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Approaching the building where both Esme’s and Anderson’s individual apartments are housed, Xavier pulls the SUV to a stop and jumps out, rushing to Anderson’s door. I do the same, helping him upright, a feat after all the alcohol he drank in the past twelve hours. If it weren’t for Esme and Jameson’s relationship going viral on social media, I’d be concerned that news of the playboy prince, as Anderson’s been named, partying it up in the city would be headline news.
“I’ll take him in,” I tell Xavier.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I got this.”
I give Xavier a thankful smile, draping Anderson’s arm over my shoulder as I drag him up the short flight of stairs and press his code into the door. When I hear it click, I open it, helping him into the shared foyer, Esme’s apartment to the right, Anderson’s to the left.
“God, I bloody hate this place,” Anderson garbles as I carry him toward his apartment. “It’s a prison. You know that, right? And you... In a few months, you’ll be nothing more than a glorified prison guard.”
I try not to take his comment to heart. I’ve had a front-row seat to how difficult life can be for Anderson and Esme. In twenty-six years, Anderson’s rarely been in a place where someone didn’t watch his every move.
It’s no wonder he volunteered for another deployment.
At least overseas he can enjoy the freedom he can’t here.
It’s sad he has to go to a war zone to get that.
“Don’t forget. One day, you’ll be in charge and can change how things are.”
He barks out a laugh, the sound echoing around us. “That’s rich, Creed. Do you really think anything here will ever change?”
“I—”
“It won’t. Nothing’s changed in the past hundred years. And nothing will change in the next hundred. And it’s such bullshit.”
I hush him, but it’s useless, especially when he’s drunk like this. I’d like to say this is the first time he’s done something like this.
It’s not.
I’d like to say it’ll be the last time I’ll have to carry him into his apartment after he went on a bender.
It won’t be.
Humor may be one of his coping mechanisms. Alcohol is the other. It helps him not feel like himself. If there’s one thing I know about Prince Gabriel Anderson Joseph Xavier — Anderson for short — it’s that he often hates being who he is.
I drag him into his apartment, hesitating as my eyes fall on Esme’s door. I try not to think of the woman who lives within those four walls. Try not to imagine her sleeping peacefully in her bed.
Try not to wish I could be in that bed with her.
But it’s a lost cause.
I’ve always thought about Esme. Always longed to be in her bed.
Suddenly, her door flies open, revealing Esme in a tank top and boy shorts, face devoid of makeup, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. It makes her look…normal. And so damn beautiful it makes my heart ache.
Makes me want to crush my lips to hers, erasing every last trace of Jameson from her body.
And her mind.
“What’s happened?” She storms the few feet across the foyer, looking from me to Anderson then back to me.
“Ezzy!” Anderson exclaims, a lazy smile crawling on his lips. “I was just telling Creed how bullshit this life is. He had the audacity to think that when I’m king I can actually change how things are. That’s like suggesting inmates can change how they’re treated. Except most prisoners know why they’re locked up. Us…” He trails off. “We did nothing to deserve this except be born. And it’s fucked.”
“You’re drunk.” She approaches, patting him lightly on his cheek. “Let’s get you inside so you can sleep it off.” She pushes her way into his apartment, heading in the general direction of the bedroom. As she does, I catch a whiff of her fragrant scent, the lavender aroma like a natural aphrodisiac.
“I’m not drunk,” Anderson continues as I follow her. “I’m telling the truth. This life sucks. I can’t even bring a girl home, Ezzy. Not without the powers that be wanting to run a full background check and have her sign an NDA so I can shag her. Do you understand how fucked that is?”
