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While Adam may be exaggerating, I usually don’t drink much and always keep my place rather tidy. To not only see evidence I’ve been drinking, but also take-out containers littering my living room, I can understand how this scenario might come as a surprise.
“I’m going out on a limb here and guessing this has something to do with Esme?”
I part my lips, about to voice the same argument I did when he nearly walked in on us, but I have nothing left to lose by admitting the truth. I’ve already lost everything.
“Esme doesn’t matter.” I sink back into the couch, running a hand over my face. “It’s over now. In fact, it was over before it began. At least for her. I thought…” I pinch my lips into a tight line. “Actually, I don’t know what I thought. It was just supposed to be for the summer, but the more time we spent together… I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I guess I was happy to forget about reality. Started to believe maybe we could find a way.”
He steps closer, stopping just past the kitchen peninsula. Based on the dark suit he wears, I can only assume he stopped by on his way to pick up Esme for the King’s Day gala.
“That’s not how things work, Creed,” he sighs, giving me a sympathetic smile. “Not in this world. You should know that by now. Esme was always going to marry someone with much higher social standing than either of us will ever have. We may have grown up around this life, but we aren’t them. We never will be. I tried to warn you that we’re not their friends. Not when we’re the hired help.”
“I know. I just…” I lean forward, attempting to push down the reminder of Esme telling me the same thing, the pain from the knife plunging into my heart still as excruciating.
And what makes it worse is that it was so out of character for her.
She’s never been the type of person to view her staff as the hired help. In fact, she’s one of the few people in the royal family who takes the time to learn the names of not just her staff, but also everyone working behind the scenes at the palace.
And that’s not all. She also routinely shows an interest in their personal lives. Hell, she even gave one of her maids six months paid leave so she could be with her daughter during her cancer treatment and not worry about being able to cover the bills. Even made a point to visit her maid’s daughter in the hospital. Acted as if it were her own family member who’d fallen ill.
That doesn’t sound like someone who’d refer to any of the palace staff as the hired help. Who’d refer to me as the hired help.
But I know someone who has repeatedly referred to me as the hired help.
Someone who, twenty-four hours prior to Esme breaking things off, confronted me about her, to which I denied any wrongdoing.
I slowly shift my eyes to my brother, analyzing him. He doesn’t look directly at me. Blinks more than usual. Rubs his thumb and forefinger together.
Most people wouldn’t read too much into these quirks.
But Adam’s my brother.
I know him almost as well as I know myself, including all his tells.
“It was you,” I say, barely audible. Despite that, my words seem to echo in my apartment, reverberating against the walls.
“What?” Adam stiffens, licking his lips, pupils dilating.
“I said…” My voice grows stronger, nostrils flaring with my increasing breaths as I fight to suppress my rage. “It. Was. You.”
“What are you going on about?” he scoffs, downplaying my accusation. “Or is this the alcohol talking?”
“It’s not the alcohol talking.” My words are even. Cold. Determined. “It’s me. And I’m talking about Esme. You put her up to it.”
“Up to what, exactly?”
I grit my teeth, fists clenching as the puzzle pieces snap into place, something that probably would have happened days ago if I hadn’t allowed my anger and heartache to cloud my judgment.
“Everything, Adam.” I slowly stand, widening my stance in an attempt to dwarf him, even though we’re the same height. “You knew you couldn’t manipulate me. So you manipulated her instead. What did you say to her? That you put your life on the line for her so this was the least she could do in return?”
When Adam doesn’t respond, I know I’ve hit on something.
“My god.” I dig my fingers into my hair, chest squeezing from the pain of his betrayal. “Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out? That I’d be okay with what you did?”
He doesn’t respond. Simply stares at me, eyes darting back and forth as if deciding on a course of action.
Finally, he leans into me, jaw tense, nostrils flaring.
“It was for your own good, Creed,” he bites out gruffly. “You weren’t listening to reason. You were living in a fantasy world. People were talking. You may not like what I did, but I did it to protect you. To protect your legacy. There are things you don’t know. Things—”
