Page 65 of Stolen Princess

“What?” shoots from my lips, and I try to turn around, but he stops me with his hands on my shoulders before they return to my hair, shampooing all the blood out. I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t realized he was doing that.

“Me telling you that wasn’t an invitation for you to face me. Don’t turn around. I’m trying to be selfless for once. It’s a stretch for me, I promise, so stay as you are.”

I blink against the suds and water that’s no longer running pink while I focus on the white tile of the wall. “What’s your real name?”

He’s quiet for a long moment before he says, “Ferrin. My name is Ferrin Morgan, but I haven’t used that name since I left Ireland. Then I became Rhys Stephan.”

My brows furrow. “Why?”

He moves me until I’m in the water and the suds run down my body and get washed away.

“Because Ferrin Morgan was a poor child who had a drunk, abusive father and a depressed mother who took her own life before he ended up in a different country in a horrible orphanage. Rhys Stephan was a thief. A brilliant one. He was charming and learned quickly, and women loved him. He was the hero in my favorite book, and I wanted to be him more than anything. He was limitless.”

“So you became him. A jewel thief. An outlaw.”

“Yes. Notorious. Infamous.”

I see.

But as his hands massage conditioner into my hair, I remember something and spin around on him without warning or caring if he stops me. I glare up into his pretty green eyes before I punch him straight in the stomach.

He oomphs and doubles over, one hand going to the wall for support, the other banding around his stomach. He’s naked, but I only catch a small glimpse of his… penis, but right now I’m too mad—there’s that useless word again—to care.

“What the fuck was that for?” he grunts, his accent thicker, though I still can’t tell if it’s Irish or American.

“You son of a bitch. This is all a ploy. You killed him so you could get me and win the prize.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You texted with my mother!” I shout and shove him back so I can slap his face. He doesn’t hit me back or come at me with aggression. Instead, he captures and holds my shoulders at an arm’s reach with a firm grip I can’t fight. Fucker. I point at him. “You know my mother. You’re after a tiara, and that’s why you came back for me, if you even left at all. Was that what the man was after too? What you killed him for?”

He stares down at me, a hard glint in his eyes. “What exactly did your mother tell you?”

“Fuck you! I’m not telling you anything! You knew my mother. This entire time, you knew her. You son of a bitch.” Hot, vengeful tears burn me. “You warned me, and I didn’t listen because you made me feel safe with you. You told me you wouldn’t hurt me. That you’d keep me safe, and you lied. You played me for a fool. You’re worse than all of them.”

He doesn’t soften. If anything, he grows firmer. “Genevieve, I’ll explain everything to you. I swear I will. Tell me what she said to you.”

“She sent me a picture of your text messages with her. You know, the ones where you talked about deflowering and killing me if you didn’t get the tiara. How do you know her? What is this tiara?”

His hands drop from my shoulders, and his eyes hold mine, eerily calm as water and steam surround us. “Princess Desta’s tiara.”

I wondered. I questioned. But I didn’t know for sure. His telling me that is like a bullet to my chest.

“Why—” My throat thickens, and I try to swallow, but it’s not working. I settle on clearing my throat instead. “Why does my mother have it?”

He’s stock still, watching me carefully. “She doesn’t. Or at least she claims she doesn’t.”

“And you’re after that? Is that why you came to the cottage? Why you agreed to come with me and didn’t simply take the knife and kill me?”

“No. Finding you was the oddest coincidence of my life, and if I believed in fate, I’d call it that too. I met your mother a few years back when she hired me to steal the tiara from a woman who I now know to be her sister. I did, and when I went to collect payment, your mother tried to kill me. I escaped and kept the tiara, but then a few months ago, it was stolen from a safe I had in someone else’s house. It was stolen by a woman. Your mother says it was her sister and said that if we find her and kill her, we can keep the tiara. But she wants you back. The house I had the tiara in belonged to the man from the alley and his twin brother. They were associates of mine.”

“Meaning thieves.”

He licks his lips and the water running down his face. “Yes. Thieves. I stole the necklace with them, and there was a knockoff tiara there. I took that too. They weren’t happy that I ran off and left them with a fake. They never knew I had the tiara in the first place. I sent them what your mother told me about her sister and getting the tiara, and I told them if they took care of that, they could keep it. But they were clearly already in contact with your mother and likely have been all along. My guess is that’s how she was able to steal the tiara from my safe in their home. I haven’t gone through Lars’s phone yet to confirm anything, but I know it. It’s how he knew about you. I never told him.”

I wrap my arms around my waist, suddenly feeling as naked and exposed as I am. My hair covers my breasts, so I focus on my lower half. Rhys—er, Ferrin—isn’t looking, though. He’s all over my face.

“You knew my mother. Did you see her at the cottage before we left?”