Nowhere Left to Fall, page 2
“Nuclear!” Uncle Isak pounded his fist on the table, making all of our dishes bounce slightly. “This, above all, will destroy us. Our history, our people, our children’s futures. Have you learned nothing from me, Anwar?”
“How can you not see that the world has gained so much freedom, so much power, it’s imploding on itself!” Anwar shot back, leaning forward.
“And it’s up to small, rich countries like ours to do what’s right and help guide it back to where it should be.”
“You’re a foolish old man!”
“And you’re an insolent embarrassment.” Uncle Isak shook his head. “To think you will someday replace me worries me, my son.”
Anwar threw up his hands. “Because I follow the old ways? Because I believe our ancestors had it right?”
“Our ancestors would have you living in a tent in the desert,” his father snapped. “I don’t see you giving up your Ferrari or your condo in the city.”
“All right, enough.” Dad spoke up quietly, though the authority in his voice was hard to miss. Technically, he was the firstborn son of the previous king and should have succeeded him, but he’d fallen in love with a commoner from Sweden and had abdicated the throne to be with her. Though his brother, the current king, had allowed him to keep the title of prince, he and his heirs no longer had any power in the bloodline. I was sixth in line on paper--merely because of the DNA running through my veins--but barring a horrific tragedy that eliminated all of my male cousins, I would never ascend the throne, and I’d always preferred it that way. Anwar was a terrible human being and no matter how many times I told myself he would grow up, change, it hadn’t happened. At thirty, I didn’t think it would, and it scared me.
“You have no right—” Anwar began.
“He has every right behind these doors,” Uncle Isak said sharply. “Were it not for him, you would be a powerless cousin relegated to ambassador duties.”
It went on for another hour. I got up twice to refill my coffee, once to get some food, and another time to use the bathroom. By eleven thirty they’d made no decisions about Skye other than to remove her from the country, no plans to finalize their schedule of appearances for the next six months, and Anwar was as petulant as a three-year-old who didn’t want to take a nap.
“I’m fucking done,” I muttered to my father as servants served lunch. “What’s wrong with everyone today?”
My father sighed, glancing in his brother’s direction. “There’s a lot going on. The country is at a crucial point in our history, on the verge of civil war.”
“We’ve been saying that for years,” I protested.
“Yes, but it’s coming to fruition, and Isak is struggling with how to deal with it.”
“What of Skye?”
“I’ve got a plan in motion. As soon as it’s safe to move her, I’m having her airlifted to Las Vegas. She can recover with her mother and me there. Once she’s physically able, she can decide where she wants to go, what she wants to do.”
“She’ll just go back to him.”
“I don’t think so. Not this time. At least, I hope not.”
“He’s done this before?” My mouth fell open, but I was so shocked I didn’t care.
“Not this badly, but yes, he’s hit her before. This time, he broke her nose, her collarbone, and two of her fingers. I think her eyes are finally open.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’d be in prison on a murder charge, which wouldn’t help anyone. Trust me, I’m on top of this.”
I wanted to strangle him, and her, but since I couldn’t, I cut a piece of steak and stuck it in my mouth. Maybe a good meal would improve my mood. Probably not, but there was always a chance.
“So, are you in?”
“In?” I looked at him in confusion. “In what?”
“The rescue mission, of course. Omar’s not going to agree to a divorce without a fight, so he’ll try to stop us from taking her out of the country.”
“Sure.” What the hell else was there to say?
3
Casey
* * *
After two days of sleep, eating my favorite meals, and online shopping, I was ready to get out of my condo. Nick hadn’t been right about much the other night, but he’d been right about me not being good at staying still. That’s why I loved touring so much. Without it, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d been playing music my whole life. My father was a legendary rock guitarist from the eighties and nineties, and I’d had a guitar in my hand since I was two years old. I played a little bass, a lot of piano, a touch of drums, and even some saxophone. But guitar was my heart, my soul, my passion. A day didn’t go by that I didn’t at least pick up my acoustic and strum a few melodies. Songwriting was my second passion, and I was constantly scribbling notes on pads, napkins, or the Notes app on my phone. Except the last two days.
I hadn’t picked up my guitar, hadn’t written any song lyrics, hadn’t even thought about it. Instead, I’d given myself a few days to wallow in self-pity. I was done, though, and on my way to my parents’ house to let my mom give me some love and my dad give me some insight on what to do next. I was twenty-two years old, independently wealthy, and had zero idea what I wanted to do now that Viktim of Prey was no longer a band.
I got to my parents’ suburban McMansion and used my remote to open the gate. I hadn’t lived at home for a few years, but I still had a key and my own room. As I rounded the corner, a familiar limousine was parked on the side of the house, and I sighed impatiently. Just once, I wanted my parents all to myself, but as always, they had company. Uncle Ben and Aunt Kari were my parents’ closest friends, and they were together constantly. Usually, I didn’t care because I adored them—I’d known them my whole life—but today I wanted to sit on the couch with my dad and talk about music while eating something my mom baked and listening to her make fun of us.
Taking a deep breath, I opened the kitchen door and walked in, calling out to my mother. “Mom?”
“Casey!” My mother was still a stunner at fifty-two, and she came into the kitchen in cut-off denim shorts and a tank top that said “I love rock ‘n’ roll.” “What are you doing here?”
“I came by to hang out, but I didn’t realize you had company.”
“Ben and Kari are family.” She hugged me tightly. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.”
“Go say hi to your father, and I’ll make you something. Scrambled eggs with feta cheese sound good?”
“Sounds amazing. Thanks, Mom.” I grinned and hurried into the living room where my father, Lucas Hart, was playing cards with Prince Ben al-Hassani, or Uncle Ben, as I’d always called him.
“Hey, baby girl.” Dad gave me a lopsided grin, unlit cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he put his cards down. “Full house,” he told Uncle Ben.
“Asshole.” Uncle Ben tossed his cards down and turned to me. “Come give your old uncle a hug.”
I hugged both of them, happy to be back in my family’s fold. I craved music, but my family grounded me, even when they were far away.
“Casey!” Aunt Kari came down out of the guest bathroom and immediately held out her arms.
“Hi!” I hugged her too.
“You’re pale,” Aunt Kari announced, frowning. “You need sun. We should fly to Hawaii for a week.”
I laughed. Kari’s solution to everything was a trip to a beach.
“We’ll see,” I told her.
“Eggs are ready,” Mom called from the kitchen.
“Go eat.” Aunt Kari smiled at me. “We’ll catch up after.”
I walked back into the kitchen and was just about to sit down when the door opened, and the man of my dreams came in. Prince Tariq al-Hassani, or Erik as we’d always called him. I nearly stumbled, staring at him in surprise. What was he doing here? I hadn’t seen my teenage crush in two years, and seeing him in my parents’ kitchen left me flustered, which almost never happened.
“Hello, Casey.” His soft, well-modulated voice and faint British accent always did things to my treacherous insides, but I managed a quirky smile.
“Hello, Your Greatness. What brings you to our dusty desert oasis?” He’d always hated Las Vegas when we were kids, and I’d always mocked the way most people greeted him as “Your Highness.”
“My sister’s getting divorced, so I came to offer a little support.”
I arched a brow and laughed. “How’s that going?” Skye and I disliked each other, and Erik had never been all that close to her, either, from what I’d heard. In fact, no one really liked her.
“About how you’d expect.”
“Awesome.” I sank down and dug into the meal my mother had prepared.
“I’m going back to the living room,” my mother said softly, squeezing my shoulder. “You two can join us when you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You look sad,” Erik said gently. “Are you okay?”
“The band is breaking up, and I guess I’m at a crossroads in life.”
“I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard. Why?”
“Nick doesn’t want to be a rock star, and BJ is going to be a father.”
“You and Jade could pull together another group, no?”
“I suppose.” I looked at him with a sad smile. “But it won’t be the same, and I think Jade wants to spend more time with her daughter too. I don’t know right now. I’m a little lost.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“You think it’s easy being a prince with no real role? My entire life is education, raising money for charities, and being told how to behave.”
“I thought you loved all that.”
“Not even a little.”
This was news to me.
“What would you do if you weren’t a prince?”
He frowned. “I don’t know. It’s never been an option, so I never thought about it. I think professionally I’d like to be involved in corporate law, international finance, that sort of thing. Big business.”
“And personally?”
He met my gaze with a look I’d never seen before. Was he flirting with me? Holy shit, he was checking me out, and I didn’t know what to do. Prince Tariq al-Hassani, though the son of my parents’ best friends, had always been off-limits to me. He was a few years older and had gone to boarding school and university in Great Britain. We’d hung out on occasion, and I had the biggest crush on him, but he always left too soon and didn’t seem that interested. He was smokin’ hot, and I was just a regular girl, so it didn’t surprise me. It didn’t stop me from wanting him in the worst way, though.
“I think I’d find a beautiful woman to love and have a family with.”
“Can’t you…do that anyway?” I wasn’t sure why my breath felt a little short.
“I’m not interested in the women my family thinks are appropriate for me.” He looked away. “But that’s a conversation for another time and another place.”
“Okay?” I wasn’t sure how to respond so I just kept eating.
Erik was gorgeous, and I was having a hard time believing he was single. He had his father’s dark hair and green eyes and his mother’s incredible features—long eyelashes, a full mouth, and a straight nose. There was a cleft in his strong, square chin, and I’d always fantasized about licking it.
“So, what are you going to do now?” His question brought me out of my fantasy.
“Drink,” I replied with a smile. “I’m going to go underground with some of my rock and roll friends and drink until I can’t feel any of the disappointment or confusion about my future. Then I’m going to hit the recording studio and start writing some new songs. I always come up with great lyrics when I’m depressed.”
He chuckled. “Amazing how that works, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” I got up and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. “What happened with Skye?” That was a much safer subject than my life.
“Omar hit her.”
“He hit her?” My eyes widened. “Holy shit. What happened?”
“She won’t tell us the details, but I guess she learned that Omar is a lot more old-school than she thought, and she was nothing more than a vessel to produce his future offspring. She simultaneously discovered his mistress.”
“Shit.”
“When she told him she wouldn’t tolerate infidelity, he hit her hard enough to break her nose, a couple of fingers and a few other things.”
I grimaced. “Why would she marry someone like that?”
“I don’t know,” he said with obvious confusion. “I asked her if she ever really loved him, and she told me that wasn’t why people in our position married.”
I shook my head. “I’ve never understood her.”
“I thought I did until she married Omar, but she seems to have her own agenda now.”
“Omar is the one with the agenda,” Uncle Ben said, coming in to put some plates in the sink. It always struck me as odd that a man of his wealth and bloodline did such menial tasks, but he always did when he was at my parents’ house.
“What does that mean?” I asked him.
“I wish I knew,” Uncle Ben admitted, looking at me. “I hope I’m wrong about him, but his interest in Skye always bothered me. We always kept her under the radar, raising her out of Limaj and away from arranged marriages and the like. He appeared out of nowhere, courting her and getting her to agree to marry him and move home to a country she’d never lived in other than for a handful of extended visits. I did a little digging and he’s not a good man, the type that would kick a puppy just because he wanted to. I could never prove it, but it always felt like he wanted something.”
“What could he possibly want?” I asked. “I thought he was wealthy in his own right.”
“I don’t think it’s about money,” Ben said tentatively. “If anything, it’s about power.”
“He doesn’t think he’s going to be king, does he?”
“Not hardly,” Erik snorted.
“Well, whatever he intended, hopefully, that’s behind us now,” Uncle Ben said, changing the subject. “And you, my dear, are you terribly depressed following the break-up of the band?”
“Terribly hungry, it seems.” I laughed, cleaning my dish and getting up in search of more.
“Well, then, I will leave you two to chat and go comfort my wife who is determined to become a grandmother before she turns fifty so she can have the energy to play with them. Either that, or we’re going to have another one of our own. For which I’m going to suggest we start practicing immediately.”
Erik rolled his eyes as his laughing father left the room. “I don’t know which of them is worse.”
“I think your parents are adorable.”
“They’re uncouth sometimes, that’s for sure.”
“Uncouth?” I asked, surprised.
“That’s not the type of thing you say in front of others. At least not to me.”
Oh, there it was, his snooty royal side showing up. It came and went in my experience, and it always annoyed me when he switched from casual and relaxed to uptight and snobby. Especially when his mere presence made my palms sweat a little and parts of me tingle that shouldn’t. “Why do you think being royalty means being a snob?”
He looked at me in surprise. “You think I’m a snob?”
I shrugged. “Well, your sister is a snob and then some, and you’re a borderline snob. Or, at the very least, decidedly stuffy.”
“Stuffy?” He gaped at me. “What does that mean?”
“When was the last time you were drunk? When was the last time you acted silly? Do you tell dirty jokes? Hell, do you tell jokes at all?”
“Because I take my position and family reputation seriously, that makes me stuffy?”
“No one who’s serious all the time is any fun—and you’ve always been this way—even as a teenager.”
He paused. “So, you think being serious is a negative?”
“I think being serious all the time is sad. I don’t ever remember seeing you laugh or have fun, even though your parents are tons of fun.”
“And what way am I?” he asked dryly.
I didn’t like where this conversation was going or why I’d suddenly started picking on him, but I was having a hard time thinking about anything except his gorgeous green eyes or the little tuft of chest hair I saw peeking out from his dress shirt. My childhood crush had grown into six-feet-two-inches of hunky royal temptation, and that would only get me into trouble. “Serious…isn’t that what we’ve been talking about?”
“You really dislike me, don’t you?”
“Not at all. I don’t have much of any relationship with you.” I self-consciously wiped my mouth, wondering how good of a liar I was. “And I probably never will because you have no concept of my life, my career, or even how to have fun.”
“I have fun,” he protested.
“Oh, yeah? When? Playing golf a few times a year with your father and cousins?”
“Well, that’s fun, yes.”
“Okay. And?”
“I go to the races when I’m in England and—”
“I almost feel sorry for you. You’re too good-looking to be this boring. I bet you don’t even have exciting sex.”
4
Erik
* * *
I managed not to turn red, but I had to take a long drink of water before I was able to answer her.
“My sex life is private, thank you,” I said slowly. “But I believe I do know how to please a woman.”
“And who’s going to tell you otherwise?” She laughed. “I can’t see some poor girl who thinks she has the chance to marry into the royal family telling you you’re no good in bed.”
I stared at her. “I’m fairly certain I can tell when a woman is faking.”
“If you say so.” She got up and put her dishes in the sink, keeping her back turned as she rinsed them.
As frustrated as I was with the turn the conversation had taken, I was enjoying sparring with her. She was gorgeous, with long blond hair and the biggest, bluest eyes I’d ever seen on a woman. Her legs were long and lean, sitting beneath the most luscious backside I’d ever wanted to sink my teeth into. Regardless of what she thought, I had a healthy, abundant sex life, and the women I’d slept with most certainly enjoyed themselves. I wasn’t sure how to convince her of that though. Well, I knew how I wanted to convince her, but that didn’t appear to be in the cards.
