Margot glances at me, adjusting the tiny bikini over her ample breasts. She smiles coyly, and then lays down on one of the sunbeds. I follow her, taking my shirt off and glancing at the upper decks of the yacht.
It feels almost wrong to be here with Margot. I know I’m supposed to. I’m the broken Prince who’s fixed again. I’m Humpty Dumpty, all patched up and better again, and Margot is the belle that’s supposed to be by my side.
An itching sensation starts to grow in my body, starting between my shoulder blades and spreading out through my body. I pat my pockets, feeling for the small pill case that I took on board. When I pop a painkiller in my mouth, Margot glances at me. I can’t see her eyes through her sunglasses, but something about her look makes me pause.
She gulps, and then turns her head to face forward again.
Resisting the urge to scream, I lean back on the large sunbed beside Margot. I’ve done everything I was supposed to. I left Argyle to get fixed. I didn’t complain when my brother stole the woman I loved. I agreed to come to Farcliff when all I wanted to do was go back to Argyle for the first time in five years.
I agreed to be seen with Margot, for the good of the Kingdom.
But now?
Now, all I want to do is break all the rules. I can almost feel Ivy’s gaze through the tinted windows—or am I imagining it?
Margot moves closer to me on the sunbed. A speedboat passes us, full of photographers. Margot leans into me. She arches her back and puts her hand on my chest, angling her face so that the cameras get a good picture. I’m sure her ass will be on full display.
“You’re really playing this up, aren’t you? You and me?” I look down at the actress, putting my arm around her.
She shrugs. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”
I have to hand it to her, the woman is a professional. Margot leans into me as another speedboat passes by. She angles her body just so, and I can already tell the photos will be all over the internet.
She knows what she’s doing.
A part of me respects her for it—Margot doesn’t want anything from me. She’s not asking to be my girlfriend. She knows exactly what to do to get the media excited, and she does it. After the first night, when we kissed and I left her in her room, she hasn’t tried to kiss me in private again.
It’s a job to her.
Another part of me hates it. Here is this beautiful, presumably smart woman, parading herself in a skimpy bikini for the sake of a few photos.
With a sigh, I shift away from her and stand up. Margot glances up at me, eyebrows arched. She nods to the cameras, as if to ask where the hell I’m going when there’s work to do. I don’t have the energy to say anything to her.
This whole experience is exhausting. The yacht, the celebrities, the photographers—it’s all bullshit. It’s all fake. It’s some concocted PR publicity stunt with the sole purpose of making my brother, the King, look good to the people of Farcliff.
Never mind the fact that I don’t want to be in the public eye. Never mind the fact that I have to spend time with Cara every day, pretending to be polite. Never mind the fact that Margot’s preening and posing disgusts me.
I’m craving something real. Something genuine.
Someone genuine.
So, I let my feet take me to the yacht’s inner decks.
The yacht’s main salon has a bar on the bow side, with rich teak wood polished to perfection. Uniformed bartenders wait behind the bar, their bowties straight and smiles painted on. I glance over to the long couches and tables, but I don’t find what I’m looking for.
Poison.
It’s an apt nickname. It feels like she’s injected something into my veins. It makes me feel numb and alive, and it makes me want more, more, more. Her scent swirls around me all the time, and when I close my eyes, I imagine what it would be like to taste her.
Really taste her.
If she’s poison, then I’m a willing victim.
13
Margot
I try not to let the disappointment sink in too deep when Prince Luca gets up to leave. He doesn’t say a word to me as he walks away, and sourness coats the back of my throat.