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His grip around my waist tightens, his touch providing me strength.
Despite the flashes growing even more incessant around me, I barely notice them, my sole focus on the man giving me the comfort I’ve needed since he left my apartment several days ago.
“Thank you, Creed.”
“Anything for you, princess.”
ChapterThirty-Two
Esme
Creed steersme into the palace, his hold on me never wavering. The butler greets me with a bow, but instead of heading toward the throne room, Creed leads me in the opposite direction, ignoring everyone’s protests until we’re in one of the smaller reception rooms, the chaos muffled behind the closed door.
“It was the camera shutters and flashes, wasn’t it?” he asks after helping me onto the couch and sitting beside me, his voice filled with concern.
I search for some sort of explanation for what happened. Play it off. Pretend it’s not a big deal. Not admit I hate the sound of camera shutters.
I just told Anderson I planned to resume my duties. Part of that is dealing with the media on a daily basis. How can I do that if I have a panic attack whenever a flash goes off or a camera snaps my photo?
“How did you know?”
“Bright flashes can be a trigger.” There’s not so much as a single hint of judgment in his statement. Just understanding.
“I knew they were only cameras, but every time I saw a flash or heard the click as they took my photo—”
He grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. “All you heard was the gunshot.”
I smile sadly. “Exactly.”
“It’s okay, Esme. What you’re going through is perfectly normal. It—”
The door bursts open, and Creed quickly drops his hold on my hand as Tristan barrels inside.
“What are you doing here when the event’s in the throne room?” He stalks toward me.
Creed pulls himself to his full height, his six-five stature seeming to dwarf Tristan. “If you paid more attention to your girlfriend than hawking your next movie, you’d have realized she was having a panic attack from flashbacks.”
“Flashbacks? Flashbacks of what?”
“Of almost getting bloody shot. Flashbacks are common among those suffering from PTSD.”
“PTSD?” Tristan scoffs. “She doesn’t have PTSD. She wasn’t in a war zone.”
“PTSD isn’t limited to those who serve in the military.” Creed’s jaw twitches as he balls his hands into fists. His knuckles turn white with the effort it takes to contain his irritation. “Anyone who’s been through a terrifying situation can suffer from it, even if the nightmare only lasted mere seconds.”
He leans into him, lip curling, voice growing louder with every word he speaks. “To someone who’s endured a terrifying experience, those few seconds are all it takes to change your life. Just like those few seconds that bastard pointed a gun at Her Highness changedherlife.”
“Whichyouallowed!” Spittle forms in the corner of Tristan’s mouth, vein throbbing in his neck. “You were in charge of her security, and yet some guy was able to point a gun at her.”
“I know that!” Creed roars, eyes wild, body trembling. “I’ve been beating myself up over it every damn second since it happened. I don’t needyouto remind me. But that doesn’t change what she’s going through.”
“Which isyourfucking fault! You—”
“Enough!” I jump to my feet, inserting myself between Tristan and Creed before one of them kills the other. “It’s not your fault.” I meet Creed’s eyes, wanting him to see the truth in my words. Then I look at Tristan, stare hardening.
“You should know better than anyone that you can’t control every single crowd, especially in public. He didn’t want me to help at the soup kitchen because of potential security issues, but I pushed him. Refused to listen to his concerns. If you want to blame someone, blame me. If it weren’t for Captain Lawson’s quick actions, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. I froze. Couldn’t move. If he’d hesitated another fraction of a second, you’d be attending my funeral. So don’t youdareblame him.”
My chest heaves, every muscle in my body tight as I glare at Tristan, almost wanting him to fight me on this.
