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THREE

'What is it about elevators?' E.L James

Some days I think I'm stuck in a rotation of people as if I'm on a wheel that only spins one way. There's no stopping the wheel and the only chance of getting off is to fall. And now I feel like someone has stuck a jackhammer in the wheel because I can't breathe.

I struggle to catch my breath as the lift jerks upwards and the music begins again. I'm still crumpled on the floor in some pathetic heap. I know I'm being ridiculous; my entire scene down there moments ago was a dramatic way of showing that after all this time, yes, it still affects me. What happened hurts and seeing him is like being reminded of the monumental stab in the chest I got over a year ago. I don't know how long Adam and I ride that lift. Minutes, maybe but it doesn't feel long enough. I know it's finally time to get up when Adam doesn't hold onto the door closed button.

This time nobody is waiting for me on the other side of the lift, but I still feel as though all the air has been knocked from my chest. The sound of familiar heavy footsteps trudging behind me echoes down the corridor as I try to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.

I breathe as if I'm a tide away from drowning. I breathe as though I'm a second away from letting myself sink. I tell myself to pull myself together. I remind myself I made a promise this morning to not let him see how much his family's presence in this house affects me.

"Your Highness," Adam murmurs, reaching out to steady myself once we reach the top of the staircase I unconsciously began climbing. "We can take a moment before going in."

I stop and turn to stare at my head of security. Adam's slipped his shades off and now his grey eyes bore into mine. He's a step lower than where I am standing, and his hand is around my wrist.

"I can do this," I say but I have no idea if I'm telling Adam or myself.

"Your Highness,"

The double doors in front of me open and the doorman disappears with a small tilt of his head.

Here goes fucking everything.

I step through the doors and the smell of expensive cologne fills the air. My parents have deigned to dine in the small dining room for lunch, usually reserved for family only. The small spread on the table in the middle of the room is anything but usual, the tablecloth my mother only ever approves of during birthdays is now laying flat against the table, the lace edges falling underneath the table. Where the paintings hang, so have the colours of Prescott's flag – blue and gold as if we all need a bigger indication of their arrival.

My eyes graze over the table. Both sets of parents sit opposite each other with my brother at the head of the table. James sits beside his father on the left-hand side, the open seat opposite him clearly marked for my arrival.

"Ah, there she is, Evangeline," Katherine Prescott stands and greets me. I push my feet forward and force a smile, leaning into her hug. "You're looking radiant, my love."

Before I can even answer the queen, James' velvety voice breaks through the quiet.

"I wouldn't bother with the flattery, mother. Eva's head doesn't need to grow any bigger. It may very well just topple off her shoulders."

I grit my teeth and fight the urge to swallow the quick retort that's sour on my lips. Katherine shoots an impressive pair of daggers at her son a silent warning.

"Thank you, Katherine," I direct her way and take my seat. Michael catches my eye from the end of the table, a look of amusement playing deliciously on his features. He loves every second of this and he has no shame in making the entire room know it.

I pull my serviette from the table and lay it flat on my knees, reaching to take a spoon.

"Your mother tells me that you are beginning your second year at university in the autumn." Katherine says, politely making conversation.

I swallow my mouthful of food and nod. "Yes, I start back at Cambridge after the summer."

My mother gives me a look that says, is that it? But I can barely get a word out. My body feels like it's about to separate from myself completely and I'm so focused on one task at hand that I cannot fathom speaking.

It doesn't take long for Katherine to tell she is not going to get much more out of me, so conversations start to settle, and I earwig my father quizzing the Prescott's on a recent charity scandal back in Australia. I try to appear interested as I swivel my fork around my plate, taking ridiculously small sips of water and avoiding complete and utter eye contact with the brute across from me.

I've all about managed the hour's luncheon when I feel a sharp kick and I let out a yelp.

"I do apologise," James' voice cuts through the conversation and my eyes meet his. He looks sorry and to anyone else, this would appear like an accident, a shift in his chair but James' idea of playing dirty is acting like a two-year-old.

"It's not an issue, James."

My mother glances at me from behind her wispy eyelashes and then directs her attention to James. "How are you feeling about your mission here?" she asks as if he's been sent on some diplomatic quest to save the bloody world not come and pinch some poor unsuspecting British girl because Australia has well and truly seen him for what he is. "I have heard the plans are very much underway to introduce you to British society."

James, as confident as ever, leans back against his chair and smiles over at my mother. "I am both anxious and excited to get started," he says with optimism. "I am also keen to strengthen the alliance our countries have with each other with this union."

I roll my eyes; I can't help it.

My mother might as well be a dog considering how much she is lapping up all this bullshit.

"It would be our honour, James. We wish you luck on your search,"

"You'll need it," I scoff, the remark tumbling out of my mouth before I can think better of it.

"I missed that, what did you say, Evangeline?" James narrows his eyes at me over his wine glass.

I stab at a piece of meat on my plate and shrug, "I didn't say anything."

James folds his arms and glances at the head of the table before glaring back at me. "Well, have you got anyone you'd suggest might make my perfect match?" he asks, his voice daring. "Any friends who wouldn't mind a foreign prince?"

If I knew I wouldn't face treason charges, I stab him in the eye with this knife right now. The urchin has well and truly gotten under my skin, and I've barely been in his presence an hour.

"The foreign accent does wonders," James continues.

The urge to point out that he's hardly foreign cripples me. I could tell him that up until a hundred years ago, we owned his country and everything it was worth. He's barely a speck on the map as far as I'm concerned, even if his country is the size of two of mine put together. But I'm not about to start that argument.

"Well?" James prompts. He's daring me to bite back and the look on his face does it for me. The next words plummet out of my mouth in one punch, and nothing has felt better than seeing the look on his face.

"Nobody who is interested in keeping a mongrel, but I'll keep my eyes open for someone who has a spare kennel."

"Eva!" My father bellows, his fork clattering onto the plate and it fills the room like a drum.

"I don't mean to be rude," I say curtly, avoiding my father's gaze, "but the prince, is in fact, wasting his time."

"I don't take offence," James says, breaking the tension with the sword of his lips. "Eva is simply jealous. She cannot fathom the fact that she has a lower status than me—"

"—excuse me? I'm jealous?" I cut him off, bewildered. The cheek of it. I don't even register the next words I say. "If you mean I'm jealous of a guy homing a collection of sexual diseases and an attitude as dirty as somebody's unwashed toilet, I'd agree. But since you think the sun shines out of your presumably preened arsehole, I'll have you know the only thing I have to be jealous about is the millions of other people who don't have to spend their next two weeks in the same palace as you."

And there it is. I know I've officially pushed more than just my luck, so I slide my chair away from the table, dropping my serviette to the table and storm out of the dining room. My body feels as if it's on fire, the flames licking at my skin and tearing through my body. I watch Adam out of the corner of my eye crossing the room promptly after me, his face appearing detached from what has just occurred.

I don't stop my march until I reach the ground floor, breaking through the nearest doors I can find and flood into the gardens. The fresh air hits my skin and I inhale deeply.

The door rattles and I hear Adam's voice. "Let's just leave her a minute,"

I close my eyes and run my hand through my hair.

"Fucking bastard," I spit at nobody and nothing and flop down on a memorial bench besides the fountain. I might as well have steam pouring from my ears. I kick the leg of the bench and tip my head back to the sun.

"What has that bench ever done to you?"

I snap my head up and my eyes reach a man standing before me.

"I'm sorry?"

"If I hadn't of guessed already, I'd have said somebody has made you enormously pissed off, but that bench is pretty decent so I wouldn't want you getting into trouble or anything..."

"You're Australian," I state.

The man's lips turn up, "and you're British."

"What I mean to say is that you have come here, with the Prescott's." It's not a question and he doesn't answer it.

I trail my eyes down the man in front of me. He's wearing a black suit, the navy and gold pocket square in his suit displaying his alliances if the accent enough didn't give it away already. His eyes are dark brown and shaped by dangerously enviable eyelashes and sandy coloured hair covers the rest of his head. He stands with the kind of stance that tells me he's on guard, the kind of posture I notice our security take, but this guy looks as if it's second nature like he doesn't even realise he is doing it. His shoes are polished and the com in his ear confirms to me he is security. It also confirms to me that he's bloody beautiful.

"What's your name?" I ask him.

"A name is a very powerful thing," he says with a slow smile.

"You can't just give it to anyone," I reply.

The man's lips tip again, not quite a smile but close enough. "Indeed."

Thank you for reading! x


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