Striking (Red Lips & White Lies Book 7)

And if when it’s all over and I’m asked what I’ve done with my life,

I want to say I lived.

—Bellamy’s Secret Thoughts

“I love you, Mom. Kiss everyone for me.”

“I will, sweet girl. I love you too.”

I press my hand against my computer screen as if I can feel her touch before we disconnect the call.

“You okay, queen bee?” I look up to find Atticus standing on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. He looks like he just got in from meetings, but there’s no sign of Rhys. “You look like someone just stole your coffee.”

“No. Just missing home,” I murmur and close my laptop. “I’ve never missed a Christmas with my mom before. Either I’d go up to Maine, or she’d come down to Kroydon Hills. It’s just made me a little homesick, I guess.”

Atticus doesn’t look convinced as he crosses the room and grabs my hand, then pulls me to my feet.

“What are you doing?” I try to tug my hand free, but he doesn’t let go. “I’m in my pajamas, Atticus . . .”

My new honorary big brother drags me behind him through the palace, not giving a single care that I’m in red and white flannel boxer shorts that are short enough I thought Rhys might like them but had no intention of anyone else seeing them. Or that my red tank is tight and barely covers my boobs.

I manage to grab a white cable-knit throw from the back of the couch and wrap it around my shoulders before he pulls me into the halls of the palace. “Where are we going?”

I want to be annoyed, but Atticus is kind of hard to stay annoyed with, especially when he’s smiling at me like he’s up to something.

“We’re going to see Cook. I heard a rumor she made warm sticky toffee pudding and butterscotch sauce. Have you tried it yet?”

“Sticky toffee what?”

“Oh, bumble bee. Shame on your house. Wait. No. Your house is my house. No shame on your house. Just shame on you. That works.”

“Oh my God, Atticus. Get to the point,” I grumble, trying hard not to laugh.

“The point is, it’s the most delicious thing in the world.” He looks up at the ceiling and changes his mind. “I mean, I can think of one or two other things that I prefer to have in my mouth. But Cook can’t exactly whip those things up.”

I lose my hold on my laughter and possibly my sanity as we turn into the empty kitchen. My side cramps, I laugh so hard. “Fine. I give in. You win.” Atticus preens like a peacock. “Where is this delicious pudding?”

He pulls out a stool at the counter and basically shoves me onto it. “Hold, please . . .” I watch with rapt attention as he makes his way around the massive kitchen, grabbing two plates from some magical hiding spot that I may need to find later. One is placed in front of me before he slides a fork my way and waits. “Go on. Have a taste.”

I don’t bother telling him I’m not hungry.

I doubt it would make a difference.

He’d probably try to force-feed it to me.

And it does smell incredible.

“Fine.” I break off a small piece, not sure what I’m expecting, but when the tangy sweet goodness burst on my tongue, I moan. “Oh my God, that’s delicious.”

“Best thing you’ve ever had in your mouth?” he asks with a cocky grin.

“Why are you making my wife moan, brother?” Rhys asks with a happy lilt to his voice as he steps up behind me and slides a finger through the butterscotch soaking my plate. “Yum. Sticky toffee pudding.”

With sticky lips, he kisses the corner of my mouth, and Atticus fakes a gag.

“Hi.” I lick the butterscotch from his lips, and sticky toffee pudding might just be my new favorite dessert.

Rhys drags his finger through the sauce again and traces my mouth, and holy hell . . . I feel his touch everywhere. “Evening, love.”

“Hello . . . right here.” Atticus points his fork between Rhys and me. “Please don’t do filthy things with my favorite dessert right in front of me.” Rhys grins, and Atticus groans. “Do not ruin this for me.”

“I’ll be sure to take that into consideration, brother.” He spins me around until my legs are between his, and my back is to the counter. “How was your day?”

“Good. I stopped by the children’s hospital today and got some good news. They’ve found a match for Linus, but that means at least another six to eight weeks in the hospital, and I know his parents are already struggling. So . . . I know what I’d like to do with the other side of the foundation.”

“I’m all ears,” Rhys tells me as he steals my fork from my hand and breaks off another chunk of cake for himself.

“I was able to find a rental for his parents to stay in, which I’d like the foundation to fund during his recovery. And that got me thinking . . . I want to buy rental properties the foundation can essentially turn into non-profit units, like a free Airbnb. I’d like to make them available to families in need while their children are going through treatment. Eventually, we can branch out, but I think this is the perfect way to start. I was lucky enough to have my family close by while I was going through hell, and I know how much that helped me fight. I want to be able to give that to other families.”

Rhys’s eyes soften as he stares at me, and the weight of his gaze is almost as intimate as the touch of his skin. “I’m constantly in awe of your strength, love.”

Nibbling my lip, I admit, “I started putting together information when I got back this afternoon.”

“I can help you put together a proposal, bee,” Atticus tells me.

“Really?” I ask, a little surprised by his offer.noveldrama

“Don’t sound so surprised. I am a lawyer and an all-around nice guy.”

Rhys coughs into his fist, and Atticus points his butterscotch-soaked fork at his brother. “You can kiss my royal ass, brother. I’m nice to the people I like when I’m around them. Therefore, all-around nice guy.”

“If you say so.” My husband shakes his head, then turns back to me. “I think that sounds perfect, love. Atticus’s former firm can handle the structure and the contracts. We can call them tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve, Rhys,” Atticus warns, but I see the determination in Rhys’s eyes, and apparently so does Atticus. “Fine. I’ll go make a call tonight and see who I can talk to.”

“Good, brother. Do that and do it quickly if you don’t want your favorite dessert ruined for you forever.”

Atticus drops his fork, muttering something about food and sex and disgusting siblings as he leaves us alone in the kitchen. The low under-cabinet lighting suddenly feels more intimate.

“So about that moan I walked in on . . .” Rhys cradles my face in his hands, searching my eyes while a challenge dances in his.

“Yes, Your Highness . . .”

I snap a selfie in front of the floor-length mirror and smile. This gown is gorgeous. Dark green with box pleats and beautiful silver embroidery. It’s the first time I’ve felt like a princess since I married my husband. Not sure I’ll ever feel like a queen.

Rhys

“Do you remember when we used to hide in the halls and wait for the guests to leave their glasses of champagne lying around?” Atticus has an interesting memory. Convenient. He can remember us getting drunk in our pajamas when we were barely teenagers, but if I ask him to do something for me, he has to be reminded over and over again before he remembers.

“Yes. I remember you puking on your slippers and throwing them in the trash instead of washing them. Then I remember Mother grounding us both for it. You for being so stupid and me for letting you be.”

“Moral of the story . . .” We stop outside Bellamy’s open door, and I get my first glimpse of her. “Don’t punish your kids when they do the same shit we did.”

My kids.

Something unfamiliar settles in my chest.

One day, this stunning woman with a heart as big and beautiful as any I’ve ever known won’t just be my wife. She’ll be the mother of my children. And fuck me, but that feels right.

“Damn, brother. She looks ravishing.”

“She looks like my queen.” I turn and take the box the footman has been carrying behind us. “We’ll meet you in the ballroom.”

Atticus smacks me on the back with a wink and walks away as I step inside the room. Bellamy’s eyes meet mine in the long mirror, and her smile is instantaneous.

“Don’t you look handsome.” She turns and runs her hands over my shoulders, wiping away invisible lint, then adjusts my white bow tie. “You do wear a suit well.”

I press my lips to her neck and enjoy the shiver that slides down her back. “You are exquisite, my queen. But you’re missing one thing.” I pull the large velvet box from behind my back, and Bellamy’s eyes widen before she even opens it.

“What is that?” she asks, her voice shaking ever so slightly. “That is far too big to be a necklace, Rhys.”

I crack the box open and enjoy the breath that slips past her lips.

Fuck, she’s so pretty.

“This is the Alexandra Tiara. It belongs to the queen of Mornea, and according to the manager of the royal jewels, it has been in my family for over two hundred years.” I carefully place it on her head and smile. The detailed rose-cut diamond scrollwork brilliantly sparkles as it’s set in her hair. “It’s yours now, love.”

With trembling hands, she reaches up and adjusts the brilliant diadem slightly, so it doesn’t slip off her head as she turns back to the mirror. “Rhys . . . I can’t.”

“You can, Bellamy. It’s yours.” I rest my hands on her shoulders and stare at her beautiful reflection. “I plan to fuck you in nothing but this later, my love.”

I watch her eyes to see if they change.

If they caught my slip of the tongue.

But all I see is desire staring back at me.

“Happy New Year to me . . .” she giggles.

And what a new year it will be.

I take Bellamy’s arm in mine as we wait to be announced behind the doors to the ballroom. “Are you ready for this?”

A small smile graces her cherry-red lips, and I wonder how long we have to stay at the event. An hour? Two?

“One day, you’re going to ask me that, and I’m actually going to say yes.” There’s no mistaking the teasing in her voice. “But sadly, that’s not today. I have no idea how long it’s going to take for me to feel like this is my world.”

There are so many things I want to say to her.

Things I need her to believe.

But before I can, the doors open as we’re announced.

Time for the madness.

Unlike the tree lighting or the work Bellamy has been slowly taking on, tonight’s ball is massive and steeped in tradition. All of Mornea’s aristocracy is in attendance, and they all want a chance to meet their new queen.

Their queen who refuses to relinquish my arm.

Fine by me.

I have no problem spending the night by her side.

At least, not until my father catches us in his sights. Shit. I haven’t discussed my suspicions about my father with Bellamy. I was trying to protect her until I knew the truth. Part of me hoping I’m wrong, even if I’m certain I’m not.

That might be about to blow up in my face.

I lean into her and brush my lips over her ear. “This isn’t going to be good.”

“What . . .” The word dies on her lips as Father stops in front of us, a glass of scotch in one hand and an offensive look on his smug face.

We’ve never had a good relationship.

Atticus, Lennon, and I were part of his duty to the crown.

Marry the future queen. Produce heirs. Live your life fat, drunk, and happily doing whatever you please. Never caring who you hurt in the process. As a prince of Ellwyn, who’s fifth in line to that throne, my mother was his winning lottery ticket. His one chance to be close to what he’s always wanted—power.

When she died, his chance died with her.

He was never a good father or a good husband.

And the day we buried her, he stopped bothering to pretend to be either.

“Rhys.” Father nods, ignoring Bellamy.

My blood boils beneath my skin at the blatant disrespect, but somehow, I mask my hatred and keep my voice low and steady. “Father, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Bellamy Windsor, my wife and your queen. You will show her the respect she deserves.”

I catch Atticus walking toward us out of the corner of my eye.

A look of warning on his face.

We’re being watched.

We’re always being watched.

“She’s. Not. My. Queen.”

Fuck no.

“Father,” Atticus chokes out through gritted teeth as he joins us, but it’s too late.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I growl, my chest vibrating with hatred, and the smug smile on his face is all the answer I need. “Get out.”

“I will do no such thing,” he snaps like he has a fucking choice. “You⁠—”

“I am your king, and you are no longer welcome in my home, Father.” I turn and nod at one of the guards, then wait as he approaches. “Please escort the duke out, and please advise the security team that he is no longer welcome.”

“Rhys . . .” Father sputters.

Atticus shakes his head, having battled with him as much if not more than I have over the years. “Go willingly, Father. Don’t make a scene and keep what dignity you have left.”

“You’d chose this commoner . . . this American, over your own father?”

“Yes,” Atticus and I both answer as I wrap my arm around Bellamy’s waist and step forward, shielding her from the man I no longer know.

“The choice has been made and celebrated and will go down in the history of my reign as the single best decision I made while I walked this Earth, you miserable fuck. You don’t deserve to breathe the same air that she breathes.”

Father’s grin is cold and cruel, and I’d like to knock it right off his face.

“I tolerated you for Mother’s sake,”—I take another step closer and lower my voice—“because even with her gone, I knew she’d want you involved. She’d want you to have a place.” I think back to those last few words from my mother. To the advice she gave me on her death bed. “But unlike you, I protect those who matter to me. And you no longer matter. I’m not sure you ever did.”

“You will regret this, son.”

“I expect to regret many things in my life but banishing you from court will not be one of them. Now I suggest you go willingly unless you’d like to be stripped of your titles, and home, and your royal stipend, too.”

His mouth opens and I shake my head in warning. “Don’t⁠—”

“Leave now, Father,” Atticus cuts in before I can threaten to kill the man who raised me. “Before you make this worse.”

Bellamy lifts her hand to my face as Father is escorted out of the ballroom and out of my life. “I’m so sorry, Rhys.”

I clasp her wrist in mine and press a kiss to her open palm. “There is nothing for you to be sorry about. Every man has his breaking point. The one that forces his hand. And my father hurting you and our family is mine. Now dance with me, my queen.”