Page 71 of Heartless Sinner

Absolutely not.

The group chat died after we told Blair to enjoy her night and made her promise to spill every detail when she got back to SVU. We all sent our versions of goodnight and love ya GIFs, and then I made myself comfortable.

I slept with my phone beside my pillow.

Just in case Brooks texted.

Sixteen

Brooks

Could I not return to the States?

Calira felt like a different world. One where I didn’t have to measure every move I made or every word that came out of my mouth. One where I could hunt Daphne down without worrying about cameras.

Seated in the navy leather chair aboard the jet, I finished another drink.

Is this my fourth?

Or fifth?

I’d lost count.

Alcohol never relaxed me. Weed did. But unfortunately, lighting up on a government plane was a bad idea.

So, I drank.

If it shut Daphne out of my head for five fucking minutes, tomorrow’s hangover was worth it.

Somewhere in the sky, Daphne was heading back to Saint Vale too.

Her going back to New York wasn’t what pissed me off. It was that she was flying back with Cory.

Before takeoff, I’d spent twenty minutes trying to get her on my jet. Even asking the king hadn’t worked.

Royalty flew on royal aircraft. That was the one thing the old man refused to negotiate on.

I hadn’t said one word to the King about the politics my father wanted me to. Less politics, more talk about his granddaughter had been my goal during this trip.

Not the granddaughter who sucked at stripteases.

The one who’d somehow clawed her way under my fucking skin.

I set my crystal tumbler aside and sank deeper into the leather, stretching my legs into the empty aisle. My conversation with the King replayed in my head.

I stood in front of his throne while eying his crown. It was hideous and ostentatious, but I kept that observation to myself. It wouldn’t help me get what I wanted.

See? There were times when I knew to show respect.

I stopped at the foot of his throne. “I’m making Daphne my Fawn.”

He shook his head, straightening his crown atop his head. “My prime minister’s son already requested her.”

“Him requesting her doesn’t mean he gets her.”

“They won’t be happy about that.”

He readjusted his crown again, as if his head had shrunk since he’d had it made.