smile through my tears. “The rotten royals,” I say.
“Oh,” he says, sounding skeptical. “Right. It was them, after all, huh? Who are they, though, baby?”
“Hector is one,” I tell him and he inhales sharply. He didn’t know. I knew he didn’t know—but the confirmation fills me with so much relief, I go weak. He pulls me against his chest. “Angel is the other,” I finish.
“I’ll kill him,” he says at once, and I laugh.
