Billionaire on the Loose (20 page)

So she went on. “Marrying someone to disqualify yourself from the throne ring a bell?”

He blanched.

“Yeah, that's what I thought.” She set her phone down on the chair next to her bag, and then made a big show of taking off her engagement ring. Unfortunately, her motions launched the ring across the room, but she didn't care. “We're done.”

The look he gave her was sad. “I'm sorry, Taylor. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Yeah?” Fresh tears were starting to pool in her eyes. Damn it. She was trying really freaking hard to be strong and it was more difficult than she'd imagined. “Here's the thing. Maybe if you don't want to hurt someone, you don't use them like a dirty sock. Maybe you don't tell them you love them to convince them to marry you. Or was that the truth?”

He sighed heavily and put his hands on his hips, then looked down. “Would you believe me even if I said yes?”

“No.”

“Then I won't say anything.”

Oh, ouch. Those tears she'd been fighting? They poured down her cheeks nonstop. “Yeah, that's kind of what I thought. You know, if you wanted to marry someone just to have a laugh on everyone back in your home country, you could have asked me. Do I seem like the type of person that would tell you to go fuck off? But you don't even ask. You just assume I'm here for your disposal, like . . . like one of your servants!” She swiped angrily at her wet cheeks. “What, they aren't here so now you need to recruit someone else to pick up your socks and take you to breakfast, and Good Ol' Gullible Taylor fits the bill?”

“Taylor,” he murmured, putting his hands out to touch her arms. “Stop. Please.”

She batted his hands away. “I'm not going to stop! I'm fu-fucking pissed!” The words caught in her tear-filled throat. “I thought you loved me. I thought, hey, there's this fantastic guy and we don't have much in common but I really like him and why not go for it? Guess I'm the stupid one, right?”

“You're not stupid,” he said softly, reaching to touch her face.

She slapped his hand away. “Yeah, I am. We're done.” She managed to put a weak smile on her face. “Spoiler alert: The princess is pregnant and you don't have to marry me anyhow. Bet you're relieved.” She pushed past him and grabbed her suitcase.

“Taylor. Don't go. Please. Stay and let's talk about this, all right?” There was frustration in his face, and a little worry. Good. Let him worry. She was so done.

She shook her head and grabbed her bags. Maybe later when she wasn't hurting so much, she could talk about it rationally. Right now, she was an open wound, a big ball of misery, and she wanted nothing more than to go home to her shitty apartment and cry. “Oh, and by the way? I quit.”

Taylor stormed out into the hall and made it to the elevator without a total breakdown. It immediately opened and she stepped inside.

“Taylor, wait—” Loch called from down the hall. “We need to talk—”

Shit. He was coming after her. She punched the
DOOR CLOSE
button quickly, hammering on the button in the hopes of speeding it up. They slid carefully together, and when there was only an inch of space remaining, she caught a glimpse of Loch's face and the frown he was wearing.

Fuck him. She hoped he was as miserable as she was.

***

Well, fuck.

Loch stared at shut elevator doors. He could go after her, take the stairs . . . but then what? It was clear she didn't want him to go after her. He rubbed a hand over his jaw and realized he was frowning. Hell, of course he was. He'd been a total arse to her. It was just . . . he'd been surprised at her accusation, and defensive. He didn't like being the bad guy.

He waited at the elevator a few minutes longer, just in case she changed her mind and came back up to talk to him. Nothing. He returned to his room with a heavy heart. Already it felt as if the sunshine had gone out, leaving only tepid, fake lighting that seemed as miserable as he was. He saw her ring glinting on the floor across the room, and went to pick it up.

Taylor was gone. She'd been so damn hurt, the happy light gone out of her eyes.

He was to blame for that. His stomach knotted with misery. Every accusation she'd tossed at him, he was guilty of. He'd felt like such a damned arse to see the pain on her face and know that he'd put it there. Immediately, he'd wanted to fix it. He'd wanted to stop her and tell her that no, it wasn't true. That he
did
care for her.

But caring for her wasn't the same as
loving
her and he didn't know if he was in love. Not yet.

And everything
was
true.

So he'd let her go.

Like she'd said, his cousin Alexandra was pregnant. She'd sent him a text moments ago. They were going wide with a press conference in a few hours, but she'd wanted to let him know in advance. Babies were always well-received by the public, and she told him that it should take care of any problems involving the throne.

He should have been thrilled. That was exactly what he'd been waiting to hear, wasn't it?

Bellissime was home, not New York City. There, he could return to his horses, his quiet, peaceful days at his villa, and go back to his life of polo games, rugby matches, and social events. Someone would put out his clothing for him, make sure his bathroom always had toothpaste and fresh towels, and he wouldn't have to do a thing for himself.

The thought was . . . vaguely dissatisfying, and it shouldn't have been. He set the ring down on a nearby table, troubled. Part of him wanted to stay here in New York, to see if he could become more independent. But he no longer had Taylor. She would probably never speak to him again, and if she didn't, he wouldn't blame her. He'd been an ass, like Rex had always said. And being here in New York without Taylor? It didn't have the same appeal.

Actually, it sounded pretty awful.

Loch rubbed a hand over his face again. He already missed her. And he couldn't get over the nagging feeling that he was making a big mistake. He grabbed his wallet and headed to the door, still sweaty from his run. There was no sign of Taylor in the hallway, which was disappointing. He'd been hoping he'd leave and see her there, and seeing it empty hurt.

He left the hotel and went to Rex's favorite street corner, looking for advice. Rex would have words of wisdom—they might burn like acid, but they were always on the mark.

But Rex wasn't there. His corner was empty.

Loch was alone.

He returned to his hotel room, and again it felt dead and empty. He sat on the couch, where Taylor liked to curl up. It made him ache to see the place without her. To think that her smile would never light up the room again.

For a man so sure that he wasn't in love, it shouldn't have bothered him nearly as much as it did.

***

Taylor had to open two new credit cards to charge a plane ticket to visit Sigmund, but she did anyhow. Turned out the guy lived in Milwaukee, not upstate New York like he'd told her. She'd talked to his mom, explained that she was the online friend he was so messed up over, and then they'd both wept a little. Sig's mom didn't blame Taylor, for which she was incredibly relieved, and she was supportive of Taylor coming to visit.

Taylor herself wasn't looking forward to it, but it needed to be done.

It was late in the evening when her plane finally landed, and later when her taxi made it to the hospital. She found the floor and headed down the hall, looking for the right room. To her surprise, the woman seated in front of Sigmund's room door reading a magazine was no more than ten years older than Taylor herself. She looked tired and frail, her smile thin as she got to her feet.

“You must be Taylor.” She extended her hand. “I'm David's mom, Donna.”

Sigmund was David Brooks in reality, but Taylor couldn't think of him as anything but Sig. She nodded, feeling uncomfortable. “How's he doing?”

“He's bitching about the hospital food, of course. And he's upset at me because I'm hovering.” She grimaced and then pressed a trembling hand to her cheek. “Of course I'm hovering. He's all I've got.”

“Of course,” Taylor said soothingly. She squeezed Ms. Brooks's hand. “This must be so hard for you. Is there anything I can do?”

The woman's smile was wan. “Convince him not to do this again?”

“That's my goal.” She didn't know if she would achieve it, but she'd damn well try. “Can I get you anything? Do anything?” Taylor looked around helplessly. “I should have brought flowers—”

“They won't allow them,” Ms. Brooks said. “And I might sneak down and get a cup of coffee, if that's all right with you. They're going to keep him here a few more days for evaluation, and I don't want to leave.”

“Of course.” Taylor gave her a warm smile. “Take all the time you need.”

The woman nodded and picked up her purse, then headed down the hall. Her steps were tired, her shoulders hunched, and Taylor's heart ached for her. She turned to the door, knocked softly, and then opened it.

The room inside was white, cold, and bland. A tray of uneaten hospital food sat on the bedside table, and the TV flickered in the corner of the room but no sound was on.

In the bed was a boy who seemed far too young. Maybe fourteen or fifteen.

Jesus.

Here she'd thought—well, she'd assumed—that Sig was her age, maybe a year or two younger. He was almost half her age. Just a kid. He had shaggy brown hair, a thin face, and the same small, rounded shoulders his mom did.

He looked over at her with a bored gaze and then his eyes widened. He sat up. “Tay?” There was a look of mixed horror and shame on his face.

“Hi, Sig.” She gave him an awkward smile and wave. “I wanted to come and visit you once I heard what happened.”

He slumped back down in the bed. “I didn't want you here.”

“Because I'd find out that you weren't who you said you were?” She moved to the side of the bed and slung her backpack off her arm. The motion knocked the bedside table over, and she had to surge to grab the tray before it spilled in his lap.

Sig chuckled, sitting up a little. “Well, if I didn't think it was you before, I'm sure it's you now.”

“Har de har.” But his laugh made her feel a little better, and she sat down next to him. “How come you lied? About living in New York instead of Milwaukee? And your age?”

He shrugged, looking down at his hands. There was an IV taped to one arm and his nails were short and chewed. “I don't know. I'm always home in the daytime—homeschooling, you know—and you mentioned you were working from home. So I said I was, too.” His mouth crooked in a half smile. “Didn't imagine you'd show up here.”

“How could I not?” she snapped, her temper getting the better of her. “You've harassed me every day for the last year and a half, insisting I get online. You stalk my Facebook profile. You send me flowers. You tell me you love me and then you try to kill yourself when you find out I'm engaged! What the
hell
, Sig? How can I not feel responsible for this? You've spent the last eighteen months telling me you're going to hurt yourself if I don't spend time with you, and the one weekend I'm away, you try this?”

He stared at his hands, silent.

She sighed and rubbed her face. “I'm sorry. I'm just . . . tired. It's been a shitty week.”

“Mine, too.”

A small, horrified laugh escaped her, and it turned into a sob. “You can't do this to yourself, okay? You can't do this to yourself, and to me. It's not healthy for either of us.”

“I know. Don't cry.” He picked up the box of Kleenex on the table next to him and offered it to her. “Mom's been filling my ears for two days now. I didn't think she'd care, but I guess she does.”

“Why wouldn't she care?” Taylor grabbed the tissue and dabbed at her face.

He shrugged. “She just works all the time. When she comes home, she's too tired to talk to me. You're all I've got.”

“What about your dad?”

“Never been in the picture.” He picked at his blanket. “You and the guild are all I have.”

“Sig,” she said softly, and reached out to squeeze his hand. “I'm just a character in a game. That's not real life. That's us hiding behind our screens and escaping. You and me both. And it needs to stop.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but his thin fingers curled around hers. “What are you hiding from?”

“You name it. Bills? Student loans? A shitty job? The fact that I'm an abject failure in my career that I paid way too much for?” She shrugged. “Sometimes it's easier to just turn on the computer and be someone else, but over the last few weeks, I've realized that I'm missing out on a lot.”

Sig made a face. “Because of him. Brunhilde.”

“Loch,” she agreed, and had to blink hard to stop from crying again. “He . . . he turned out to be a bit of a dud.” She tried to smile, failed, and decided to keep talking. “But I learned something really important when I was out with him. I didn't have time to be on the computer and I felt . . . alive. I met with friends. I went to dinner. I went to the
Excelsior
con. I even went rock climbing one day. And I don't know . . . I've felt more alive in the past few weeks than I have in the last eighteen months.” She shrugged and gave his hand another squeeze. “Playing
Excelsior
so much made me lose track of life, and while that was good for a while, I'm ready to stop hiding.”

“Are you quitting?”

“Probably.” She gave him a weak smile. “I made Madrigal the new guild leader.”

He rolled his eyes. “That guy? Seriously?”

“He's really good with newbies. And someone needs to take over while I'm gone.” She gave his hand an affectionate little shake. “I think you should quit, too.”