Royal Games (The Royals of Monterra) (18 page)

Frank came outside, looking like a reject from a 1990s boy band. He topped off his white jeans and white hoodie with a comb-over that seemed less a hairdo and more like a wind advisory, because long strands of it were blowing everywhere.

“Genesis! So nice to finally meet you.” His hand felt like ice. It somehow managed to make me even colder. “And who have you brought with you? Rafe or Dante?”

Rafe had dressed appropriately for the occasion in a black tight-knit, long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans, and he had a winter coat on. I was the idiot in danger of turning into a life-size ice cube in my ballet flats and my once-nice cocktail dress. It was the same dress I wore to all of these appearances. It was a forest green sheath that nipped in at my waist and felt like it had been made just for me. It even touched the top of my knees, which was nice since I so rarely found dresses in my size that were long enough.

But the arctic winds that blew against my legs were not at all nice, and I was ready for this conversation to move along. “This is Rafe. Can we get inside?”

Frank was way too excited, but I didn’t care. I waved to everyone in the crowd, plastering on a big, faux smile. I rushed ahead of the men, hearing the words “renegotiate” as I went, but I didn’t slow down.

“Should we let people take pictures?” Rafe asked.

“Those aren’t people,” I said over my shoulder. “They’re paparazzi.” They’d hounded me pretty relentlessly for the first couple of weeks after the show finished airing, but our sheriff was very good at finding ways to drive them off.

The bouncer let me right inside, and a wave of sweat- and humidity-laced heat slammed into me. They had a lot of people inside dancing and at the bar. I warmed up really quickly. Once Frank and Rafe joined me, Frank showed us to the VIP section. It was a roped-off corner with a loveseat and a low table for drinks. A waitress immediately appeared, and I wished that I could order hot chocolate. I told her I was fine, and Rafe asked for water.

Keeping my false smile firmly in place, I tried not to make eye contact with any of the people staring at us. Loud techno music shook the club, making it impossible to hear, but I could easily see everything. These club appearances always made me feel like I was a seal at Sea World. Being stared at and pointed at in my enclosure, being expected to perform and entertain the crowd.

In that regard, it was nice that Rafe was with me because he was someone else to look at besides me.

The waitress brought back his water, leaning over farther than she needed to. Rafe went for his wallet, but she said, “Everything is on the house. I’ll get you whatever you want.” Jealousy reared up inside me like a hissing cat. Her invitation was unmistakable, and her cleavage flashing was starting to get annoying. I was mollified when I saw that Rafe didn’t look at what she wanted him to look at.

She walked off in a huff at her failed attempt, and I couldn’t help it. It made me smirk, and I was definitely feeling less angry than I had been just a few minutes ago. Rafe took out his phone, typing away. He was probably contacting his security team again. Then I wondered what he had been talking about with Frank. “What were you and Frank renegotiating?” I asked, trying to make myself heard over the music.

He realized that I was talking to him, and he had to lean in and I had to yell to repeat myself, ignoring my thundering pulse at being so close.

“I said he had to double his fee because we’re both here. He didn’t want to, but I convinced him.” His words caressed my ear, sending cascading shivers down my back. It didn’t surprise me he’d gotten his way. Like Aunt Sylvia was fond of saying, Rafe could probably convince a woman in white gloves to eat a ketchup Popsicle in August.

I didn’t know why he’d bothered with the fee. He didn’t need the money.

A photographer approached us, and I hated the thought that one of the paparazzi had snuck inside. Yet another person exploiting my personal life to make a buck. “Frank hired me for the night. Would you mind if I got some pictures of you two?”

Oh. He was the official photographer. This was part of the deal. Frank wanted some documented evidence that we had been there. I smiled, pushing my chin forward so that I wouldn’t have a double chin in all the pictures. I had learned that the hard way.

“Could you move closer together?” he asked, directing us with his hand. “Yes. Just a little bit closer. Keep moving.”

We scooted until I was completely pressed against Rafe on my right side. I blamed the heat that rose in my cheeks on the warmth of the club.

“Can you put your arm around her?”

Rafe pulled his arm out from in between us and laid it across my shoulders, his warm fingers pressing against my upper arm. A strangled breath escaped, and I was glad he couldn’t hear it.

“Perfect!” The photographer started clicking away, the camera’s light flashing every other second. It was a struggle to keep my eyes open.

Then Rafe’s thumb slowly rubbed my arm, back and forth, back and forth. I wondered if he even knew that he was doing it. It was all I could do to sit there, with him smelling like a dream and feeling strong and secure against me. I wanted to bust out of my skin. Still the pictures went on and on, with no sign of letting up.

Maybe I should contact the government and tell them about this new form of torture that I had discovered.

Finally, an eternity later, after my body had practically gone limp against Rafe, as if it wanted to stay next to him for the rest of my life, we were done. “I’ll grab some candids when you guys are out dancing.”

Dancing? Dancing was not part of this deal. I had no intention of dancing. It was bad enough being watched. The last time I’d danced in public to this kind of music, someone had asked me if I needed to go to the hospital, because they honestly thought I was having a seizure.

Country line dancing was a different story. I liked the patterns, the predictability of it. It wasn’t just waving your limbs with reckless abandon or moving like you were trying to get pregnant right there on the dance floor.

Before I could protest, Frank was there, still blissfully happy. He yelled, “Now that you’re done with photos, would you two mind dancing together?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head so that he’d understand my response even if he couldn’t hear me.

This was not what the club promoter wanted to hear. “Come on. I’ll throw in another thousand dollars if you’ll dance. Just one dance.”

Then Rafe was on his feet, pulling me up by the hand. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“We’re dancing.”

I leaned back on my heels, stopping him from propelling me forward. “I can’t!”

He studied me for a minute, like he was trying to figure out the right thing to say. “Do you trust me?”

Did he really not understand that that was our entire problem? I didn’t know whether or not I could trust him.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Come on.” He tugged on my hand again.

And like a lamb being led to the slaughter, I followed meekly behind him, trying my best not to remember in excruciating detail the last time we had danced together.

Chapter 18

While we were on
Marry Me,
I had taken him on a date that was about getting to know me better. I had found a nearby western bar that had dancing on Friday nights.

He was surprised when we pulled up. “I thought you didn’t drink.”

Rafe had been a good sport, wearing the full country getup. Cowboy boots, cowboy hat, and jeans. It made him even more scrumptious.

“I don’t. But I do line dance.”

He protested, but I begged and pleaded. To my delight, he gave in faster than a badly built card tower. I showed him the basics, and we stood behind the other dancers while I taught him the steps. He turned out to be a surprisingly quick study, and when I said as much, he mentioned that his mother had made him take dance classes when he was younger. Which was totally adorable.

We danced until we were both out of breath and sweating. I used my hat to fan my face. “Let’s go outside,” he suggested.

And even though we were in California in the summer, it was still a thousand degrees cooler outside than in the bar.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much,” I said, pulling my hair up and fanning the back of my neck.

Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” came on. “Listen,” I said. It had always been my aunt’s favorite song. It was the one she’d played during her first dance at her wedding reception. After Richard left and we discovered that he had taken all of our money, she had locked herself in her room for twenty-four hours, playing that song over and over again. The next day she came out, all steely reserves and strength, and went on with her life as if Richard had never been part of it.

She hadn’t played it again since.

“Do you like this song?”

It was a song that reminded me of both good and bad times. It was haunting and beautiful. “I love it,” I finally said, not wanting to explain the entire complicated history.

“Then we should dance.” He offered me his left hand, and I put my right hand in it. He put my other hand on his shoulder, and his right hand went around my lower back, emptying all the breath from my chest. He pulled me in close, swaying slowly back and forth.

His gaze pierced my heart, and there was something in his expression, an emotion, that I didn’t recognize.

Instead of ruining this moment by overanalyzing, I rested my head against his shoulder, closing my eyes. He put his cheek against the top of my hair, making me sigh with pleasure. I wanted this moment to last forever.

I forgot about everything. I forgot about the camera crew filming us, about the people standing in the doorway watching us, about my fears that I didn’t know him very well.

Because right then only one thing mattered—I absolutely knew I had fallen in love with him. The truth slammed into me with 1.21 gigawatts of electrical power. My face felt feverish as that love filled my heart with a buoyant happiness.

I didn’t know if he felt the same. I’d seen enough contestants blindsided on this show to know that he might be feeling one thing but acting like he felt another. Being with him here like this, though, seemed so true. So right. He made me feel like I belonged in his arms, in his embrace, and in his heart.

So you could imagine my shock when the techno music cut out, and “Crazy” filled the loudspeakers. I looked up to see Frank standing next to the DJ, and he gave me two thumbs up.

I was going to storm out of this club. That promoter could keep his money.

Rafe’s eyes had narrowed. He immediately understood the reference and anticipated my reaction. His grip on my hand tightened. “Don’t react. That’s why he did it. He’s trying to provoke you. Just dance with me.” He sounded as upset as I felt. All of America knew we had broken up and had stayed broken up. Frank was about to give his club-goers something that no one would have thought possible.

Especially me.

I swallowed several times before finally nodding. I could do this. One dance, and then I was done with it for the night. There weren’t any cameras this time. Just a roomful of people I would never see again. At least this dance wouldn’t be televised.

He took my hand, raising it over my head, and twirled me around before pulling me into his arms. The crowd gathered around us seemed to enjoy that. He was holding me close, probably closer than he should have, and I followed his lead as we danced slowly. Although my head and my heart were in disagreement about how they should react to him, they both agreed that they loved how it felt to be held by him.

His hand splayed against the curve of my lower back, using pressure to let me know which way I should move next. His other hand engulfed mine, and I could feel the calluses on his palm. His broad and muscular shoulder flexed under my hand, like he was feeling the tension, too. I looked just over his shoulder, not wanting to make eye contact. I wasn’t sure I could handle it. My synapses were already overloaded. I didn’t need to make it worse.

A radiating warmth enveloped me, and all the other sounds, the other people, everything faded away and it was just the two of us dancing, as if we were the only ones in the club. My body shifted me forward, moving me even closer to him.

It wasn’t like the first time we’d danced to this song, but all the emotions I’d had before came rushing back. I related to these words in a way that I never had before. I had been crazy for loving him, for giving him my whole heart without knowing the truth.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered against my ear, making the skin there run hot. “I don’t get to tell you as often as I’d like to. But you are.”

He probably didn’t tell me because he knew I would argue with him about it. He knew that I grew up not wanting to be pretty or noticed. Somehow it wasn’t so bad when he was the one noticing. The way he held me and looked at me made me feel beautiful.

“I love holding you,” he went on as his nose nuzzled my earlobe, and that turned my knee tendons into water. “Even if it’s only because we’re dancing.” He planted a tiny kiss in that magical spot right behind my ear, and my mouth felt parched, like I’d been marching through the Sahara and hadn’t had anything to drink for a month.

Then the song ended, and everybody around us started to hoot and holler, applauding us for our dance. My heart beat so fast and so loud that the DJ could have used it for his next song. Rafe held me out to one side, and he bowed. I did a sort of curtsy, even though it was the first time I’d ever attempted one. Right then I was too dazed to do anything but let him lead me off of the dance floor. The regular music started up again, and we sat down on our little loveseat.

He had that look in his eyes. That look that said he wanted me. And given my current condition, I was in danger of giving in. His gaze dropped to my lips. Yep. No misinterpretation there.

Frank came over to introduce the VIP guests who had purchased a chance for autographs or pictures. I did my best to pull myself back together, to smile and say hello. Thankfully, I didn’t have to make a lot of conversation because it was too hard to hear and make myself heard. We got a lot of, “Are you guys back together?”

And I would answer, “No.”

Rafe answered, “Not yet.”

That went on for a long time, and it took all my resolve to focus on the people I was supposed to be entertaining and not think about Rafe and that dance. And the magic that was always sparked when we were together. He called his bodyguards a couple more times, and the last call was interrupted by a very drunk girl who wanted to sit on his lap and take a picture.

I did not rip out her extensions one by one, even though I wanted to.

We stayed for our contractually obligated two hours, and the very second that ended, Rafe said, “Let’s get out of here.” He left that skeevy waitress a fifty-dollar tip on our table. For three bottles of water.

He signaled to Frank, who walked over with an envelope. He handed it to me. “Here’s your money. Cash, like we agreed.”

I hadn’t agreed to that. I always got paid by check. I asked him a confused, “What?”

“It’s all there. Your boyfriend drives a hard bargain. You two brought in a lot of business tonight. I’ll call you again!”

I didn’t even bother saying he wasn’t my boyfriend. People generally believed what they wanted to believe, and didn’t want to be bothered with the facts. I nodded, putting the envelope into the clutch I had brought with me. I held it tightly against my chest, afraid of losing that much cash.

Rafe got his coat back, and the shivering valet had our car waiting for us, all heated up. As we walked toward it, a drunk, stumbling guy slammed into Rafe on the sidewalk.

“Sorry, man.” The guy slurred his words, but Rafe told him it was fine. The man shook it off and managed to start walking straight as he headed around the corner.

I gratefully got inside the waiting SUV, and a different valet shut my door. I saw Rafe tip the one who had retrieved the car, and from the look on the kid’s face, it was a lot of money.

“Are you hungry?” Rafe asked as he put on his seatbelt. “I’m in the mood for seafood. Where do they have good lobster?”

“Maine,” I responded, and a smile quirked the ends of his lips. “I really just want to get home, if that’s okay.”

I should’ve known that nothing is ever that easy.

“Home it is,” he said, pulling out into traffic. The weirdest thing happened as we were leaving—despite security holding onlookers back, I saw someone suddenly running away from the car in the passenger side mirror. One of the bouncers chased after him.

Rafe glanced at me in the rearview mirror. The air in the car felt oppressive and awkward. I couldn’t forget what he had said or how he had touched me. To distract myself, I opened up my purse and got out the envelope, which was full of one-hundred-dollar bills. There were a lot of them. Eleven thousand dollars’ worth. It was so much. I held out fifty-five hundred of it to Rafe, his half of the fee. The federal government would take most of what I had left.

“Keep it.”

“I can’t keep it. You earned it.”

He sighed. “I don’t want it. So either keep it, throw it out the window, or we can take it back to Frank.”

Of the three options, the first did sound the best. I could catch us up on our mortgage. This would make a huge difference in our lives. The desire to accept was overwhelming.

“Don’t decide now. You can think about it for a while.”

I should probably do something more noble with it. Like help repair the church roof. I’d get a tax deduction and possibly buy myself a spot in heaven.

But I had to put my family first. I closed my purse again and hoped God and Pastor Dave would understand. Rafe turned the radio on again, to my relief. I wasn’t ready to talk about what had just happened.

We weren’t far outside the city when the wall of snow slammed into us again, obscuring our view. I’d hoped the storm would have let up by now, but it hadn’t.

My phone buzzed, and there was a text from Whitney.

How are things going? Are you back in love yet?

I started to text a reply when my phone went dead. I tried turning it back on, but the little battery picture popped up, showing I had no juice. I probably should have charged it before we left, but I was mad and distracted. No big deal. I slid it back in my purse.

We were nearly back to the town when Rafe murmured, “
Uffa!
”

He had told me once that the word meant uh-oh. I remembered it because it sounded funny. I could see a light flashing on his dash. “What is it?”

“Flat back tire. On both sides,” he said incredulously. He turned on his blinkers and pulled over onto the shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” He left the car running and went out to investigate. The headlights were shining on a busted mile marker sign that I recognized.

He got back in the car, snow glistening in his hair and on his coat. He held his bare hands in front of the vents. “No mistake. Both of the back tires are flat. Someone caused a slow leak.”

That must have been what I saw back at the club. The man who had been crouched next to the SUV. Why did people do stuff like this? “How did it take them so long to go flat?”

“They were really good tires,” he said, reaching into his pockets.

“Now what?”

“It is too dangerous for us to be driving in these conditions on two flat tires, and I only have one spare. I was going to call Marco, but I can’t find my phone.” He kept checking his pockets while I looked around on the seat and on the floor.

“My phone is dead. Do you have a charger in here? We could plug it in,” I offered.

“No,” he said, sounding more frustrated with each passing moment.

“When do you last remember having your phone?”

He blinked a couple of times. “I texted Marco right after I got my coat. I distinctly remember sliding it into my front pocket.” He put his hand on his chest over the spot where it had been.

I gasped as I remembered the events that had occurred as we were leaving the club. “That drunk guy! He totally Keyser S
Ö
ze-d us! He was pretending to be drunk to mug you, and then he just walked away!”

“He was hardly a criminal mastermind. He wasn’t even a very good thief. He completely missed my wallet.”