Chapter 12: Vicious Prince: Chapter 12

I was never one for small talk. It causes my skin to itch. Besides, I’m too awkward for that.

Human interaction has always been my weakness; that’s why I keep it to an absolute minimum.

However, as I sit with Charlotte, I don’t think of the situation as small talk, but more like afternoon tea. Or rather something more pulling and extraordinary.

It takes me a long time to connect to people — if I ever do — and it takes them ages to warm up to me. That’s what happened with Elsa and her friend Kim.

Charlotte is different.

She has an elegant finesse about her that makes me feel more welcome than my skin allows.

Despite our recent acquaintance, she talks as if we’ve known each other for ages, as if Lars making us tea is a daily occurrence. She didn’t even protest when I offered to do her makeup and pick her dress.

People with titles like Charlotte dress up in the house, sort of like in the Victorian era.

I didn’t feel the hours passing by. The reason I’d come started to fade away too. Soon enough, I found myself talking to her, and not due to what’s expected in these situations.

Me, talking. Me, striking up a conversation.

At first, I think it’s because I feel sorry for her. After all, Charlotte is a victim in all this, and she doesn’t deserve what will happen at the end of the tale.

But eventually, I realise I do enjoy her company, right around the time I start telling her about Knox’s pranks and Elsa’s new love.

“How about you?” she asks in her feather-light, soothing-to-the-ears voice.

“Me?” I pause in tying the ribbon on her waist. I’ve always had a thing for clothes and appearances, even if mine lean towards the eccentric type.

“Yes. Do you have a new love like your sister?”

“No…I donʼt.” What the hell is up with that hesitation at the end?

Charlotte’s beautiful face falls a little, but she pats my hand. “Don’t refuse the idea too soon. You never know.”

“How…” I peek up at her. “What does it mean to love? I mean, I know I love my dad and Knox, but I’ve read there’s a different type?”

I purse my lips as soon as I say the words. Why am I pouring out my issues with understanding emotions on a woman I just met and barely know?

Charlotte smiles; it’s bright and a little weak, but it reminds me so much of her son. There’s no question about from whom he got that radiance.

“I wish there was a textbook explanation for that, but I can promise you this: the moment you encounter love, you’ll recognise it right here, chérie.” She places a soft hand above my left breast.

I stop myself from telling her I feel things but mostly fail to recognise them. There’s no fixing that; even the therapy didn’t work. It only gave me a few pointers, and sometimes, those don’t give the right answers.

Human emotions are weird.

Charlotte drops her hand and sighs. “I also felt as confused as you when I first met Edric.”

My nails dig into the ribbon, but I soon unclench them. “Really?”

“You know, our marriage was also arranged.”

“It was?” How come none of the articles mentioned that?

That’s the second miss on your part, Teal.

“Yes. His father and mine were business partners, but here’s the plot twist.” She leans in to whisper. “Edric was supposed to marry my eldest sister, Céline.”

“Oh.”

“I know. I kind of stole my sister’s fate.” She laughs, the sound gentle and non-intrusive. “But there’s another plot twist — my sister eloped with Papa’s guard, like in a soap opera, and I had to save the family’s honour by marrying this arrogant Englishman Papa brought to our house. I hated Edric so much back then. He was too proud and controlling, and wouldn’t take no for an answer while I was a free spirit.”

I’m caught off guard by her words. “You hated him?”

She rolls her eyes. “To death.”

“Then how did you end up marrying him?”

A sly smile lifts her lips. “I destroyed his walls and found the man under the surface, not the one he shows to the public, and that man inside is the one I never knew I needed. We’ve been married for twenty-three years, and they’ve been the happiest years of my life.”

If they’ve been married for twenty-three years and Ronan is eighteen, then they stayed childless for several years. I wonder why. Edric is the type of man who would make sure his rotten legacy lives on, so I’d have imagined they got married less than a year before Ronan’s birth.

I keep the question to myself because I’d sound awkward as fuck if I voiced it.

“That’s why I want you to keep an open mind, chérie. You never know what you’ll find unless you destroy some walls.”

What is she suggesting, exactly? That I knock down her son’s walls? If that’s the case then it’s already happening — only it’s not in the romantic way she’s hoping for.

And he doesn’t know it yet.

“Bonsoir.”

My shoulders stiffen at the sound of the voice that’s starting to appear in my dreams — not my nightmares, my fucking dreams.

Ronan strides in through the balcony’s doorway, still wearing his uniform, minus the tie and jacket. The top buttons of his shirt are open, hinting at the bare skin I once rubbed all over while —

I internally shake my head to rid it of that image.

He leans in and presses a kiss to his mother’s temple. It’s soft, tender, and Charlotte sighs in delight.

“You look beautiful, Mother.” He takes her small hands in his and kisses the knuckles.

“It’s all thanks to Teal.” Charlotte motions at me then at her dress and makeup with pride.

My cheeks heat.

Damn it. Am I blushing? I don’t even do blushing.

“Is that so?” Ronan fixes me with a glare. “Don’t ruin my mother’s face with your black kink.”

“That’s rude,” Charlotte scolds.

I pretend his words don’t jab as I run my finger over the containers of the makeup. If his mother weren’t here, I would stab him in the eye with a brush handle.

“I’m just kidding.” He grins at his mum.

“That’s not something to joke about, mon chou.” She rises up on her tiptoes to stroke his hair back.

I stand there in the midst of the mother-son bonding, and it’s like I’m shoved out of my skin.

For my whole life, a mother was the only thing I never had. The woman who gave birth to me and Knox doesn’t count; she’s the devil.

She’s the reason I can’t recognise half my feelings and run away from the other half as if they’re on fire.

Seeing Charlotte treat Ronan with so much care and affection in her blue eyes makes me hate him even more.

He doesn’t deserve a mother like her just like Edric doesn’t deserve her as a wife.

“Mother, do you mind if I steal my lovely fiancée?” He’s asking her, but his lunatic grin falls on me.

Before I can protest, Charlotte speaks first. “Why, of course I don’t mind.”

She takes her son’s hand and puts it on top of mine. The shock of his skin heightens when he threads his fingers in mine, smiling at his mother. He tightens his hold around me, and I suppress a wince at the force of it.

Charlotte strides away with a smile and a suggestive “Have fun, kids.”

As soon as Ronan closes her bedroom door behind us, I yank my hand free of his as if it were burning me — and in a way, it was.

He grabs me by the arm so abruptly I swallow a shriek. “D-don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Startle me. It brings back memories.

Instead of voicing that, I bite my lower lip and adopt my no-nonsense tone. “Touch me. I don’t like it when you touch me.”

“Let me count all the fucks I give.” He pauses, pretending to count with his free hand. “None.”

“Where are you taking me?” I try to wriggle out of his grasp as he drags me down the hall. His strides are so long and quick, and I’m panting to keep up with his pace.

Damn tall people and their legs that go on for freaking miles.

“You fucked up, ma belle, and it’s payback time.”

My breath hitches and his grip on my arm is tingling. Problem is, I can’t figure out why the hell it’s tingling. Is it fear? Anticipation? Or maybe something worse?

Ronan pushes a door open and shoves me inside. I stumble and nearly fall, but I catch myself against the wall for balance as the sound of a lock echoes in the distance like doom.

I swallow, lifting my head to take a quick inventory of the place. Considering the bed with dark sheets, the framed pictures, and the football, this is his room.

Ronan stands with his back against the door and his hand reaching behind him — for the lock he just turned, no doubt.

I force my hands to fall on either side of me so I don’t reveal the tremors plaguing my body.

This is not a real trapping. I can get out at any time.

Any time.

I chant those words in my head over and over again.

“I assume there has been a miscalculation?” He smiles, but now I’m certain he’s hiding a lot of fuckery behind it. “As per our agreement, you were supposed to pay a visit to my father and end the engagement, not play dress-up with my mother.”

“Our agreement?” I scoff. “I don’t remember agreeing to anything.”

“Really?”

“You assumed everything yourself.”

“Does that mean you won’t end it?”

“Absolutely not. And if you threaten me with that picture again, I now have an ally in Charlotte.” I pretend to sniffle. “How do you think she’ll feel if I tell her you took me there by force? I don’t look compliant in that picture.”

His jaw ticks, but his grin widens. I’m starting to think Ronan smiles more when he’s trying to camouflage something. “You think my mother will believe you over her only son?”

“We won’t know until we put her in that position.” I feign care. “She seems like a soft woman — I’d hate to scar her with the fuckery going on in your head.”

He pushes off the door, and something inside me screams at me to run, to bolt, even jump from the window, anything but stand here like prey for the taking.

I’m not prey.

I’ll never be prey again.

Jutting my chin up, I meet his gaze with my tenacious one.

Men don’t intimidate me because I lack that normal streak of shame and embarrassment. However, as Ronan strides towards me, I can’t help the locking at the bottom of my spine or the dancing emotions crawling up my arms.

“And what do you know about the fuckery in my head, ma belle?” He’s still smirking, stalking, making me all too aware of him and his presence.

His overpowering presence. Just like that night at the club.

The only difference is that I see him right now, and that’s probably why I can’t get out of his orbit.

“You still haven’t taken a tour in there, but I’m willing to change that.” He stops in front of me and grabs my chin.

The gesture is soft, almost like a feather’s kiss. His thumb and forefinger take control of my jaw, and just like that, it’s almost like he’s clutching a marionette’s strings.

“Remember what I told you about how you’ll pay?”

“I won’t pay for anything.” I’m surprised by my calm tone.

“Do you honestly think you have a choice?”

“Of course I do. I have a choice in everything.”

His grin disappears, and any attempt he was making to stay normal evaporates in the air surrounding us.

Everything turns heightened — the rise and fall of my chest, the heat radiating off him, his smell like spice and fucking damnation. He’s all I breathe, all I see, and all I can focus on.

I don’t attempt to free myself from his clutch. I’m that marionette ready to be moved, to be controlled, to be completely at his mercy.

Snap out of it, Teal. This is Ronan — a pawn, not a fantasy.

“I thought you didn’t like touching your fiancée, the title bothering you and all that,” I try in my most neutral tone. This is the last chance I have to get rid of whatever influence he has on me.

“I lied.”

“What?”

“Or rather, I changed my mind.”

“You can’t change your mind.”

“Of course I can.” He glides his index finger over the curve of my jaw as his thumb rubs my lower lip. “Now, I’m curious about something.”

I clamp my mouth shut, but he shoves his thumb between them and presses on my lower lip then smears my lipstick like he did that first time he touched me at the library.

Just like then, a tremor shoots through my body — only this time, there’s something more potent, something dangerous.

He’s not smiling.

He’s not even attempting to smile.

“I’m curious to see how far I can take your fantasy list.”

“W-What?”

His gaze remains on my lip as if he’s entranced by the back and forth of his thumb over the tender skin. “You know, the checklist you left for me at La Débauche. Your little depraved fantasies.”

I never understood what the expression Dig myself a grave meant until this moment. I wish I could summon a hole and disappear into it.

Yes, I figured he saw that list, but I thought he’d forgotten about it, or better yet hadn’t paid it much attention.

My darkest secrets are on that list, secrets no one should see, least of all Ronan.

“And yes, I do remember them.” He smirks. “I learnt them by heart.”

Oh, God.

Oh. My. God.

“Now, let’s see, it starts with something like…” His eyes glint with pure sadism, the type I’ve never seen on his face, not even when he taunts.

His hand trails down my chest, slow, sensual even. I stop breathing altogether when he rips my shirt in the middle.

“Stripping you bare.”