Royals and Rebels 2: Love and War

Thirty: Prince Cadoc

Chapter Thirty

Prince Cadoc

We were in my SUV to a club, and I couldn't have been more miserable. “We’re laying down ground rules tonight,” Eddie declared. "The first one is no talking about Penelope Peters!”

“Here here!” Audrey, who was sitting in Eddie’s lap, agreed.

Winnie was sitting in the next seat over, looking annoyed at Audrey, and sulking.

“Audrey, you’re her roommate,” I reminded her, “shouldn’t you be on her side?”

Audrey laughed. “Oh, I am Cade, you know I love her to death. But she’s in her own little world right now being Rosalind Russell to Fletcher’s Cary Grant. Let her be.”

I scowled. “Fine. No talking about Pen. What’s the second rule?”

“No thinking about Penelope Peters,” Eddie was counting the rules on his fingers now.

“Don’t you think that these rules only applying to me is a bit unfair?” I challenged.

“No, Eddie’s got them too,” Winnie countered, “which are about the same as yours, replace Penelope with me.”

Eddie grinned. “She’s right, and if I have to be sober, so do you!” he patted me on the back.

I didn’t want to not think about Pen. In fact, I wanted to do the opposite. I had wanted to pay a surprise visit to parliament so that I could see her. I wanted to go to her dorm, ask her how her day was, and find out if she hate Lord Crowe as much as I was. But it was Friday, and Audrey had insisted I leave her alone.

It was also Audrey who insisted that I have fun.

If you believed Audrey, Bexley Adams was at this party that we were going to. It was a launch for a perfume called Blue Angel. It was  Marelene Dietrich inspired, and everyone dressed in their 1940’s best for the evening. Bexley was the face for the perfume, and I’d get to see her.

“Excited, lover boy?” Winnie asked.

“I’m something,” I said with a smirk.

“He means horny,” Eddie replied with a laugh, before kissing Audrey. They’d been drunk before we’d even gotten into the car, but none of it mattered. The night would be forgettable one way or another.

The car pulled to a stop, and we made our way. Laughing at the hordes of reporters as they all tried to get us to take a picture or answer a question. Inside, a remixed versions of the Andrews Sisters blared over the speakers. Strobe lights pulsed, and classic movie posters hung on the walls.

At the front of the club, there was a projection screen. It showed clips of Marlene Dietrich from the film that had inspired the perfume. At the end, a commercial filmed in black and white appeared. Bexley Adams appeared. She had a heart shaped face. Her blond hair was styled like Veronica Lake and she wore a dress worthy of a noir film.

A man’s voice narrated as she came on screen, “The only thing I could remember was the smell of her perfume. Blue Angel. Eternal.”

There was a shot of a gun, the sound of a bang, and the mans body fell. Then it cut to an image of the elegant blue bottle with the words Blue Angel in underneath. “Hello,” a voice whispered.

I turned around, and there was Bexley Adams. She was a vision with blond hair, blue eyes, wearing a white silk dress. “Bexley,” I breathed.

“You know they wanted to have the launch in London. They said it was more elegant, more refined. I said, I like my edges a little rougher. Have it in Wales, or else I’m not going.”

I smiled. “Well, our board of tourism thanks you as do our college students. Would you like something to drink?”

“The polite, ladylike thing to say is I’m not of age. But I don’t care much about being polite or ladylike tonight. Audrey tells me that you’ve been feeling lost and heartbroken, hm?”

“A little,” I said, “but I’ve also gotten ordered not to mention the girl making me feel that way.”

“Good, because I’ve been told not to mention the boy that’s been making me feel that way,” she told me, “let’s drink and forget, hmmm?”

“Sounds like a fabulous idea.”

We ordered ‘seltzers’. Which was vodka made to look like something that the paparazzi couldn’t tell if it was water or alcohol. We spent the entire night dancing with one another. Her pressed up against me, staring at each other as if we were the only two people in the world. The crazy thing was, for the briefest of moments, I forgot.

I forgot that I was wretchedly in love with someone else.

I forgot that she wanted nothing to do with me.

There was only the music, myself, and Bexley Adams warm body pressed up against mine. If it hadn’t been for the purity ring sparkling from her finger I would have taken her to my apartment. I would have made her forget Wren or anyone else that might have haunted her mind like a Lana Del Rey song. But I was a gentleman, so I didn’t.

I drank, and I forgot, and I got so wrapped up in the fact that I didn’t care that there were reporters taking pictures. Or that they would be in the newspaper. Or that Penelope would see everything the very next morning and hate me even more than she already did. I should have. And that was my first mistake.