Dirty Rogue: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance(112)
“Airport, please. I have a flight to catch.”
“We’re on our way.”
He returns his attention to driving, and shifting the car into gear, he signals to pull out from his parking spot.
As he pulls away from the curb, I look back one more time at the photographers, dreading what I might see. If they have their cameras…
But they don’t. The one who was staring at me from across the street is now rifling through his bag, a worried look on his face. The other man comes around to his side and peers into the bag, too. They’re clearly missing a piece of equipment or experiencing some other difficulty.
They didn’t notice me.
I sit back against the seat and breathe a sigh of relief. But every breath still hurts.
It might hurt for a long time.
I remind myself that I have a plane to catch.
I let that thought fill my mind. I don’t look back at the palace.
Chapter 40
Alec
Nate drives aimlessly for five minutes, and then he seems to make up his mind about a destination. He doesn’t say a word. The man always understands when I’m not in the mood for chatter, and he’s known me long enough to know intuitively where to go when I’m having one of my moods.
Ninety minutes later, we’re pulling into Forestbridge, a quaint fishing village on the shore of a massive lake. It’s the kind of place even a crown prince can go without getting mobbed by the goddamn media.
That general depiction of the media may be a bit callous and undeserving. With a few exceptions—that idiot climbing the palace wall immediately comes to mind—the media in Saintland are a different animal from the rabid paparazzi in the United States. Even when the news broke about my fight with Marcus and everyone in the country was talking about it, the television reporters never left their designated spot outside the palace. The photographer who climbed the wall had his credentials revoked immediately. His punishment would have been far greater except, I found out later, he had not been arrested for trespassing on palace grounds at Marcus’s urging.
Still, Forestbridge is a haven. It’s a town with more pubs than churches, which makes it the perfect destination for a prince on the run from the weight of his own jackass behavior.
Even if it was, ultimately, the right f*cking thing to do.
But was it?
That line of thought is interrupted as Nate parks the car by the curb in front of the first of the five or six pubs we’d eventually visit in Forestbridge that day, moving on whenever the mood struck us.
It’s late afternoon and I’m tired, still feeling the effects of the last pint, when we decide to walk out on the public docks in Forestbridge.
The summer light is golden and hazy, reflecting its vivid hues on the ripples of the water.
“That’s a damned beautiful sight,” Nate says admiringly, crossing his arms over his chest as a breeze plays over us.
“Can’t argue with you there.” It’s true; the lake is gorgeous. I’ve been desperate for this type of serenity since Marcus died and everything was thrown into chaos.
But there’s something missing, and I know exactly who it is.
Jessica.
It was a stupid f*cking thing I did earlier, saying those things to her. And I can’t take them back. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to make things right between us.
All of a sudden, I’m gripped by a sudden and frantic urgency. I reach out and slap Nate on the shoulder, turning quickly away from the picturesque lakeside scene. “Let’s go.”
“Where to this time?” He hurries to match my stride.
“The palace.”
“Miss it already?” Nate jokes.
“Not a bit.”
He catches my meaning and walks faster.
Soon we’re back at the car and I slide into the back seat. Ninety minutes will be an eternity, but then I’ll be with Jessica again, and we can sort all of this out.
Nate drives at the very outer edge of the speed limit all the way back to Sainthall. The royal town car, with its flags flapping harshly in the breeze, didn’t draw more than a few sidelong looks in Forestbridge—they pride themselves on treating everyone equally there—but in Sainthall, the sight of the royal vehicle parts traffic like the Red Sea. For once, it pays to be the prince.
I ignore everyone as I race my way up to the third floor of the palace, my impatience finally getting the best of me. I have to see her. I have to fix this. Or at least do everything in my power to f*cking try.
Jesus. Will I ever be finished getting myself into these situations?
The door to Jessica’s rooms is propped open. I burst inside, my heart pounding painfully, desperate to see her.
Her rooms are a hive of activity. There are people coming and going, and at first I can’t understand what the hell is going on. Then I see Claire in the center of it all, directing two assistants, their arms full of clothing.
“Anything unworn, hang it back on the racks. Then—.” She breaks off as she sees me, dipping her head, fire in her eyes. “Your highness.”
“What’s going on here?” I demand.
Claire claps her hands twice, and the motion in the main room comes to a stop. “Give us a minute,” she says, and within seconds everyone has filed out into the hall leaving us alone.