Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,113
the solitary figure standing beside the car. His legs are long, his arms thickly muscled, but his eyes . . . They hunt me, even now. Chase me, as if I’ll disappear at any moment and it’s his very last chance to keep me with him.
“Have no mercy.”
The words drive a shiver down my spine.
With a small dip of my chin, I turn for Broadmoor Hospital and shove my shoulders back. Young Rowena, how we meet again. My lips curve with a smile that’s only skin-deep. Though I’m not nearly the vision that I was, before the fire, I saunter toward those double doors like my life depends on it.
No, not your life—Damien’s.
Just inside the front doors, a guard rests on a plastic chair, his legs sprawled, his head tipped back with a heavy snore that echoes in the hall. I tap his booted foot with my pump then make sure to keep my distance when he scrambles awake.
Muttering under his breath, he shoves himself to his feet. “Visiting hours aren’t until half past,” he grunts. Sleepy brown eyes peer down at me through a tangle of blond hair. “You’ll have to wait.”
“That’s not possible.” I smile, wide. The smile of a woman who flits from man to man, feckless and naïve. “You see, I’m here to collect someone for my father and, oh, he’ll be so furious with me if I don’t pull through.” I lean forward to whisper, “We aren’t on the best of terms.”
Like a dog being led to table scraps, his gaze drops to my breasts and stays there. “I don’t think”—he visibly swallows—“or rather, we really aren’t meant to allow anyone inside right now. There are checks we do. Daily checks. In”—he makes an exaggerated show of checking his wristwatch—“seven minutes.”
My eyes go big, apologetic. “And here I am just taking up your time when you’ve so much to do.” I cast a glance down the empty corridor. “Is there a front desk monitor? You could just point me in the right direction . . .”
He wavers, literally.
Reed-thin body swaying left, toward the hall, while his hands shove deep into his trouser pockets. Skating a drive-by peek at my chest, he looks to the double doors, clearly deliberating, before motioning for me to pass him by with a quiet puff of air filling his cheeks.
Victory.
“Mary won’t like this, you know.” When those brown eyes swing my way again, he doesn’t even pretend that he’s not blatantly staring at my cleavage. “She’s particular about the rules around here. And an angry Mary means hell for the rest of us.”
“Are you saying that you can’t handle a woman who knows her own mind?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever met a woman who has one.”
Keep smiling, Rowan. Do not skewer him.
Easier said than done when he cuts around the next corner, waves a dismissive arm toward me, and introduces me as, “Mary, this one here says she’s on an errand for her old man. Wouldn’t shut up about it, and I knew you’d be just the one to put her in her place.” Dark brown eyes peel away from the infamous Mary to focus on me. “Who’s your father anyway?”
Through gritted teeth, I manage, “The prime minister.”
Color spears his cheeks. “Right-o, then.” And with that, he spins away and scurries back down the hall like the vermin he is.
Refusing to appear rattled—or annoyed—I plaster a pretty smile on my lips.
I’ve played this game a thousand times over in the past: well-timed fawning, the always necessary simpering that manages to degrade my own achievements while stroking my opponent’s ego. It’s a role that I slip into all too easily as I turn to find Mary sitting like a queen behind her desk.
Slick-backed hair, tidy outfit, prim glasses that sit on the bridge of a perfect nose. Clasping her fingers together, Mary presses her wrists to the empty space beside her computer keyboard while bringing her pointed gaze down on me like the sharpened blade of a guillotine lowering to sever its next victim. “What’s the prime minister’s daughter doing in Broadmoor Hospital?”
The fact that she recognizes me isn’t the least bit surprising. Once upon a time, my face was plastered on every magazine cover along with Father’s. And Mary doesn’t look like the sort of person who ever forgets a face, never mind the fact that she’s surrounded by hundreds of them daily.
Without waiting for an invitation, I take the vacant chair opposite her.