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“What are you doing up so early? Or so la—” He stops in his tracks, his expression falling.
I furrow my brow, wondering what caused this reaction. When I follow his line of sight to my laptop screen and am met with Jameson Gates’ charismatic smile, realization dawns on me.
I quickly close my laptop and stand, grabbing Tristan’s hand.
“It’s not what you think. I was just…”
I lick my lips, trying to find a way to explain this without sounding absolutely crazy. Or like I should be wearing a tinfoil hat.
“I recently learned the former head of palace PR was killed a few years ago and was looking into her death, only to learn the homeless guy accused of it died when the transport van carrying him crashed.”
“And reading about the accident brought forward memories of when you nearly died in a car crash, too. Memories of people who were part of your life back then. Especially after seeing him tonight.”
“I—” I begin, about to correct him.
But what am I supposed to say? That Jameson Gates, one of the most philanthropic and generous men alive today, killed Gianna and pinned it on some homeless guy, then had him killed to make sure no one figured out the truth? It’s so damn absurd. EvenIhave trouble believing it.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling like I’m losing my mind. Maybe my gut’s wrong. Maybe the unease I felt was just from being around all those people again tonight, especially my grandmother and Silas Archer. The more I think about it, the more I believe my father’s right. It’s all just a coincidence.
Tragic, but a coincidence all the same.
“I’m sorry.”
Tristan runs his hands down my arms. “You don’t have to apologize. If this is what you need to do for your mental well-being, I get it. Just don’t shut me out.”
I heave a deep sigh as I sink into his arms, resting my head against his chest, his heart thumping a steady rhythm.
“I may not have grown up a royal, but I know what it’s like being held to a different standard than everyone else.” He pinches my chin, forcing my gaze to his. “Know how isolating growing up in the spotlight can be. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t share your true feelings with me. You can. And I won’t judge you for any of it. I love you, Esme.”
My heart squeezes in response to the honesty in his words, how easily his declaration falls from his lips. As if it’s as innate as breathing, this love he has for me. That it’s not something he’s ever had to question, just something he knows to be true. Something that just is.
“I love you, too.” I touch my lips to his, if for no other reason than to forget everything for a minute.
Forget Jameson.
Forget Gianna.
And especially forget Creed.
Threading my fingers through Tristan’s hair, I deepen the exchange, moaning when he swipes his tongue against mine. He grips me tighter, circling his hips, his need for me obvious through the thin material of his pajama pants.
“Come on, beautiful. Let’s go back to bed so I can have you at least two more times before I have to leave you for two months.”
I pull away, smirking as I lift my t-shirt off my body. “Why not have me here?”
Pushing my shorts down my legs, I step out of them, then walk to the front of the desk, spreading my thighs and toying with myself, spreading my slickness around.
That’s all the invitation Tristan needs.
In a heartbeat, he shoves his pajama bottoms down his legs and covers my mouth with his.
As he eases inside of me, all the tension evaporates from my body. I close my eyes, pulling him closer, meeting his motions thrust for thrust.
A part of me feels like I’m using him.
In a way, I suppose I am.
But I need to rid my home of all memories of Creed Lawson.
