Page 17 of Royal Crush
Was I really that much of an asshole?
The answer was yes. I didn’t even need to dig deep for it.
“Finished early?” Aleks asked.
I shrugged as I waited for him to open the door. I grabbed both of my legs and eased them over the lip of the car, then grabbed the roof and the handle and transferred to the seat. As I watched Cillian fold up my chair, I realized I didn’t want to do this in front of Aleric.
Yeah, he should probably see what it was usually like when I met up with someone in public, but the idea of him seeing someone wait on me was like a heavy stone in my gut. Fuck it. I’d take my car. I rarely drove, and maybe—if I was feeling a little wild—I’d take a jaunt down to the coast when Aleric and I were finished.
I had no idea why, but suddenly, I felt a lot lighter, and though it made no sense, I knew I had Aleric to thank.
Six
CAMILLO
“Are you sure—”
“Yes.”
“What if you?—”
“Mother.” Normally I could slip off the grounds without anyone noticing, but as one of the valets drove my car up to the curb, my mother had chosen that moment to head out for one of her many, many charity meetings.
“I would feel better if you took a driver.”
I couldn’t help a sarcastic snort. “Considering I was with a driver when this happened”—I waved my hand at my legs—“shouldn’t you feel better if it was me behind the wheel?”
“Don’t be smart,” she said, clicking her tongue. “You know what I mean.”
I didn’t, to tell the truth. I never knew what she was all twisted up about. “I’m going to be forty before you know it. If you can’t loosen the strings now, you never will. And we both know that’s unhealthy.”
“Don’t therapize me, Camillo.”
I just smiled at her before grabbing my keys and moving to the driver’s side of the car. The transfer was smooth, which was a relief because the last thing I needed was to fumble in front ofmy mother’s gaze. When the valet reached for my chair, I waved him off. “I’ve got it.”
“That’s their job, Camillo.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t like people touching my stuff.” God, I sounded like a five-year-old. I ignored her pursed lips, and I detached my wheels, stowing them behind my seat before folding up the chair, shoving it in the car, then pulling my legs inside. I shut the door, then leaned out the open window. “Don’t wait up.”
“You’re not as funny as you think you are. At least tell someone where you’re going.”
“My people know.” I rolled the window up and revved the engine as she began to speak again, and under her fierce glower, I peeled away from the curb and rolled over the cobbled driveway toward the gate.
The moment I was on the main road, I used my voice commands to start music and lost myself a little in melody and rhythm as I wove in and out of traffic. The place Aleric had chosen was just outside of town, a little hole-in-the-wall spot I’d never heard of. Their online menu was quaint. It reminded me of a little French countryside café, nestled in the forest in some village near Versailles.
It made me want to take a long vacation somewhere to forget about everything going on. Not that I was going to shirk my responsibilities, but not for the first time, I wished my responsibilities were different. I wished I didn’t always have to think of “the people.” I wished that I could live my life for myself and no one else without people watching my every move.
Without anyone giving a shit what I ate for breakfast or where I was going for a fucking coffee.
I squeezed my hands a little too tight, revving the gas before remembering to let up. Several fortifying breaths later and my frustration had settled into its usual manageable state, resting atthe base of my spine. It was a heavy weight, but at least there, I couldn’t feel it.
The drive only took half an hour, but it felt like a lot longer as the café came into view. There was only street parking and nowhere with a ramp. I could get up curbs—it was one of the first things I learned in PT because, as my therapist had reminded me over and over, the world was no longer built for me.
But it was irritating.
My only saving grace was that I was outside of the city, far enough that I wasn’t going to be recognized on sight. At least, not by car. By chair, maybe. Or by my face. But so far, I couldn’t see anyone with a camera lurking around any corners.
I found a spot not too far from the café’s front stoop and parked, swinging my legs out of the door before I started assembling my chair. Before I transferred in, I reached over and grabbed my largest pair of shades, knowing I was probably making myself more obvious than less.
