Page 121 of False Comeback

Vince’s dark eyes softened, but he didn’t comment on that. “Right. I still think there might be more to it than that, though. Motivating her, I mean. Maybe something happened with one of your brothers. Or the princess. Like, she threatened to marry someone else instead.”

“Maybe.”

“Is your dad around?” he asked with a frown.

“No. Our father died not long after my younger brother was born. Horse riding accident. Officially, at least.”

Vince’s brows shot up. “So it wasn’t really an accident? What the fuck?”

“Unlikely. Having someone so close to her acting as regent if she ever had to leave the court was too much of a threat to her throne, in her eyes, and as prince consort my father was automatically regent. When she does have to leave, she instead appoints a council of minor dignitaries who have practically no power, just to ensure things still run smoothly.”

“That’s fucking wild. That’s like… medieval shit. I’m sorry.” Vince squeezed my hand. “Were you close with your dad?”

“No. He was a lot like her. He probably would have tried to find a way to usurp the throne if he was still around.”

“Sorry. I won’t keep talking about it.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “The plan is going to work, so it doesn’t matter anyway. She can go fuck herself.”

I managed a weak snort and smiled, before it dropped from my face as I stared at him. I found myself saying, my voice unsteady, “I don’t want to leave, Vince.”

I don’t want to leave you.

His jaw tightened. “You won’t.” He pressed a firm kiss to my mouth. “I’m not letting you. Your mom may think she always wins, but she hasn’t met me yet. I always fucking win.”

—

I ended up dozing off, leaning heavily into Vince’s side on the couch. It felt like all I’d done for the last two days was sleep and cry, but I was still exhausted.

When I woke up, I was lying down with the blanket tucked around me, and I could hear Vince moving around in the kitchen. Rubbing my gritty eyes, I sat up and wiped my face, then pushed the blanket off so I could stand.

Just as I began making my way to the kitchen, I heard Vince hiss.

“Ow! You little fucker.”

Walking faster, I entered the room and Vince stood quickly when he saw me, a blush staining his cheeks.

“I just tried to pet your cat,” he grumbled. “Which was a mistake.”

“Oh. Yes. She’s at least partially evil.”

He glanced over with narrowed eyes at Lady Potato, who was innocently cleaning herself on a dining chair. “What’s her name?”

“Lady Potato.”

He looked at me in disbelief for a second, then snorted.

“She’s a rescue,” I said quickly. “I didn’t name her.”

“I figured.” He lifted his arm to inspect two long scratches on the back of his hand.

I cringed, rushing forward. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all good.”

“I think there’s some antiseptic ointment…” I hurried over to the junk drawer and began pulling things out of it to search. Vince wandered over, smoothing a hand up my lower back and kissing my shoulder absently.

Then he chuckled and asked, “Why do you have a letter addressed to Elvis?”

I sucked in a sharp breath and held it, my spine snapping straight. My horrified gaze darted down to the pile of mail I’d pulled out of the drawer.