The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(76)
“That’s enough, Adeline,” Father says, getting up from the table. Oh good. He’s leaving. “It would have been lovely to dine with all three of my children this morning, but alas, one wasn’t in residence when I arrived.”
“Ever the disappointment,” I say on a sigh. “If I had known you were gracing me with your presence this morning, I would have known to be here.” I’m not bloody psychic, and this is all very out of the norm, anyway. Father never joins us at Kellington for breakfast. If he wants to eat with his children, we are summoned to Claringdon with at least twenty-four hours’ notice. And what on earth is John doing here, too? He’s not stepped foot in my residence for … I can’t even remember.
“In future, we’ll be sure to work around your hectic schedule,” John says flatly, taking his napkin from his lap and laying it on the table as he rises. The acid lacing his words grate on every nerve I have, the ulterior meaning crystal clear.
“Yes, it’s awfully demanding sitting around looking pretty,” I snipe, unable to hold it back. I give him a sweet smile and flick my hair over my shoulder.
John rests his palms on the table and leans forward, his lip curling. “Get married and make yourself useful.”
“John,” Eddie snaps, shooting up from the table. “Don’t speak to her like that.”
I’m eternally grateful for Eddie’s intervention, but it will have entirely no effect. “Well,” John huffs, “we all work hard while she flounces around without a care in the world, doing as she damn well pleases and leaving a mess in her wake for everyone else to clear up.”
“I’ve never asked for my messes to be cleared up.” I stand too, matching John’s threatening pose. “I wouldn’t care if my messes were left messy. Who cares who knows if I had a date with a banker? Who cares if I shared company with a lawyer from Shoosmiths? Let the world know.”
“A date?” John laughs. “Shared company? Is that what you call opening your legs for any man who crosses your path?”
“For Christ’s sake,” Eddie breathes, anger clear in his expression.
I feel my blood begin to boil, and it doesn’t cool when I look at my father and find his eyes on me, interested in my potential comeback to John’s accusation. “I do not open my legs for any man who crosses my path,” I seethe. “And I would love to date like a normal person and not sneak around, but I am not permitted to do that, because I am a member of this God-forsaken family.”
“Enough,” Father roars, all his anger directed at me and me alone. As I would have expected, of course. “I will not hear you speak with such disregard for the Monarchy.”
I turn toward the King, feeling my nostrils flare with rage, and I once again comprehend how impossible my life is. He listened to my brother talk to me like I’m a whore. He shouldn’t tolerate that. I want to scream at him, tell him where I really was last night, and who I was with. But that would be cutting off my nose to spite my face. So I do the only thing there is to do. I curtsey to the King and leave the room, my eyes brimming with tears as I go. My vision may be foggy, but I see the bleakness of Damon’s expression as I pass him in the foyer. He heard it all. Everyone in Kellington heard. I rush up the stairs, keeping my head low to avoid the eyes of any staff, and fall into my suite, slamming the door behind me. And I do something that I haven’t done for years.
I cry.
I hide my face in my palms and sob like a baby, feeling so hopeless and distraught. I could easily run away. Disappear to somewhere they’ll never find me. Be anonymous and free. It’s a wonderful notion, if completely unrealistic. No matter where I go in this world, I will always be recognized.
And they will always find me.
“THAT’S HARDLY A NUTRITIOUS MEAL,” Dolly says to me where I’m slumped over the center island, nursing a glass of Merlot and picking at green olives. “Why don’t you let me cook you supper before I head home?”
I sigh, looking at the olive held between my fingers. “I’m not hungry.” Popping it in my mouth, I chew and wash it down with another slug of red as Olive wanders into the kitchen with a tray and sets it next to the sink. “Thank you for what you did earlier, Olive.” The poor girl was obviously uncomfortable hustling my clothes out of Kellington just to keep me out of trouble.
“Welcome, ma’am.”
“What’s this?” Dolly asks, pulling off her apron.
“Oh, nothing.” I flap a dismissive hand and reach for the bottle to top up my glass. Dolly will nag poor Olive something rotten if she knows she was an accomplice in my misdemeanors. Tipping the bottle, I frown when nothing comes out.
“Another?” Olive asks, pulling my attention to her. She already has a bottle in her hand before I can confirm my need for more.
“Thank you.” I push forward the empty and let her top me up so I can continue to drown my sorrows. “Here, have an olive, Olive.” I chuckle to myself like an idiot, and Dolly sighs in despair. Olive is far too polite to berate me. Regardless, I can tell she has heard that pathetic joke more than once. “Sorry.” I shrug and dive back into my wine.
“That’s me done for the evening,” Dolly declares, dusting off her hands. “I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”