Cracked Kingdom (The Royals #5)(73)

“Come in,” she says.

Inside is a Barbie-pink bedroom. Pink walls, pink carpeting, pink upholstery, pink ruffled curtains. It’s a princess bedroom if the princess was younger than ten. And never in a hundred years would I guess that the cool blonde girl would have this sort of love for pink.

“Dad decorated it,” East tells me, grabbing a pink chair and shoving it under my ass.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” Ella says, climbing on her bed. She pats a space next to her, gesturing for Easton to sit down, but he doesn’t go.

He places a hand on my shoulder. He’s picking sides and I don’t like it. This is his family. He shouldn’t have to choose between me and his family.

I stand up. “I don’t want to sit,” I tell him, and then put a little distance between us. He looks hurt, but it’s the right thing to do. I fold my arms and nod my chin toward Ella. “What do you need?”

“I don’t want to leave this to Callum. It’s not that I don’t trust him, but let’s say something happens and Callum’s guy doesn’t get the right picture. No one is going to be invested like you and me”—she flicks a finger between us—“so we should do it.”

“Okay.”

“No,” Easton says at the same time.

“Why not?” I turn a frown on him.

“Oh, I don’t know. Because it’s fucking dangerous?”

“Winwood Park has a bunch of trees lining the parking lot,” Ella says. “We can hide there.”

“Sounds good to me. Do you have a camera?”

“Yes—”

“Did you suffer brain damage, too, Ella? And what about you, Hart? I thought you just lost your memory, but it looks like you lost your mind, too,” Easton rants. He points to Ella. “Your dad uses guns.” He points to me. “And your dad may or may not have killed Mrs. Roquet to keep her quiet. We know he’s violent enough to have broken your wrist. Adding two plus two equals staying the hell out of it.”

Ella stares at him, then turns to me. “Yes, I have a camera, but no night vision on it. I’ll go to the store to get one in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan. I don’t have a car, but there’s a bus that stops about three blocks away if you don’t mind walking a bit.”

“Are either of you listening to me?” Easton bellows.

Ella and I both shut up.

“Could you keep it down?” grouses a voice from the door. “I’m trying to fucking sleep. I just got out of the hospital.”

We all spin to see Sebastian standing in Ella’s doorway, blinking owlishly at us. His dark brown hair is sticking up on one side and he’s wearing adorable blue satin pajamas with brown monkeys stitched on them.

“Sorry,” Ella says, rising from the bed.

When his gaze swings to me, he rears back in surprise. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I, ah—” I grimace. I don’t know what to say and seek Easton’s help. Should I tell him the truth or do Easton and Ella want to keep it on the down low?

“She’s here to help us make sure that Steve goes to prison,” Easton answers. “And don’t swear at Hartley.”

“I’ll swear at whoever the hell I want,” retorts his brother. “Especially this piece of trash who nearly killed me.”

“Seb, that’s not nice,” Ella protests. “You know it was an accident.”

“Screw nice. I drove that curve a million times and never had an accident until this bitch came along.”

Easton lunges forward. I grab his arm.

Ella runs to get in between the brothers. “That’s enough,” she scolds. She pushes Sebastian out of the doorway and says over her shoulder, “You two go to bed.”

A muscle in Easton’s jaw jumps but he gives a sharp nod. “Come on,” he says, and flips our grips so that he’s holding my arm instead of me hanging onto his.

He marches out, down the hall, flings a door open and shoves me inside. The door slams shut behind him, but not before I hear Sebastian say, “I can’t believe you’re letting this bitch sleep in our house.”

I don’t know what Ella’s response is.

“I’m sorry,” Easton says and stomps across to a set of closet doors. He disappears inside.

“Don’t be. Your brother has every right to feel the way he does.” Anxiousness gnaws at my stomach. How can Easton and I ever be together when his family is so opposed to it? Loneliness is a terrible feeling, and I don’t want Easton to experience that. It’s awful not being welcomed by your family. It’s a vile mixture of humiliation and abandonment. It’s every birthday party that was held that you didn’t get invited to, every game you were picked last at, every rejection you received multiplied by a million. It’s standing alone in a big vast desert and thirsting for one single drop, not of water, but of affection, attention…love.

“Easton, I don’t think I should be here.”

He comes out, blankets in his arms. “I’m going to sleep on the couch. You can have the bed.”

I don’t move. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to let you go, so you might as well get ready for bed. There’s an extra toothbrush here.” He tosses something at me and I reflexively catch it. “Do you want, like, pajamas? I can lend you a T-shirt or Ella might have real girl ones.”