The Fearless King (The Kings #2)(55)

Frank followed Journey upstairs and found her in the room she’d sent him to earlier. She caught his expression and shrugged. “The family suites are on the other side of the house, and all your stuff is already here. No reason to move.”

It felt like they’d stepped into a parallel universe as Frank brushed his teeth next to her and they both stripped before climbing into bed. Frank pulled her to him and tucked her against his chest. A heartbeat passed, and then another, and she still stayed rigid in his arms. He smoothed a hand down her spine. “Relax. We both need this after today.”

“Right, the locusts.” She draped her arm over his chest, and the worst of the tension slowly bled out of her body. “This is weird, right?”

“This is comfort.”

“I thought fucking was comfort.”

He rolled his eyes at her cheeky tone. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

Her eyes drifted shut, but it was a long time before she fully relaxed and her breathing evened out. Frank lay there and watched her sleep—watched over her while she slept. If he let himself, he could imagine countless nights stretching out before them, all beginning just like this—with Journey asleep and trusting in his arms and with him letting the steady sound of her heartbeat lull his eyes closed. Nights that morphed into mornings and days and back into nights.

Yeah, if he let himself, he could imagine an entire fucking future with Journey King.

*



Eliza glanced over her shoulder and shoved her suitcase into the trunk of the car she’d borrowed from Bellamy. She swore she could feel eyes grinding into the space between her shoulder blades, but the street was mostly deserted outside her hotel. Doesn’t matter if my father does have someone watching me. It’s too late to stop me now.

She slammed the trunk shut and hurried to the driver’s door. She’d booked the last flight out of Houston immediately after that disastrous meeting with Elliott and Anderson. By tomorrow, she’d be safely back in New York and beyond her father’s reach. Marry a stranger for the sake of Kingdom Corp? He’s out of his goddamn mind.

Her phone rang as she threw the car into gear, and she almost didn’t answer it. But it was Bellamy, and if Eliza owed anyone in the family an explanation, it was her brother. “Hey, B.”

“Why do you sound like you’re in a car?”

“Because I am.” She stopped at a red light and checked the time. Not too long now. It’ll be okay. “I’m going back to New York.”

A pause, like she’d shocked him. “Where are you, Eliza? Just stay there and I’ll come get you.”

Hurt grew jagged tendrils in her chest. She’d thought that, of all of them, Bellamy would understand that she needed to go. Apparently she was wrong. “I can’t stay. I won’t allow him to turn me into some trophy wife for the sake of a fucking merger.”

“Goddamn it, you’re not listening to me. I’ll drive you to the airport myself, but it’s not safe. Just pull over. I’m on my way.”

The light turned green and she pressed the accelerator. “What are you talking about?”

“Elliott—”

Movement out of the corner of her eye made her look just as a truck smashed into the side of her sedan. The impact shattered the windshield into a thousand pieces and crumpled the car around her even as the airbag deployed, punching her in the face.

The last thing Eliza heard was Bellamy yelling her name.





Chapter Sixteen



At the end of the best night’s sleep Journey had in six months, she woke up on Frank’s chest. Drooling. Oh my God. It couldn’t get any more awkward—in addition to pushing him to tell her things he obviously didn’t want to last night, now she was doing this.

She slid back carefully and headed for the bathroom. He still wasn’t awake when she got back, which indicated a level of trust that he’d never admit to aloud. She watched him sleep for a few seconds, but the only thing worse than drooling on a sexy man was getting caught watching him sleep like the ultimate creeper.

She pulled on a pair of leggings and a tank top and headed down to the kitchen. Journey considered the mess they’d left in the kitchen the night before and grabbed an apron. Might as well make myself useful since I’m up. She tied it around her waist and got to work.

It took less time than she expected, so she started on a breakfast potpie. A little too complicated to feed two people, but after last night, Journey needed the busy work to keep her from overthinking things.

Frank knew her ugly truths.

He knew and he hadn’t turned away from her.

It really wasn’t that high of a bar to set, but she could count on one hand how many people had cleared it—and still have fingers left over. A lot of fingers. She sighed and finished chopping the potatoes. Next up was grating the sharp cheddar that would seal everything together in the pie in the most delicious way possible. Then some bacon and eggs, and it would be ready for the oven.

She transferred the cheese to a bowl and stared at it for a long moment. Frank had a lot of secrets in his past, too. She’d known some of them—everyone knew what Henry Evans had been convicted of—but his mother’s fate had never made the news. It should have.

Now she understood more about why Frank operated the way he did. He’d had a taste of what happiness might be, and then life had orchestrated to kick him in the teeth over and over again with the loss of both his parents. No wonder he fought so hard for power—it represented a wall of protection for him and everyone under his care. It ensured he’d never share his parents’ fates. That the people who condemned his father would never get the chance to condemn Frank, that he’d never have to sit idly by while someone he cared about wasted away.