The Controversial Princess (The Smoke & Mirrors Duology #1)(81)
She just nods, as Felix answers his phone. “Yes? What? Darn it,” he spits down the line, looking back toward the club’s entrance. “I don’t care what it takes, do not let him in. I’ll be there in a jiffy.” He hangs up. “Must dash.”
I watch as he runs off, thankful for whatever emergency has removed him from my increasingly sweaty form before he notices something untoward. Matilda is still here, though. Staring at me. “You okay?” she asks.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” I start across the grass, my stinging eyes straying to where I saw Josh. He’s gone, but that doesn’t make me feel even remotely better. He’s here somewhere, and I don’t know where. How could he? After that wonderful night we shared, the words, the understanding, how could he do this to me? I swallow lump after lump, fighting to keep myself together. At least I don’t have to be concerned about keeping my hands to myself anymore. Ignoring the deceitful bastard should be easy as pie now.
I purposely dodge every member of my family, choosing my route carefully to the tent so I can avoid engaging with any of them. “Let’s get squiffy,” I declare, arming Matilda and myself with two fresh glasses of champagne.
“You know, you could seduce the Argentine and get him out of your system.”
“There is nothing in my system that needs to be removed,” I assure her, my damn traitorous heart bleeding for something I didn’t really have in the first place. I down my fizz and claim another. “But still, he has some front showing his face at a royal event after what he’s been up to.” My discontent starts to bubble into anger. Of all people, I know the press embellish things for entertainment and shock value, but I also know that there is no smoke without fire. You would think he’d be trying to avoid me, but here he is, bold as shiny brass at a royal gathering. If things were hopeless for us before, now … well, now it will be impossible. “He should be ashamed of himself,” I spit, throwing back another glass. “Women? Drugs? Vandalism? What a fool. I mean, who does that? Who behaves so deplorably?” I catch Damon at the entrance of the tent, watching me, his face stoic, though I can see the concern in his eyes. I sigh and look away, feeling utterly humiliated, despite the limited people who know of Josh’s and my rendezvouses. “I need a cigarette,” I declare, marching over to Damon and holding out my hand. “Don’t say a word. Please, just give me a cigarette.”
“I wasn’t about to say a thing, ma’am.” He reaches into his inside pocket and slips his packet and lighter into my bag where it rests on my hip. “Want to be alone?”
“Please.”
“Around the back of the tent. Stay close to the ice buckets. It’s out of view.”
“Thank you, Damon.” I’m aware Matilda is hot on my heels after my silly little rant, wanting to nail me down and squeeze all of my sins out of me, but Damon intercepts her. I need to be on my own for a few moments to calm down and talk some sense into myself.
Locating the ice buckets, I sit on a champagne crate next to them and light a cigarette, pulling in the longest draw. “You are a first-class idiot, Adeline,” I say on an exhaled plume of smoke. I let my guard crumble for the first time in my life and look what happens. I’m hurting in places I never thought I could hurt. I’ve been strung along, and I feel utterly humiliated. And angry. So very, very angry. And I’m angry for being angry. I shouldn’t care.
A cough sounds from behind me. It’s an over-the-top cough, a cough to suggest that my little vice is killing someone in close proximity. I’m about to turn around and tell whoever is invading my quiet time to find somewhere else to choke, but they speak before I can send them on their way.
“You told me you had given up.” Haydon rounds me, and I look at him looming over me, feeling like a naughty child caught misbehaving. “Now, now, Adeline, you know it is bad for you.” He reaches down and plucks the half-smoked cigarette from my fingers, looking at it in disgust.
“Maybe I like things that are bad for me, Haydon,” I mutter indignantly as I push myself up off the champagne crate and collect a whole bottle, working the foil. “Are you not playing today?” He’s wearing linen trousers and a dress shirt, no polo kit in sight.
“I thought it bad taste given my grandfather’s passing.”
“Oh, Haydon. Yes, of course. I’m so sorry for being so insensitive.” Now I feel terrible for him. Shit.
“We have a special guest playing. I volunteered to sit out.”
“Oh, the Argentine.” I pop the cork and catch the overflow with my mouth. Maybe I will devote a little attention to Mr. Garcia, if Matilda hasn’t pounced already, which I highly doubt. The woman dilly-dallies somewhat awful when it comes to men. “I hear he is a bit of a polo whizz.” I hold the bottle up on a smirk before tipping it to my mouth and swigging as much as I can before having to come up for air.
“Whatever has gotten into you, Adeline?” Haydon asks, obviously disgusted by my behavior.
I huff on a sarcastic laugh. “An American,” I whisper under my breath, tipping the bottle to my mouth again, somewhat determined to wash away my hurt with alcohol.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing,” I sigh, forcing my face into something resembling a smile. “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling myself today.” That is entirely untrue. I haven’t been myself since I first set eyes on Josh Jameson.