High Stakes (The Kingdom Book 2) (12 page)

“Make sure you’re wearing that when I get back. I don’t want you wearing anything more or anything less, got it?”

I giggle. “Got it.”

“Good.”

Having nothing of mine in Denham’s apartment, I cross the hall to my apartment. I need my lotions and shampoos, and as much as I like to smell of Denham and his body wash, my hair is screaming out for my products. I grab up my cell, and the key cards to both apartments, and head for the door. A nervousness itches my skin, and I can’t put my finger on the reason why. It’s the first time I’ve been alone since I fell. It’s the first time I’ve been back in my apartment, alone, since I fell. It’s not that I’m not capable of being alone. I am. I’ve done it thousands of times before. I think it’s that I’m worried about the consequences. As much as I try and convince Denham that I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, there’s a small part of me that’s worried I’ll black out again. I hate the fact that I can’t remember what happened, and that is what worries me the most. But, I may never know exactly what happened. It could have been any number of things and there’s no point dwelling on what might never come to light.

I suck in a lungful of air before I slide the card into the reader. Panic reaches nearly an eight out of ten as the green light flashes and the door clicks open. It’s inexplicable and totally unwarranted but it’s there nonetheless. Once I push the door open wide and scan the room, the anxiety starts to subside, and my nerves settle somewhat. There’s nothing to worry about in this room. With the high tech CCTV all around The Kingdom, and the code being needed for the penthouse elevator, I’m safe. The only person I’m not safe from is myself, and right now I’m feeling physically fine.

The drapes in my apartment are pulled open wide, and the morning light touches every part of the room. It really is a great room. Light and airy, no dark corners, no large intimidating furniture. Just a modern, clean living room with a homey feel to it.

With every step further into the room, I feel a little less nervous. My body is giving me no sign that anything unexpected is going to happen and I start to relax. I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and open the doors to the balcony. The gentle breeze blows the wisps of hair around my face, and I look up to the bright sky. “Today is a good day. It’s going to be a good day,” I say to myself resolutely. The sun is shining; I’m here, feeling fine, and I have Denham King to look forward to later, what more could I want?

I make a coffee, and before I can call down and order something for breakfast, there is a knock at the door, and I open it to find that breakfast has come to me.

It’s not Anthony today though; it’s a young girl in the uniform that looks too big for her and a very nervous expression. It looks like she’s new to this job, maybe it’s even her first day, and the poor girl has been sent to the penthouse, no doubt with specific instructions to do everything right. She fiddles with her fingers, picking at the skin around her nails, just like I do when I’m nervous.

“Good morning, miss.” She manages to push the words out, and I can see how hard it was for her. She’s really going to have to come out of her shell to work here, but I’m sure it won’t take more than a few good days and kind words.

“Good morning.”

“Mr. King instructed that I bring you breakfast. Where would you like it?”

“Just over there by the table will be fine,” I instruct and take a second to look at her name tag. “Thank you, Natalie.”

That name brings memories to the forefront of my mind. Memories I was forgetting, regardless of how long or short the time that has gone by, I was actually leaving it all behind and moving on. She reminds me of me in so many ways and I want to sit her down and tell her about everything, everything I went through, if for nothing but to make her more aware of the big wide world, and how much she needs to toughen up to survive.

I stop the racing thoughts. I breathe and I sigh.

Natalie stands next to the cart with eyes so wide, she looks like a stunned rabbit.

“Oh, I’m sorry, N—” I can’t bring myself to say her name again. “Here,” I say, hurrying over to my purse and pulling out a bill for her.

“Oh, no, miss. I couldn’t possibly. I mean, I don’t think I’m allowed,” she stutters, shuffling her feet backwards in the direction of the door.

“Please, take it,” I say. Taking her hand in mine, I push the bill into her palm and close her fingers around it. “Is this your first day?” I ask with a smile, hoping to put her at ease a little.

“No, it’s my third day, I’m trying to do everything right today,” she answers in a dejected voice.

“Oh, you didn’t do everything right yesterday?”

“I tried.” She shrugs.

“Well, I think you’re doing a great job today. I wouldn’t tip you if you weren’t,” I reassure softy.

“Hopefully the dragon lady will think so too, although I doubt it.” Her eyes instantly widen as she realizes she just voiced this out loud. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I’ve spoken out of turn, please don’t tell Mr. King, please, I need this job, I need it bad.”

“Hey, calm yourself. I won’t be telling anyone anything, other than to say how good I think you are. I happen to be a friend of Mr. King and I will be sure to tell him how impressed I am, okay?”

She nods, although the worry lines are still etched around her lips.

“Now, you want to tell me who the dragon is, and why she’s giving you so much trouble?”

“I really shouldn’t … I’ve been here far too long, and said far too much already. I must be going.” She scampers toward the door, leaving her trolley behind. “Damn,” she mutters, and comes racing back toward me, taking the breakfast tray and placing it on the table. “I’m sorry miss, please, enjoy your breakfast.” She pushes the trolley out the door, with her eyes downcast all the way, and she doesn’t even look up when she turns to close the door behind her. My heart hurts a little. She’s so shy, so innocent and vulnerable and I instantly feel protective over her. I want her to feel confident and special instead of timid and nervous. But, she’s not my concern. She must have a family, maybe even a boyfriend. And, I only spent a matter of minutes with her so don’t really know her at all. My hormones are running riot.

I huff out a breath and sit at the table to eat breakfast. Pancakes with maple syrup and a bowl of fresh fruit salad. Perfect.

When I finish the pancakes and move the plate to the side, I notice a card underneath it.

It’s a playing card. The King of hearts.

I twirl it between my fingers and on the reverse side is a note.

‘Every King needs a Queen … D x’

I laugh out loud. He’s always thinking of me. Always letting me know he’s thinking of me.

I eat the entire bowl of fruit salad with a smile on my face, and then take a shower. After having so much company and a permanent chaperone lately, it feels good to be able to do things on my own. Not that I don’t love spending time with Denham, Lottie and everyone else, it’s just, I need time for my mind to put things in order. Time to think logically, and make sense of the crazy occurrences that seem relentless.

The shower makes me feel much more awake and although I promised Denham I would be wearing exactly the same as when he left, I really need to put on fresh underwear. I take out a matching set that I bought from Victoria’s Secret and smile to myself. This is going to drive him crazy! I stand in front of the mirror in the underwear, and know that I have to put the shirt back on so that it covers the bruise on my ribs. It’s blackened since yesterday but looks far worse than it feels. In fact it’s only a little tender and not nearly as bad as it looks. It frustrates me that I’ve been covered in bruises the whole time I’ve known Denham so far, and I wonder when it will end. Am I that clumsy?

I sit at the vanity, and comb through my hair. I admire the roses in the vase, and only just notice that there’s one more than yesterday. Blood red and perfectly shaped, even the sharp curved thorn on the stem has a beauty about it. As much as I have always hated roses, knowing that they’re coming from Denham, changes my perspective. They are just a beautiful innocent flower. There’s nothing sinister about the beauty and simplicity of a rose petal. As with everything, it’s the intention behind them and in this case, it’s Denham showing me that, again, he’s thinking about me, even when he can’t be here.

I smooth moisturizer gently over my cheeks, and it instantly gives my skin a fresh dewy glow, replacing the moisture that has been sucked out by the heat in Las Vegas.
 

I take my time, just pottering around the apartment, using every minute to settle and feel relaxed. It feels good. Really good. And I think back over the short space of time that I have been here, it’s never felt any different. Even though every day seems to have brought a new challenge, for the most part, it feels right.
 

I rearrange clothes, admire my new shoes, and get stupidly excited about shopping for more pairs. I hum to myself as I tidy and explore. I find myself cross-legged on the bed, flicking though my designs once again. It’s where my passion lies, and it seems to call to me when I have any amount of spare time.
 

I pick up the soft lead pencil that feels so right in my hand. The same little pencil that has sketched most of these designs, and is now really too small to use but I can’t seem to part with it. Stupidly I think to myself, what if it’s the pencil that works the magic? What if I can’t sketch with a new one? I laugh to myself, what a ridiculous notion, and really the least of any worries I might have.
 

I lose myself, for what might have been minutes or longer for all I know, before I’m snapped out of my little world by a knock at the door.

I hop off the bed, and half jog through the living area toward the door. I pull it open toward me, and before I can see who’s standing on the other side, I realize I’m still only wearing underwear and Denham’s shirt. But, by now it’s far too late, and a pointed white stiletto followed by a slender, tan leg appears in the gap. As the door falls open further, my eyes travel up and take in the white shift dress, worn by none other than … Amy.
 

Ugh. I actually feel the cold creep through my veins. There is nothing warm or friendly about this woman, and I struggle to see what attraction she holds for anyone.
 

“Arianna, dear. It’s nice to see you again.” Amy pushes past my shoulder, inviting herself in and taking ownership of the air around us. “Although, I wasn’t expecting to see so much,” she sneers, letting her eyes drift down the length of my legs.
 

I stand tall, trying not to be intimidated by her, trying to stand my ground in my apartment, but instantly feeling threatened by the way her body reacts to me, and the way her gaze makes me feel cold and uncomfortable.
 

She lifts her hand toward me, and tucks a long, red, predatory nail under the collar of the white shirt I am wearing, lifting it between her fingertips and gently brushing against my collarbone through the fabric as she does. It sends chills through me. She’s cold. Her aura, her demeanor, and her intentions are all icy and it radiates from her in steady pulses.

“I bet he likes you in this. I bet he asked you to wear it, am I wrong?”

Of course, she’s not wrong. She’s pretty much as correct as can fucking be. I swallow hard. Shards of her persona stick into me like little icy pins. Her words, like little needles of reality, stab into my veins. She knows him better than I do. She knows what he likes, and what he doesn’t. Has he asked her to wear his shirt for him? Has he told her to dress in nothing but heels and diamonds for him?

The thoughts make me feel sick. But, I know that she’s playing me. I've seen Denham’s reaction to her. I’ve seen the contempt in his eyes when her name is mentioned, and I’ve felt the tension radiate from him when he encounters her. She’s a bitch. Pure and simple.
 

How fucking dare she come in here, and make me feel like this.

I push her arm away with the back of my hand, and pull myself as tall as I can. I still don’t match her height, but I hope she feels the pissed off vibe I’m giving her right now.

“What do you want, Amy? If you’re looking for Denham, he’s not here ...”

She throws her head back and laughs. “Oh Arianna, you’re such a pretty, naive little thing, do you know that?”

She throws me off balance a little as that wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.
 

“You think I don’t know where he is? I always know where he is ...” She arches a brow, but doesn’t elaborate further. She waits. That pointed look is etched deep into her features and I know she’s waiting for my reaction. She thinks she’s clever, and she is … to a degree. She’s also more transparent than she would like me to think. That’s the problem with people like Amy, they get complacent. She’s had so many years of being that way, that she believes people can’t see the hollow soul beneath the layers. She can try to intimidate me as much as she likes. She can goad and push and dig away at my confidence. But, she doesn’t know me. She doesn’t know what lies beneath
my
layers. Every blow of the past that’s beaten me down, has also forced me to be stronger and overcome it. And that is something that she’s underestimating.
 

I might not be fully healed, but the bitch in me is fighting back, and adrenaline is making me feel brave.