X: Command Me through Alexander's Eyes - Geneva Lee Page 0,47
adjusting a cufflink that loosened during the ride to the party. My mind flashes to Clara’s bare skin, the feeling of her warm sex clamping over my cock. Suddenly, I’m looking for a fight. It will be an excuse to leave—to take Clara back to her flat and fuck her until all memory of tonight is gone.
“You have a reputation to consider,” he hisses, his eyes darting out over the pawns he’s gathered for this sham of a celebration.
“Clara is an Oxford graduate whose family is worth several millions and who works in philanthropy. Might your standards be a tad high?” I ask.
“Don’t pretend she’s not a slut. I saw those texts. It doesn’t matter what her file says. Any woman who allows that isn’t suitable,” he says, his voice rough with rage. “She’s not the kind of woman you marry, Alexander.”
“That would be a shame, wouldn’t it? I wouldn’t want to disappoint the family,” I storm.
“Your proclivities are an embarrassment,” he lowers his voice again. This is one subject he’s desperate to keep quiet. It’s why he sent me away. “If you need a woman to fulfill your perverse fantasies, so be it. Pay someone. Someone discreet so that I don’t have to hear about it. But don’t walk them through the front door.”
“Is that how you keep Pepper quiet?” I’ve been saving this slight for the right moment—waiting to use it.
“I have no idea what you’re on about.” His eyes dart away, his body going rigid. I’ve cornered him.
“I’m talking about the fact that you’re shagging your daughter’s best friend.” I won’t allow him to feign ignorance. It’s time for a reckoning.
“I have no idea where you heard this—”
“It’s more about who confirmed it,” I stop him. “I think you might want to aim your discretion lecture toward your bitchy bedfellow.”
“You think you’re so clever with your poisonous barbs and little games, son, but you have no idea how unprepared you are for your role in this family,” he warns me. “That girl will only be a distraction. It’s time for you to get serious about your duty to your country.”
“To this country or to you?” I spit back.
“I am the King. I am the country.”
“You’re a mascot for a dying breed. No one needs the monarchy.” I mean it. Every word. He can’t deny we’re little more than ceremonial puppets who serve for photo ops and charity functions.
“You have no idea how wrong you are,” he says, shaking his head. “No idea what this family is up against.”
“Defunding?” I say coldly.
His fist tightens, and I wonder what will happen if I push him just an inch farther. Would he rescind invitations to future engagements? Or would there be a fistfight and another scandal for the wretched tabloids? “Find your pretty girl and dance with her,” he advises me, shaking off the tense rage with a shrug of the shoulders. “Play with your toy. I don’t have time for your childish behavior.”
“Oh, but it’s a party. Aren’t we all supposed to cut loose?” I say, even as his words strike like a knife in the back. I know what he’s doing. He’s manipulating me—twisting me into the irresponsible prodigal son that feeds his ego. If I won’t kiss his ass like everyone else, he’s left with no other choice.
My grandmother steps between us, shielding her son as though she senses how close we are to coming to blows. “You disobedient little bastard.”
“Grandmother,” I say dryly. “Lovely to see you this evening.”
“How could you bring that…that American here?” She makes the word sound like a slur. To her, it is.
“You’re a terrible snob,” I inform her. “She’s half British.”
“Half British! There’s no such thing as half British,” she says with a sniff, as though the very idea is an affront.
“As much as I enjoy a good flagellation”—I aim this barb at my father—“I should see to my date.”
Grandmother mutters something about disgusting and attitude and my mother under her breath. I force myself to ignore it.
“Good night, Alexander.” There’s a finality as he dismisses me.
At least he won’t care if I leave, now.
Turning, I spot Edward talking furiously with David. He glances up, our eyes lock, and he shakes his head helplessly. I cross to him in three strides.
“Where’s Clara?” I demand, searching for a red rose in the crowd.
“She left. David saw her—“
I don’t wait to hear the rest of his explanation. A few people try to stop me as I push through the crowd, but there’s only