Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(10)

“You sure you’re okay?” His voice was deep and gruff, and his eyes searched me for injuries even though nothing had happened to me.

“Yes. The car took a turn too fast. That’s all.” I let out a nervous laugh, my skin too hot for comfort beneath his fierce perusal. “I was more startled by you throwing me into the alley.”

“That’s why we should’ve driven.” He stepped back, taking his heat with him, and cool air rushed to fill the void. I shivered, wishing I’d worn a thicker sweater. It was suddenly too cold. “You’re too open and unprotected walking around like this. That could’ve been a drive-by.”

I almost laughed at the thought. “I don’t think so. Cats will fly before there’s a drive-by in Hazelburg.” It was one of the safest towns in the country, and most of the students didn’t even own cars.

Rhys didn’t look impressed by my analogy. “How many times do I have to tell you? It only takes once. No more walking to and from the shelter from now on.”

“It was literally nothing. You’re overreacting,” I said, my annoyance returning full force.

His expression turned to granite. “It is my job to think of everything that could go wrong. If you don’t like it, fire me. Until then, do what I say, when I say it, like I told you on the first day.”

Any trace of our semi-truce from the shelter vanished. I wished I could fire him, but I didn’t have a say over staffing decisions and no good reason to fire Rhys other than we didn’t get along.

I’d been so sure our shelter interaction marked the beginning of a new phase in our relationship, but Rhys and I had taken one step forward and two steps back.

I pictured us flying to Athenberg with nothing except our familiar icy silence keeping us company for hours and grimaced.

It was going to be a long Christmas break.





4





Rhys/Bridget





RHYS

Bridget and I arrived in Athenberg, Eldorra’s capital, four days after my no-more-walking decree opened a second front in our ongoing cold war. The plane ride had been chillier than a winter dip in a Russian river, but I didn’t care.

I didn’t need her to like me to do my job.

I scanned the city’s near-empty National Cemetery, listening to the eerie howl of the wind whistle through the bare trees. A deep chill swept through the cemetery, burrowing past my layers of clothing and sinking deep into my bones.

Today was the first semi-free day on Bridget’s schedule since we landed, and she’d shocked the hell out of me when she insisted on spending it at the cemetery.

When I saw why, though, I understood.

I maintained a respectful distance from where she kneeled before two tombstones, but I was still close enough to see the names engraved on them.

Josefine von Ascheberg. Frederik von Ascheberg.

Her parents.

I’d been ten when Crown Princess Josefine died during childbirth. I remembered seeing photos of the late princess splashed across magazines and TV screens for weeks. Prince Frederik had died a few years later in a car crash.

Bridget and I weren’t friends. Hell, we weren’t even friendly most of the time. That didn’t stop the strange tug at my heart when I saw the sadness on her face as she murmured something to her parents’ graves.

Bridget brushed a strand of hair out of her face, her sad expression melting into a small smile as she said something else. I rarely gave a damn what people did and said in their personal lives, but I almost wished I were close enough to hear what made her smile.

My phone pinged, and I welcomed the distraction from my unsettling thoughts until I saw the message.

Christian: I can get you the name in less than ten minutes.

Me: No. Drop it.

Another message popped up, but I pocketed my phone without reading it.

Irritation spiked through me.

Christian was a persistent bastard who reveled in digging into the skeletons of other people’s pasts. He’d been bugging me since he found out I was spending the holidays in Eldorra—he knew my hang-ups about the country—and if he weren’t my boss and the closest thing I had to a friend, his face would’ve met my fist by now.

I told him I didn’t want the name, and I meant it. I’d survived thirty-one years without knowing. I could survive thirty-one more, or however long it took before I kicked the bucket.

I returned my attention to Bridget just as a twig snapped nearby, followed by the soft click of a camera shutter.

My head jerked up, and a low growl rumbled from my throat when I spotted a telltale pouf of blond hair peeking from the top of a nearby tombstone.

Fucking paparazzi.

The asshole squeaked and tried to flee when he realized he’d been caught, but I stormed over and grabbed the back of his jacket before he could take more than a few steps.

I saw Bridget stand up out of the corner of my eye, her expression concerned.

“Give me your camera,” I said, my calm voice belying my anger. Paparazzi were an inescapable evil when guarding high-profile people, but there was a difference between snapping photos of someone eating and shopping versus snapping photos of them in a private moment.

Bridget was visiting her parents’ graves, for fuck’s sake, and this piece of shit had the nerve to intrude.

“No way,” the paparazzo blustered. “This is a free country, and Princess Bridget is a public figure. I can—”