Royally Matched (Royally #2)(59)

Penny squeals. “Oooh, that’s creepy! Well, Henry can take you after filming, but count me out! I won’t be able to sleep another night in this old place again.”

She tugs on Henry’s arm.

“Come on, they’re waiting for us. And you have to wash up and change.”

He lets her pull him along, glancing back over his shoulder once to look at me.





Turns out, watching Henry play house with my sister makes it worse, not better. When she flicks confectionery sugar at him flirtatiously, I want to vomit. And when he wipes a bit of batter off her cheek with a cloth—a strictly platonic move—I realize I’m done. Finished. I can’t watch this anymore. I don’t want to.

And more than that, I can’t hide in my room knowing that scenes like this—and worse—are going on outside of it.

I feel his eyes follow me when I turn on my heel and stomp upstairs.





TWO HOURS LATER, I find her in our room, packing, with John Cale singing “Hallelujah” softly in the background from her mobile. Watching Sarah slowly gather her things, seeing her precious books packed in the satchel by the door, all ready to go, makes me fucking livid. Furious. Does she really think she can just walk away?

Does she actually believe I would let her?

I want to throw all her things out the window into the ocean and tie her to the bloody bed—and I know how unhinged that sounds, which is why I’m not saying it out loud.

I don’t want to control her; I just want to keep her. Her gentle spirit, her kind loveliness has become the center of my world and I’m not sure I know how to function anymore without it. I take it back—I don’t want to tie her to the bed, at least not right now.

Right now, I just want to tie Sarah to me.

I cross my arms, leaning against the closed door. She jumps when I speak, like she didn’t know I was here.

“What are you doing?”

My voice is calm, but I know my eyes are bright and intense, and there’s a visible frantic energy in my limbs, because we both know exactly what she’s doing.

“I’m going to go home now.”

I nod, watching her every move. The soft sway of her hips, that lovely tight bottom that was made for biting, the gentle slope of her jaw that’s now tense with her frustration.

She lays a stack of sweaters in the suitcase and I move forward, quick and sharp. And a second later, her sweaters aren’t in the suitcase anymore—they’re strewn all over the room, because that’s where I tossed them.

“Hey!”

Glaring at me, she picks one up, shakes it out, folds it, and places it in the suitcase—and then it’s back out again, flying over my shoulder.

“Stop that!”

I move in closer, going nose to nose. “You stop it. You’re not going anywhere.”

She throws her arms up. “Why not? Penny’s been on her best behavior—there’s no reason for me to be here!”

“I’m the reason!” I shout back. “I need you here!”

Sarah looks away, off to the corner of the room. “I can’t do it. I can’t stand it. I thought I could but I can’t. Watching you with them makes something ugly and painful spring up inside me. Maybe you could come to me when it’s all over and then we can see if there’s something between us . . .”

If there’s something between us? Has she lost her fucking mind?

“I’ll quit the show. Today.”

That brings her up short—she genuinely wasn’t expecting it. She actually thought I was going to just let her walk out the door. I can’t decide if that’s more funny or sad.

“I don’t think you can do that.”

“I can do anything I want . . . it comes with the title.”

“Vanessa will be furious.”

I shrug. “That’s why we keep lawyers on retainer.”

Sarah moves closer, slowly, cautiously, looking up at me.

“You would do that? Quit, just because it makes me upset?”

I almost laugh. “Of course.”

“Why?”

And then I’m the one peering down at her, with perplexed, puzzled eyes.

“Because I’m in love with you, sweet silly girl.”

She goes still, just . . . looking at me. And wetness rises in her eyes.

I press my palm to her jaw.

“Didn’t you know that? Can’t you see it, Sarah? I’m absolutely gone for you.”

Her breath shudders as she inhales. “I wasn’t sure. I’d hoped, but . . .”

I slip her glasses off and set them on the bedside table so I can kiss her eyelids, tasting tears.

“I love you.”

Then I kiss each cheek and her dainty little chin. “I love, love, love you.”

I kiss the tip of her nose and her plush, perfect mouth.

And then we’re falling, falling onto the bed. I push aside suitcases and clothing, making room, but my lips never leave hers. I slip both my hands beneath her head, holding her and lifting, our tongues stroking, swirling. And then I angle my mouth across Sarah’s, and my hands skim over soft flesh and into her hair and back down again. She pulls at the hem of my shirt, raising it up my spine—I lift my arms, helping her.

And then her hands delve into my hair, stroking and gripping. Her lips are at my collarbone, across my chest, up my neck and my jaw.