Crown Jewels (Off-Limits Romance #1)(29)

My lawyers didn’t think Bryce’s team leaked the photos either. They would make a judge more sympathetic to me. They would help me. At least from a legal perspective.

So who was it? Maybe some vigilante who heard I was getting sued for violating the nondisclosure, who wanted people to know I was the victim?

I can’t make heads or tails of it. My eyelids sag. I don’t want to go to sleep, but…





*





Even from over in dreamland, I note the phone ringing and feel a little bubble of excitement.

My clumsy fingers fumble for the screen. I bring the phone up to my ear, my eyes half shut, my mouth curving.

I whisper, “Hi,” and see Prince Liam’s smile. The sweet one.

The line crackles.

“That wasn’t smart.”

My insides turn to ice.

“That wasn’t smart, Lucy.”

The line goes dead.





*





We have to go down to the station to file the police report. That’s what they tell Amelia when she calls a little before dawn.

I’ve got my fingers wrapped around the .22 in my purse as we walk from porch to car. As the wheels of my 4Runner bounce over the rock-cluttered dirt road, I feel enraged. Embarrassed.

Amelia gives my thoughts a voice. “I can’t fucking believe he’s doing this. It’s beyond the pale, even for Bryce.”

We tell the police what happened. They promise to contact my service provider to see if they can trace the call, and they advise me to leave here. To get a new phone.

“Anywhere you can go? Somewhere no one would look for you?”

I bite my lip and notice the officer’s eyes on Amelia. She’s nodding. “We can go somewhere,” she assures them.

As we walk out of the station, she grabs my hand and bumps my shoulder gently with her own. “I think it’s Gael time, girl.”

Somehow, I knew she would say that. “You need to go back to your internship. I know you do,” I tell her.

“I could ask for a little more time. Dash is an ass, but he might give it to me.”

“No way.” I take the keys from Amelia’s hand and nod her toward the passenger’s side. I need to drive right now. Need to feel like I am in control. I start off toward my place, and she slaps my elbow.

“Other way, remember? We don’t want to go back home until we have a plan, and the security company has a chance to meet us there.”

I sigh, turning toward the little town of Lyons.

“You have to tell him sometime anyway, Lucy Su. How many weeks are you?”

The road blurs as my eyes well over. “Eight or something.”

“So you’ll go to Canada first, and stay with my Grandma Elinor. You know she would love to have you. Stay a week. Go hiking like you like to do. You’ll be nine weeks then. That’s far enough along that you could fly to Gael and tell him. This makes sense,” she says enthusiastically. “Don’t you think he should find out in person anyway?”

I shake my head. I can’t think about it. Not right now.

But I can protect my baby.

An hour later, I call a charter company and arrange to fly to Edinburgh. I’ll visit Amelia’s Grandma Elinor later. Maybe on the way home. First, I’ll tour Scotland and Gael. I’ll get myself to ten weeks. Then I’ll tell him.





THIRTEEN Lucy





You know those barf bags they still have on some commercial flights? They don’t have those puppies on chartered planes. If you get sick, it’s the ice bucket or the toilet.

For me, it starts over Iceland.

I’ve had lamb chops and asparagus, plus those little red potatoes, and some water with a lemon after I turned down a glass of wine. I’m scrolling through my Kindle bookshelf, trying to choose something to read, thinking how much my story seems like fiction—sad, ridiculous fiction—when it hits me.

I jump up so fast, Grey hisses from his carrier in the seat beside mine. I make it to the bathroom just in time to aim for the sink. After that, the stewardess, a model-gorgeous girl from Bangladesh, makes me hold the leather ice bucket.

At least once, she catches me laughing between barfing. Because, seriously, what could be worse than this?

He hasn’t called or texted me again—Prince Liam. I’m not really surprised. Guys like him are like my Grandma Rhodes, a career vineyard tourist and every-Thursday-night-and-sometimes-Fridays-too wine bar hopper. Liam likes to try a little sip of everything. He sampled me, got his fill, and moved on to another flavor.

What will he do when I show up on his doorstep?

I decide as the plane lands in Edinburgh that it doesn’t matter. Amelia is right. I owe it to him to tell him the big news in person. He’s a prince. I don’t know for sure, of course, but I’d imagine learning that he knocked someone up—especially someone in the public eye, like me—will not be welcome news.

I look down at my stomach, invisible underneath the red sheath blouse I’m wearing with charcoal skinny jeans and black ballet shoes. I wouldn’t figure the baby would have a claim to the throne of Gael. I sure hope not. Sounds like a big pain in the ass, if you ask me. I don’t want Gael taking my baby.

I laugh a little to myself, drawing the brown eyes of the stewardess once more as the plane taxis to a stop. What will I be called? Like…a mistress of the prince? Not even a mistress, really. I’m a one-night stand. The thought is a little depressing, until I remember how seriously helpful the sex was. How it helped me get over my dry spell. If being slammed in the media for having a child by Prince Liam is the price I have to pay to get my mojo back, I guess maybe it’s worth it.