One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(79)

A blink later, Cecelia takes her place—hand outstretched for me to dance with her where I sit beneath my windowsill as she sways in a cloud of smoke emitted by my exhale.

What I’ve allowed to happen between us is an illusion, one I bought into—that, as of late, I started feeding.

Tobias surpassed it all. Bulldozed past Delphine, our fucked situation, all of it, while managing to stick to the game plan without entanglements holding him down. Yet, I can’t make it past the daughter of the man I hate with every fiber of my being?

For my brother, I will, or else I’ll ruin everything we’ve collectively overcome to get to where we are.

I have to let her go.

Decision made, I speed toward the end of the secret I can no longer participate in and park on a dime when I reach the house.

It ends now.

Stalking through the front door and up the stairs, I’m stopped at the door by the sight of her lying face up at the end of my bed, wearing nothing but one of my black T-shirts and tiny boy shorts. Hair spilling over the side of the mattress, knees drawn, a book hoisted at eye level. She spots me, turning on her stomach, her smile lighting up the room as her soul-filled eyes meet mine. “There’s my motherfucker.”

Fuck.





“Hi,” she says, eyes rolling down my frame before she bounds toward me where I stand, dripping at the door. “You’re soaked.” She lifts, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips. “What took you so long?”

“Business,” I lie, taking a step in as she blocks me playfully, matching my footing.

“What business?” She asks.

I lift a brow, and her brow quirks before she rolls her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Whatever means you’re not an accessory after the fact,” I snap, “secrets keep you safe.”

“Secrets keep me insane.” She shivers at the chill from the rain droplets spilling onto her while clasping her hands around my neck. “I missed you,” she whispers, “been missing you . . . where have you been?”

“Busy.” Gripping her hands, I release her hold as my stunted heart thunders back in a determined rhythm while her expression draws in confusion. Destruction has been my sole focus for so long that I don’t know how to slow my desire for chaos enough to fully give her the few peaceful parts of me I have left. I’ve educated myself to the point that it’s maddening. I know too much to ever know peace like other people do. Where Sean sees a glass half full, I can only imagine shattering it. I’m too enraged, too fucking frustrated with all that’s wrong. All that needs to be fixed, all that I want to fix—to change that for anyone, let alone a nineteen-year-old girl.

End this, King.

Frowning, she runs her finger along my drawn brows. “There’s too much going on in there. You were just with me. What happened?”

I shake my head and try to move past her again, and she refuses to let me pass. “No. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“You know I fucking can’t.”

“Agh,” she groans in irritation. “You’re the worst conversationalist in the history of ever.”

“Talk feelings with your girlfriends, Cecelia. I’m not one of them,” I remind her as I often do. Guilt threatens as hurt flits in her eyes, but I bat it away as I walk over to my dresser and grab some boxers. The second I unbuckle my belt, Cecelia plants her elbows on the bed and palms her face, her eyes following my every movement, and I stare back at her, annoyed. “You just going to watch me?”

“Less talking, motherfucker, more stripping. And when you get those boxers down, make sure you walk away nice and slow.”

I pause, jeans dangling on my hips. “You’re making this weird.”

She grants me an exaggerated eye roll. “Everything’s weird for you, right? Because God forbid you let a second of intimacy linger when you’re not fucking me. You can kiss me so tenderly as you take down my panties and stroke my face when I’m sucking your dick, but a second outside one of us coming, you clam up as though you’re incapable. So,” she turns her finger around, “if I’m stuck with minimally invasive conversation and the fact that you barely take your jewelry off before you fuck me,” she adds as I unclasp my watch, “the least you can do is entertain me.”

“I’m not here for your fucking entertainment.” I slam said jewelry on the dresser.

“No? Then stop holding back every time we start getting closer.”

“If you aren’t happy here,” I shrug, “the guy you need is a bedroom over.”

She leaps from the bed, expression drawn with contempt. “Frankly, I’m sick of fucking hearing that, Dominic. It’s a pathetic excuse. If you ever say that to me again, this is over.”

She might as well have stabbed me with the threat. And because of that, it needs to be over. It has to be.

“I have to work tonight, so,” I nod toward my bedroom door in dismissal as she stares at me for a few beats before moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Huh,” she says, staring at her toes, “I’m guessing you’ll have to work on the next rainy day, too?”

She slowly lifts her eyes, and I stare right back at her as I answer. “Yeah, I will.”

Ignoring the tightness in my chest, I walk into the bathroom before snapping the door behind me to make my message clear. A second later, the knob nails me in the ass as she opens it, and I reel on her. “What the fuck?”