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You know what I mean.
Me:
I do. Enjoy your time “reconnecting”. I love you.
I wait for a few minutes to see if he responds, but he doesn’t. After all the downs my brother has endured these past few months, he deserves having a win in his column. Based on my conversation with Nora last night, I have no doubt she’s exactly what he needs. She doesn’t treat him like he’s special or the heir to the crown.
She treats him like he’s anyone else.
He needs that. Needs someone willing to fight for him, yet put him in his place when necessary.
In desperate need of a shower after spending the better part of the past eight hours having more sex than I have in the past eight weeks, I throw the duvet off me and pad into the bathroom. I start the shower and am about to step under the water when I hear a knock on the door.
I thought I had at least another ten or fifteen minutes before Creed would be back, but I won’t complain. Maybe he’ll be interested in joining me for a quick shower. Then again, I doubt it would be all that quick. Creed’s a master at prolonging things, making sure I experience every ounce of pleasure possible.
And boy did I experience pleasure last night. The mere thought of it causes my skin to prickle, my pulse increasing.
Grabbing my robe from the closet, I pull it on and wrap the sash around my waist. Then I hurry to the door and open it, not wanting Creed to stand outside my room any longer than necessary in case anyone walks by.
“That was quick, they must be closer than—”
I snap my mouth shut when I realize it’s not Creed.
It’s Tristan.
But he doesn’t look like the Tristan Hughes I spent the past several years with. His hair is disheveled, eyes red, a weariness covering every inch of him.
“Tristan.” I pull my robe tighter. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry for barging in on you like this. I just…” He runs his fingers through his hair and tugs at it. “I needed to see you.”
“How did you know I was here?”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Based on the fact that I’m still getting emails with your daily itinerary, I can only assume you haven’t told your private secretary we…ended things.”
I briefly close my eyes.
When you’re a royal, ending a relationship isn’t as simple as dividing the flatware and bedding. There are people who have to be made aware of it, too. Something I simply haven’t wanted to deal with yet.
“I haven’t.”
His shoulders fall in what looks like relief. “Can we talk? Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Just five minutes so I can get this off my chest.”
I chew on my bottom lip, unsure I want to hear what he’s about to say. But he came all this way to see me. The least I can do is give him a few minutes of my time.
With a subtle nod, I step back and allow him to enter my room. He comes to a stop when he sees the pile of clothes by my bed, my lace bra and panties on the top of my dress. I nervously scan the space for any inflammatory evidence of last night’s activities, namely my vibrator that Creed begged to use on me at one point. Thankfully, it must have rolled underneath the bed.
“Just give me a second. I was about to jump in the shower.” I grab a t-shirt and yoga pants from the dresser and duck into the bathroom, steam filling the space from the running shower. I turn off the water and dress quickly, then rejoin Tristan, stomach heavy as I contemplate why he’s here.
Actually, I’m pretty sure I know why he’s here.
I just don’t know how I’m supposed to respond.
I gesture to the couch in the sitting area, and he lowers himself onto it.
“What would you like to discuss?” I sit on the opposite end.
“Us,” he responds without a hint of hesitation.
