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She may be royal through marriage, but she was essentially bred to be queen. She’s always put the monarchy first.
Even above her own family.
“You care about her.”
“What?” I tear my gaze to him, suddenly feeling defensive.
And guilty, even though I didn’t do anything wrong.
I wanted to, though.
My god, I still want to.
“Esme. You care about her. I do, too. But you don’t need to worry about her. We may not have much say about the bigger things in life. Like I had no choice about what I was to study at university. Or about serving our country in the military. Just like Esme had no choice about serving her country in the Humanitarian Corps. It’s all part of our duty to the crown. We can complain about it all we want, but it’s out of our control. You should know as well as I do there are certain traditions that simply can’t be changed.” He gives me a knowing look.
Lately, I’ve become painfully aware of that fact. Hell, in the past hour, I have.
“Instead of bitching and moaning about the things you can’t change, you learn to take advantage of the things you can control. You celebrate the small victories. The small ‘fuck yous’, so to speak. That makes all of this suck a little less.”
“And Esme being forced to marry a man she didn’t choose? What’s going to make that suck a little less?”
“Esme’s always been an extremely resourceful woman.” He winks. “I’m sure she’ll figure out something.”
“I’m sure she will,” I mutter as I follow him inside the building, desperate to take out some of this aggression with a bit of target practice.
All the while, imagining Jameson Gates’ face on one of the targets.
Is it immature?
Most definitely.
But right now, it’s the only thing that will make this suck a little less for me.
Chapter Nine
Esme
Why am I this nervous?
I go to black-tie charity events all the time, especially ones benefiting causes I promote, like mental health awareness, prevention of domestic violence, and multiple sclerosis research. Tonight’s gala in support of eliminating human trafficking, particularly in Europe, which has a tendency to be a hotspot, is yet another cause I champion.
But tonight isn’t a typical black-tie charity event I’m invited to in order to give a speech encouraging people to open their wallets and donate even more money than the exorbitant plate fee.
Instead, I’ll be attending with billionaire bachelor and philanthropist Jameson Gates, confirming the rumors that we’re an item.
To most, it wouldn’t be a big deal. Couples go out in public all the time.
For a royal, being seen in public with a member of the opposite sex, particularly at a formal event, sends a message. And that message is to prepare for wedding bells.
Once I step out of the limo and take Jameson Gates’ arm, the photographers the palace paid to be there feverishly snapping photos, there will be no turning back. We’ll be committed.
When I hear a knock, I tear my gaze from the windows where I’ve been admiring the city lights, wishing I were just another nobody living on the other side of these walls.
“Come in,” I call out.
The door opens and one of my butlers steps into my private suite. “Mr. Jameson Gates for you, ma’am.”
I make my way across the room, meeting Jameson as he enters. Wearing a dashing tuxedo that hugs his body in all the right places, he’s the picture of sophistication.
