49.1
Kev
Isabel is ignoring me, sitting in the helicopter with her headset on, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s practically pouting.
I hate pouting. Hate it more than anything in the world. I hate whining and sighing, the passive-aggressive crap I get from women when I don’t want to see them again. Which is, obviously, every time.
I should hate the way Isabel sits there, silent, acting as if I don’t exist.
I should hate the way her lower lip protrudes slightly, displaying her displeasure.
I should hate the way she was excessively friendly the rest of the afternoon, formal to the point of ridiculous, all “Prince Kevin this” and “Prince Kevin that.”
The problem is, I don’t hate any of it. I don’t hate it at all.
I fucking love it.
I love the fact that her lower lip is still swollen from my mouth on hers, even hours after I kissed her.
I love that she’s on edge.
And I love the fact that I know why she’s so irritable, so on edge.
I love that it’s because of me. I'm doing my last-minute pre-flight checklist, when Nathaniel interrupts. "Max has your sister, sir," he says. "We'll need to wait a few minutes."
Max brought my sister back from her jaunt off to wherever with Finn Asher? Okay, so the thought makes me laugh. I can't help myself. Alex is going to be pissed as hell when she comes back. I can't imagine the earful the bodyguard is getting right about now.
When the dark-colored SUV pulls up in the driveway, Max gets out, opening the back door and obviously arguing with my sister for a minute, before throwing her over his shoulder and walking toward us. Alex unleashes a litany of expletives as she punches him on the back.
"Your bodyguards have an interesting method of doing their jobs," Isabel says, half-under her breath, into the headset.
"If we came back without Alexia, my father would fire him," I tell her.
Max deposits Alex firmly on the seat beside Isabel, and Alexia gives him the dirtiest of dirty looks. "When we get back to the palace, I'm getting a new bodyguard," she say, her voice getting louder as she speaks. "One who isn't a fucking caveman!"
"Be my guest, Princess," Max says, sliding into his seat. He ignores her when she calls him a "cocksucker," and looks up at me. "Ready when you are, sir."
Alexia looks over at Isabel. "Maybe you should go back to America," she says. "It's better than being kept prisoner in your own house!" She sighs dramatically for effect, sinking into her seat with her arms crossed over her chest.
"What's with you lately?" Price asks, slapping me on the back. We're sitting in the upstairs VIP room of a club we frequent. The walls are made entirely of glass, and overlook the crowd below. Well, a club we used to frequent. It's been weeks since I've been out, which in royal terms is practically a lifetime. "You haven't been out since you came back from the States."
"Nothing's up with me." I sip a glass of scotch from a bottle that costs over a grand, sitting on a cushioned sofa in one of the most exclusive clubs in the capital of Venici. I should be happy with this.
Instead, Isabel has me wrapped around the axle, so blinded by lust I can't see straight. Now I'm two glasses of scotch in, trying to clear my head.
"You just turned down the Lara twins," Price says, nodding toward the two women walking away. Nathaniel stands by the door to the room, nodding at us to see if we want him to let another set of women inside to replace the girls who just left. Price holds his hand up to motion the girls inside, but I stop him.
"What the hell?" he asks. "When did you become a monk?"
I shrug, attempting to exude a nonchalance I don't feel. "Sorry if I don't want to stick my dick where a thousand other guys have been."
"Twins, Kev," he says, rolling his eyes as he leans back against the upholstered sofa. He swallows several fingers of vodka in a single gulp. "Since when have you ever given a shit about who you put your dick in?"
"Shut up." I can't think of a single time, other than the crazy ex, when I'd even bothered to get a girl's name. Well, maybe a few times, when I screwed women I already knew socially – countesses, duchesses, people like that. But they were forgettable.
They've all been forgettable.
