“Speak to her like that again and you’ll be picking your teeth up off the floor. Do you understand me?” When the answer doesn’t come fast enough, he slams him again—making Logan’s head bounce against the sheetrock. “Do you?!”

Logan stares him down, his proud jaw tense and stubborn. Then he gives a jerk of a nod.

Nicholas takes a step back, holding his hands open at his sides. “We both know the fault here is mine, so if you want to rail at someone, have at me. Get it off your chest.”

Logan straightens the collar of his suit with a tight, resentful tug.

“Putting on a helmet doesn’t change who you are—you can’t walk about and pretend it does.”

“Yes, I realize that.”

Logan’s lips purse and his thumb taps his thigh with agitation. “I wanna switch hotels. Quietly.”

“All right.”

“And I want more men here. I want someone at the coffee shop—it’s insane that you come and go to an unsecured location so often.”

Nicholas agrees, and Logan goes on.

“I want a tail on Miss Hammond and her sister. It’s pure, dumb luck the press hasn’t gotten a photo of them yet—and I want them covered when that happens.”

“I agree.”

“And no more nights in the suite, or afternoons at concerts or wherever the fuck without security. You want to get yourself killed, it won’t be on my watch. You let me do my job the right way or you find someone else to do it.”

Nicholas’s eyes dim—the way an animal’s do when it’s locked back up in its pen.

“I shouldn’t have put you or myself in that position. It was foolish and it won’t happen again.”

After a moment, Logan nods and then bows to Nicholas. He walks toward the door, but then stops and turns to me.

“I’m sorry. I should’na spoke to you that way. I don’t lose my temper often but when I do, stupid shit comes out of my mouth that I don’t mean. None of this is your doin’. Can you forgive me, lass?”

I nod my head slowly, still stunned by all of this. “Of course. It’s all right, Logan. I…I understand.”

He nods, gives me a quick smile and leaves, closing the door behind him.

With a weary exhale, Nicholas sits in the chair by the desk. He digs his palms into his eyes, rubbing. Then he lowers his hands—and opens his arm.

“Come here, love.”

Greedily, I fly to him. Sitting in his lap, wrapping my arms around him, feeling pure relief when he returns the favor. I tremble against him—shaken to the core.

“Are you all right?” he asks, his breath warm against my neck.

“I think so. It’s all just so weird.” I straighten up in his lap, needing to sort my thoughts. “I can’t believe that woman…the way she acted…like she was so sure she knew you. Has this ever happened before?”

“A long time ago, a man snuck into the palace, into my grandmother’s private dining room.”

My heart tightens with concern for a woman I’ve never met. But I realize that because she means so much to Nicholas, she already means a lot to me.

“He didn’t intend any harm—it was similar to the lass tonight. Delusional.”

I hold his strong, handsome face in my hands. “I think I’m only just really starting to get it. It’s like Logan said—you’re important. And I knew that, but…I don’t think of you as Prince of Pembrook, heir to blah-blah-blah…” My eyes touch every inch of his face. “To me, you’re just Nicholas. This amazing, sexy, sweet, funny guy…who I really care about.”

His thumb brushes my bottom lip. “I like that you look at me that way.”

Then he clears his throat and glances away. “And I know it’s been a hell of a night, but…there’s something I have to tell you, Olivia, before this goes any further. Something…we have to talk about.”

Well, that doesn’t sound good.

But after this, how bad could it be?

Stupid, stupid, stupid last words.

I play with the hair at the back of Nicholas’s neck, combing my fingers through the thick, dark strands.

“What is it?”

Nicholas’s arms tighten like two bands of iron—holding on like he doesn’t want me to get away. And a second later, I know why.

“I’m getting married.”

I PROBABLY COULD’VE PHRASED that better. Damn.

Olivia stiffens in my arms, looking at me with big, dark eyes in a gray face. “You’re engaged?”

“No. Not yet.” She tries to rise, but I hold her close.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Let me explain.”

She struggles harder. “Let me up and then you can explain.”

I squeeze her tighter. “I like you where you are.”

Her voice turns to stone—the kind that’s been sharpened into a shank.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you like right now—I want to get up. Let me up, Nicholas!”

My arms drop and she springs away from me, breathing fast, staring like she doesn’t know who I am. Like she never did.

And it’s as if a civil war wages across her face—half of her wanting to bolt, the other half wanting to hear what I have to say. After a few moments of indecision, the latter has won.

She crosses her arms and sits down on the edge of the bed, slowly. “Okay. Explain.”

I tell her the whole story. About my grandmother, the list—about all the birds that need to be killed and how I’m the stone that gets to do the deed.