Royal Disaster #5 Read online

  She pulls the gun away from her head and points it at me again. “Then why did he marry you?” Her gaze darts to Pax. “Why do you love her and not me?”

  “He…doesn’t. Love me, I mean.” I gulp, my breaths coming far too quickly as she turns to look back at me. “He…we…it was an accident.” I nod toward the plain wedding band on my left hand. “We were drunk. It meant nothing.” I shake my head at the woman, silently pleading with her. “He…he’s told me he loves you. He’ll always love you.”

  “Is that true?” Her voice is shaky as she turns back to Pax, pointing the gun now in his direction. “You do? You love me?”

  “I…” He looks over at me, blinking a few times. “I…”

  “I don’t want to hurt you. I…I really don’t.” Her eyes fill with tears again, but she doesn’t lower the gun. “I just…I need to know you’re mine. You need to prove it to me.”

  He nods. “Okay. Sure. Whatever you want.” He glances at me for a second. “But you can’t hurt her.”

  “It would be kind of fun though, wouldn’t it? So many people hate her. We’d really be doing the world a favor.”

  He nods again. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds…” He shakes his head. “You should put the gun down. I mean, if we’re going to be together, you don’t really want it to be forced, right?”

  She looks between the two of us, moving the gun as she does. “But you just told me you’d never love me, Pax. On the phone a minute ago. I think…I think you’re just telling me what you think I want to hear.” She lets out a small laugh. “You need to prove it. You need to prove you love me.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” I hear the anger rising in his voice again. “You think that’s how a relationship works? That I have to go killing someone to prove I love you?” He gives her a sharp shake of his head. “That’s crazy—”

  “He means…” My voice is so jittery I don’t sound like myself. “He means he can prove he loves you without…you know…killing me.”

  “Does he talk about me?” She looks over at me, a strange mix of emotions in her expression. “Did he tell you about me?”

  I glance at Pax, who is as pale as I’ve ever seen him. “Yes.” I nod, looking back over at her. “He’s told me all about you. He…he said your relationship was…intense. He was…he was afraid of how deep his feelings were for you. That’s…that’s why he had to end it. It was too intense.”

  She smiles, turning back to Pax. “Is that true?”

  He gulps, his head bobbing up and down. “Totally. It was way too intense.”

  “You have no idea how much that means to me, Pax.” She grins, glancing over at me before she turns back to Pax, the gun pointing again at him. “I just…I need to hear you say it.”

  “Say what?” His brow furrows. “I already said it was too intense—”

  “That you love me. I need to hear you say it. And…” She tilts her head in my direction. “And I want you to say that you don’t love her.”

  Pax

  Lots of things run through your head when you have a gun pointed at you. You suddenly realize what’s important and what isn’t.

  When a gun is pointed at someone you love, it’s different. Then, all that matters is saving their life. No matter what you have to say or do. But now that it’s pointed at me again…

  “Say it,” Abby demands, mascara running down her face. “Say it.”

  Weirdly, I’m not worried for my life. Not that I think Abby wouldn’t shoot me—it’s clear she’s gone off the deep end this time, and she’s even more dangerous than I thought—but because staring death in the face like this makes everything so clear. I love Sophia. I can’t believe she’s my wife. And it would kill me to deny that.

  The silence has gone on too long. Abby is starting to get twitchy.

  “Pax,” she says, a violent tremor in her voice. “Say it.” She lifts the gun a few inches higher, and I see her arms are shaking.

  “Pax,” Sophia echoes beside me. She obviously wants me to say it, too, but I can’t.

  But if I don’t say something soon, this situation is going to take a turn for the worse.

  “Abby,” I say, keeping my voice calm and steady, “is this really how you want our relationship to be?”

  Her wide, red-rimmed eyes dart to Sophia and then back to me. “What do you mean?”

  “Is this the kind of relationship you want us to have? Where you have to force me to say things at gunpoint? Where we don’t trust each other?”

  “How can I trust you?” she demands. “You married someone else! You took out a restraining order against me!”

  “Because he couldn’t trust himself around you,” Sophia answers quickly.

  She shouldn’t have spoken. Abby whips the gun toward her, and my whole body tenses. I need to diffuse this. Fast.

  “Abby,” I say. “Abby, look at me, please.”

  Her gaze moves back to me, and though she keeps the gun pointed at Sophia, her arms lower slightly. “If you don’t love her, then why does it matter if she dies?”

  “If you kill her, you’ll go to jail,” I point out. “And then we’ll never see each other. Is that what you want? To spend the rest of our lives separated by bars?” God fucking help me, I’d give my left kidney to see her locked up forever—but I’d kill her myself before I let her hurt Sophia. “Or would you rather have a real relationship?”

  “What kind of real relationship?” Her eyes are shifting quickly between us now. She’s still on edge. “You’re married to someone else! The only way we can have a real relationship is if she’s out of the picture.”

  “And there are ways to do that that won’t end with you in jail.” I swear to God, if you hurt a hair on her head, I will fucking kill you. “And I’m not just talking about that. I’m talking about the sort of relationship where we believe in each other. Where we trust each other. And we can’t have that if you don’t trust me.”

  “I’ve already given you all the reasons why I can’t trust you.” She sniffs, her eyes still wild, but to my relief she swings the gun back to point at me.

  “Then you don’t understand how trust works,” I say. “Trust is about choosing to have faith in the other person. About forgiving them when they’ve fucked up. About being understanding when they do things you don’t understand. Or even when they keep things from you.” I want to look at Sophia, but I don’t dare. “If there were no mistakes, then trust wouldn’t exist. Trust is about choosing to believe in the other person even when you have doubts. Isn’t that the kind of relationship you want? Something special? A relationship where we forgive each other’s mistakes and love each other’s imperfections?”

  Tears have filled her eyes again. “You think we could have that? You and me?”

  I should feel bad about lying to her, but honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass. She pointed a gun at Sophia. I’d kill her if I didn’t think it would make this entire situation worse.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” I say. “Give me the gun, Abby.”

  Wariness flashes across her face. But I see the hope there, too. Slowly, she lowers her arms.

  “That’s it,” I say gently. “Just give me the gun.”

  The shift happens quickly. One second I actually think she’s going to hand over the weapon, the next she jerks her arm up so quickly that Sophia lets out an audible gasp beside me.

  “No,” Abby says. “We’re doing this my way.” She blinks, and a pair of tears fall down her cheeks, creating new lines of mascara across her skin. “I need to hear you say it, Pax. Tell me you don’t love her.”

  “Abby, if you’d just—”

  “SAY IT!”

  The next couple of seconds happen in the blink of an eye, and at the same time they feel as if they happen in slow motion. Something in my face must give the truth away, because Abby seems to realize I’m never going to say what she wants me to say. Her finger pulls the trigger.

  “No!” Sophia shouts. Or maybe I’m the one s
houting. I don’t know. The sound of the gunshot is deafening.

  I grab Sophia, trying to push her out of the way. She grabs me, trying to do the same. We both go down, falling onto the hard, dirty carpet of the hotel room.

  My ears are ringing. Dimly, like she’s really, really far away, I hear Abby’s voice.

  “Oh my God.” She sounds hysterical. I hear something heavy hit the ground.

  The gun. She’s dropped the gun. I have to reach it before Abby picks it up again, but Sophia is in my arms, and I’m afraid to let go of her.

  I twist, trying to shift her weight in my arms, and that’s when I realize my shirt is wet.

  Sophia lifts her head. I think she says something. There’s blood on her cheek and down the side of her neck.

  I go cold. She’s been shot. Abby fucking shot her.

  I’ll kill that fucking bitch. I’ll grab the gun and—

  “Pax,” Sophia says, taking my face in her hands. “Pax, look at me.” Like with Abby, her voice seems far away. Damn gun must’ve blown out my eardrum.

  “I’ll…fucking…kill her,” I growl. “Where’s the…fucking gun?”

  “Pax,” she says again. God, there’s so much fucking blood on her… How the hell is she even speaking? “She’s gone, Pax. She ran off.”

  “I’ll…hunt her down. I’ll…fucking kill…her. For hurting you.”

  Sophia has her phone in her hand. She’s calling someone.

  “What…the hell…are you doing?” I demand. “Lie…down… You’ve been…shot!”

  “No,” she says, and when she leans closer, I see the tears on her cheeks. “You have.”

  Sophia

  It’s been almost two weeks since that awful day in the desert. I’ve spent every day at my husband’s side, waiting for him to regain consciousness.

  But I haven’t been alone. There’s been a constant stream of people in the room with us—his sisters have been here, the members of his band. And his mother has been at the hospital since the first day, but she says she can’t stand to see Pax like this. She’s set up camp just outside the door to his room. I don’t see her often—there isn’t much to say. When we do speak, I can sense that she blames me for what happened.

  And I can’t say that I don’t blame myself. The bullet that pierced Pax’s chest was meant for me. If he hadn’t shoved me out of the way, I’d be the one lying lifeless in bed—or maybe in the ground. And I can’t bear to leave him, knowing he was willing to give his life for mine.

  If that doesn’t prove he loves me, I don’t know what would.

  My family has been here, too. At this point, the days all blend together and I can’t remember who was here or when. Victoria was the first one to the hospital. Leopold after that. Nicholas was also here for a day or two.

  I rest my head on Pax’s bed, leaning over from the chair where I’ve been sitting for days. I don’t dare to get too close—they say the tube in his throat that breathes for him is delicate. Too much movement might dislodge it, so I keep my distance, just close enough to feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

  I don’t open my eyes when I hear the door open. It’s likely one of the many nurses or doctors who filter through many times an hour, checking to make sure there are still signs of life—and more recently, still signs of brain activity. They don’t think I’m awake, perhaps, but I hear them whispering about these things. Commenting under their breath about how much longer to prolong his life since it appears that his brain has already died.

  He lost too much blood—that’s what they said that first day. It took too long for the ambulance to arrive, and there wasn’t enough blood flowing to his brain to keep it functioning. No one knew how he lived long enough to arrive at the hospital at all. And no one understands why he’s still alive now.

  There’s a hand on my shoulder, and for a split second, I think perhaps Pax has awakened and is holding me. But as my eyes flutter open, I look up to see William, the third of my older brothers.

  He gives me a cautious smile. “Hello, Sister.”

  I sit up slowly, looking up at him as I let out a long breath. “So they convinced you to leave your pregnant wife to babysit me?”

  He chuckles as he pulls a chair over to sit across from me. “Justine asked me to go. Apparently, I’m being a little overprotective.”

  “And why wouldn’t you be? She’s growing the heirs to Rosvalia’s throne in her belly.” I smile for a moment—it’s been far too long since I’ve seen my brother. I would never admit to having a favorite sibling, but if I did, it would surely be William. He and I have always had the most in common of any of my brothers. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” He nods, reaching toward my cheek. “That’s some scar.” He touches the wound that stretches from just beside my nose to near my ear. “You should have a plastic surgeon take care of that.”

  I grab his wrist, pulling it away from my face. “It’s not important. And it reminds me every time I look in the mirror.”

  “Reminds you of what?” His brow furrows. “That a mad woman almost killed you and your husband?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “That if that bullet hadn’t grazed me first, it would have killed my husband. He saved my life, taking that bullet for me. Knowing this is here…” I reach up to my cheekbone. “It reminds me that I might have saved his, too.”

  “You don’t need a scar to remind you that you love your husband.” He glances over at Pax. “I trust that you wouldn’t have married the man if you didn’t love him.”

  “Really?” I tilt my head, giving him a small smile. “You of all people are saying you must be in love if you’re to be married?”

  He lets out a laugh, sitting back in his chair. “Touché, Sister. Touché.” He shakes his head. “But I can’t imagine my life without her now. Just as I imagine you can’t imagine yours without him.” He glances over at Pax again. “That is some tattoo. I can’t wait for the chap to wake up and tell me what it means.”

  I look over at my husband, reaching out to trace the artwork that extends from the side of his neck down his arm. I suppose I haven’t taken the time to appreciate it, either.

  “You really do love him, don’t you?”

  I nod as my fingers trail down Pax’s arm before I take his hand in mine. “I really do.”

  “Well, that’s all that matters then.” He tents his hands on his lap. “There is nothing more important than love.”

  “They want to turn off his life support, you know. They say he’s brain-dead.” I look up at my brother, tears filling my eyes. “I suppose I need to speak with his mother about what we should do. I…I…” I look down at Pax again as the tears spill down my cheeks. “I don’t know what he would want. We still don’t… We never got to know each other very well.” I shake my head. “The longer I sit here, the more I realize I don’t know him at all.”

  “You should talk to his mother, then.” He frowns. “But truly, he’s young. And strong. I…I don’t know what the answer is, Sophia. But most likely, if he loves you the way you love him, he’d want you to do what was right for you.”

  “What’s right for me is having him wake up. Having him live.”

  William nods, placing his hand over mine. “I understand that. But that isn’t the question. The real matter is whether you want him to live like this.”

  I close my eyes. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be facing a decision like this. Two months ago, I could have never imagined that I’d be married to the man I loved, let alone having to consider whether or not to let him die in peace.

  “Father wants to come to visit you.” William lets out a long breath. “Mother told him it was a terrible idea, considering his health, but he’s making plans as we speak.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “Not that I want to make things more difficult for you. I just thought you should know.”

  “I’m glad Father is making such a speedy recovery.” I can’t seem to take my eyes from Pax. “After what w
e went through in Montovia, though, I can’t imagine having him here would be good luck for any of us.”

  William chuckles. “I know. But he wants you to know he supports you. And dare I say, loves you. Not that he would admit such things aloud, of course.”

  “Of course not.” I smile down at my husband. “I suppose sometimes you don’t need to say those things out loud to know, though, do you?”

  “I suppose not.” William squeezes my hand again. “What does your heart tell you to do?”

  I bite my lip, trying to keep the tears from spilling down my cheeks again as I look up at my brother. “I’m going to wait a little longer. At least a few more days—maybe even a few more months. And I’ll make my decision when I’m ready.”

  Pax

  I’ve never seen so many women in my entire life.

  I’m on a beach, the sun blazing down on me, and everywhere I look, in every direction, are women. Beautiful women, every single one. Women of every shape and size. Some are dressed in bikinis, some just naked. I’m naked, too. I spot one incredibly sexy woman rubbing sunscreen all over her friend’s back—both are completely nude, and both seem to be enjoying the activity quite a bit. On my other side, nearly a dozen women dressed in the skimpiest bikinis I’ve ever seen are playing volleyball in the sand. Out in the ocean in front of me, women laugh and float on the waves, their breasts poking up like buoys.

  I grin. Wherever I am, I think I’m going to stay for a while.

  I begin a slow amble down the beach, greeting the women as I pass. Most of them look happy to see me—many smile and wave, and a few shout out, “I love you, Pax!” as I pass. The only thing that would make this better is a cold beer in my hand.

  Instantly, the drink appears.

  Sweet. Now everything is perfect. I take a long swig of the beer. It’s not any brand that I’m familiar with, but it’s fucking perfect—like someone knew exactly what I wanted in a drink and magically created it just for me.