Chapter 11: My Dark Prince: Chapter 10

“You’re letting me drive your Ferrari?” Frankie squealed, clapping her hands together like a seal.

I’ll let you drive a fucking M1 Abrams tank if it means you leave me the hell alone.

“Sure.” I tossed my keys into her hand. “Try not to run anything over.”

“No promises.” Frankie spun the fob ring over her index finger. “But hey, I love your optimism. Why are your eyes rimmed red?”

“Too much pot.”

I did not smoke pot. But I was well on my way to meth if I couldn’t bleach Briar Rose from my memory in the next few hours.

Briar. Not Briar Rose, dipshit.

But she still smelled like Briar Rose. Sweet, and floral, and so damn tempting I’d fought off a semi the second she’d laid hands on me. She was the same girl, down to the chewed-up nails, and yet … different. Fiercer.

Frankie pouted, loitering in the grand lobby. “Are you, like, in love with the intimacy coordinator?” She narrowed her eyes. “Because I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know … affected.”

Could I really be in love with a woman I had not seen for fifteen years? Logically not. But logic was a foreign concept to me at present. What were social constructs, anyway?

“Go home, Franklin.”

“My home is in Georgia.”

“I said what I said.”

“Wait … can I keep the car?”

“If I give it to you, will you leave?”

“Yes.”

“Congratulations. You’re the new owner of a Ferrari.”

She shrugged, strutting toward the elevators, hips swaying left and right. The moment she vanished between the metal walls, I torpedoed into the bar across the lobby and collapsed onto a stool.

The Grand Regent boasted of old-world exquisiteness, a modern mixture of Hogwarts and Hotel Lutetia. Brown upholstered leather recliners bracketed sleek mahogany tables. Antler chandeliers peppered the ceiling along a mirrored bar.

I rapped my knuckles on the counter. “Sazerac.”

Kelsey, my smart-beyond-her-years bartender, eyed me. “Straight?”

“Unfortunately.” I snatched up a copy of the Wall Street Journal, thumbing through it without reading. “Though I am having a horrible time with the fairer sex today. Perhaps I should reconsider this status.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” The halo of dark curls framing her kind eyes bounced as she collected the absinthe and cognac and poured them into a cocktail shaker, popping a cube of sugar into it.

“No. I’d like to stew in my self-loathing quietly, please.”

Little Briar Rose wasn’t so little anymore. The rose’s fine pointed bud had blossomed into something even more delicate and forbidden. Her beauty was still careless. Haphazard. An intoxicating cocktail of wavy curtain bangs, a messy top bun, an oversized denim jacket, and knee-length socks.

It didn’t surprise me that she was stylish and put-together. But it knocked the breath out of me that she’d manage to remain so uniquely herself. She wore suspenders. Suspenders. Her entire look was a big fuck-you to her parents.

Kelsey served my drink with a big toothy smile. I took a swig of it and tossed the newspaper across the bar, unable to concentrate. I told myself it didn’t matter that a mere few dozen floors separated me and Briar. That I simply didn’t care.

But each time the elevators dinged, I spun to face them and sagged at the sight of whatever schmuck exited.

You’re waiting for her, dipshit.

I paused, the glass ice against my lips. Well, fuck. I realized what it looked like – waiting here like Joe Goldberg’s long-lost brother, ready to ambush her as soon as she finished work.

But I had to see her again.

This was a need, not a want.

This means absolutely nothing. You’re not interested in reconvening where you left off. You’re just … curious.

Sure. Curious.

It didn’t mean anything that I instructed all my staff – top management to bellboys – to let the crew leave only through the main entrance. Or that I all but ensured she’d pass the lobby if she wanted to escape.

We’d meet again, whether she liked it or not.

And no, it meant nothing.

Briar had grown up to be an intimacy coordinator. Did that mean she now lived in America? Not necessarily. Was she married? Did she have a boyfriend? Was she in touch with her so-called parents? Did she ever reach out to Cooper? Was she happy?

I was fairly sure I could find the answers to most of these questions. Of course, I had no right to. Back then, I’d made the executive decision to leave her alone after learning my true nature the hard way. I was – and am – a walking, talking disaster. Ready to ruin lives at a moment’s notice. The further I stayed away from her, the safer she would be.

That should’ve been enough to drive me out of my seat and into the Ferrari with Franklin.

And still.

Still.

I swiveled on my stool and eyed the elevators, waiting for her to emerge. Each time the doors opened and out trudged along a loved-up couple, a businessman, or a herd of tourists, my teeth slammed together, until I could feel them dissipating into powder.

An hour ticked by, then another.

Finally, at nine at night, I snapped my fingers.

On cue, Kelsey materialized behind the bar. “Sir?”

“Have them evacuate the presidential suite floor.”

“Do you mean the room?”

“The entire floor.” I was not taking chances.

“Uh … do I give them a reason?”

“Because I said so.”

Ten minutes later, the film crew began dispersing, trickling through the elevators. The lowly hair and makeup personnel filed out first, followed by the technicians and cameramen. Next came the producers, director, and their assistants. And lastly, the actors.

I caught a glimpse of the infamous Scarlett Boureanu, a redheaded bombshell who’d become Hollywood’s latest darling. She sent me a wink, which I pretended not to register, craning my neck to catch a glimpse of the woman behind her.

Sure enough, it was Briar. Unlike her glamorous client, she wore a tattered green ballcap, a trench coat, and a magazine she covered her face with.

And still, I recognized the wisps of her red-gold hair.

I slid off the stool and jogged toward her. “Briar, wait up.”

She did not, in fact, wait up.

Instead, she sped up.

Her sneakers squeaked along the marble as she ducked her head and bolted out of the entrance, bypassing a cluster of bellboys and doormen.

“Mr. von Bismarck, has your mother not taught you to take a hint?” Scarlett tooted from behind me, taking her sweet time.

I ignored her, running faster after Briar. I realized I was acting irrationally. Perhaps even predatorily. Either way, it didn’t make a difference. Even if I wanted to explain why I’d disappeared all those years ago without a word, which I did, I couldn’t.

I couldn’t communicate it to her via letters, emails, or phone call then, and I couldn’t now. I’d made a promise not to breathe a word about what had happened, and I intended to keep it. But she was the only person I ever wanted to tell the truth to.

Briar picked up her pace. “Leave me alone.”

It was cold, dark, and damp. The last dregs of a February day. Though Briar was sensibly dressed, I remembered how cold she’d always get. Even in the summers.

“Stop. Let’s go inside and talk.”

I never pleaded.

I did now.

But Briar kept zipping down the walkway, a bundle of chaotically stylish clothes getting further away from me. “I’m not giving you the time of day.”

I quickened my pace as we edged toward a row of moonlit trees. “It won’t take long.”

The golf course loomed beyond the trees, currently under construction. Closed to the general public.

Briar ran faster. “Who could believe you’d grow up to become an empty suit?” The wind slapped her voice, slurring it to an uneven volume. “Actually, me. I can believe it pretty easily. You were never one to mean what you say.”

I was not an empty suit.

I was holding my family’s business together while my parents drowned into deep depression and my brother remained MIA.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She ignored me, taking a sharp turn to the right, past the trees and into the golf course.

“You need to stop,” I ordered. We were both stumbling downhill in the pitch black. “Someone’s gonna get hurt.”

“As long as it’s you, I’m not bothered, empty suit.”

“I am not an empty suit.”

A muscle jumped in my jaw. Normally, on Grand Regent grounds, I welcomed this misperception. But with Briar, I wanted her to know the truth for some reason. It didn’t even matter. The night would end, morning would come, and we’d go our separate ways. No other option.

“Besides … an intimacy coordinator?” I tsked, wondering if I could piss her off into stopping. “That’s not even a real job.”

It worked.

Briar froze, just a few feet shy from a water hazard.

“Yes, it is, and unlike you, I actually support myself doing what I love.” She pursed her lips, whirling around to face me. “You know, my entire life, I dreamed of someone who would protect me. Who would look out for my interests and welfare. That person never came. Not my mother, not my father, not my biological dad, and sure as hell not you.”

Her voice shook around the last word, like the very thought of me disgusted her. I wanted to die there and then. To perish at her feet for failing her.

“Briar—”

“No. You don’t get to interrupt me.” A cloud formed around her lips as her words met the crisp air. “At the end of the day, I didn’t choose this profession. It chose me. I wanted to dedicate my life to making others feel protected when they’re vulnerable. I like to walk into a set knowing that my actors trust me to have their wellbeing in mind at all costs. My job allows me to be someone’s mother and father. Sister and friend. The world wasn’t kind to me. So, I made sure to be kind to others. To right this wrong.”

I read between the lines. I was the wrong that needed righting. And she did not want me to fuck up her life again. Message received.

And yet …

And yet.

We were both panting, catching our breaths. Briar planted her hands on her knees, her bangs matted on her forehead and temples under the ballcap.

“I’m sorry.” I meant it. “I’m sorry this happened to you. All of it. And I am sorry that I was another person who let you down. But I went through my own shit.”

She scowled, parting her lips before she clamped them together. Her eyes slammed shut. She sucked in one, two, three heavy breaths before she opened them again. “What happened?”

This was my moment to tell her the truth.

The ugly, horrible revelation.

That I was a monster.

And I couldn’t do it.

The words wouldn’t come out.

“Well?” She jutted her chin up, her gaze sharp and unyielding. “You chased me twice today. Tell me what it was that kept you away from me. I know I was an intense kid. I realize I put a lot of pressure on you. But you could’ve picked up the phone one day. Nicely told me that you were busy, weren’t interested, and wanted a casual friendship. Instead, you cut me off so brutally that when I showed up at your house, you let security escort me out.”

I winced. This happened shortly after I’d graduated from Harvard, before I ran away to Cambridge for my master’s degree. She’d been a tiny, miserable thing. Drenched to the bone with rain. All alone. And I hadn’t let her in.

She was right. I was a monster. I did not deserve forgiveness.

I bowed my head. Silent.

“Of course. You’re a real fucking dreamboat, Oliver.” She shook her head, tossing her hands in the air. “Nothing’s changed. Least of all you. The next woman to tell you she loves you is a fool.”

Briar spun around and trudged toward the lip of the water hazard. Under the cloak of darkness, the fabric fence that bordered it all but disappeared. Her legs tangled in the mesh.

“Cuddlebug, watch out. There’s a—”

She tipped forward, falling over to the other side, her arms flailing. I heard a grunt, followed by the thud of Briar’s head bumping against what I hoped to fuck wasn’t the bobcat truck parked on the edge of the pond, and finally – a massive splash.

A moment of suspension passed. Of the guillotine blade hanging in the air. A memory that crashed into me with terrifying force. I remained frozen, unable to move an inch.

Then I remembered Briar was in trouble, and everything and everyone disappeared.

“Shit.”

I shouldered off my jacket and turned on the flashlight on my phone, jumping into the pond. The icy water needled my skin. I swam around in the pitch black, trying to find her. In. Out. In. Out. Each dive came up fruitless. Panic devoured my insides like fire. Every second she spent inside the frigid water was a second she couldn’t afford.

I decided to divide the pond into sections and dove into a different side each time I inhaled. It worked. On the fifth dive, I managed to grab the hem of her trench coat.

It was an uphill battle to swim my way back to shore, but when I splayed Briar across the carefully mowed lawn and pressed my trembling fingers to her neck, the unmistakable warm beat of a pulse thrummed against my skin. Faint, but there.

I choked out a sigh of relief, before I realized her scalp – and entire face, in fact – were much darker than the rest of her wet self. Blood. Her face was covered in blood. She must’ve gotten injured when her head took a hit.

The blood.

The water.

The injury.

A current of memories ruptured past a mental floodgate. I grabbed my phone and called for help.

There would be time to fall apart.

But that time wasn’t now.