Broken Prince: A New Adult Romance Novel Page 6

  "We have to get out." Eliot pulled Marta to her feet, but she resisted.

  "No! You can't go out there!" she cried. The stylist unlocked the door and looked back to Eliot.

  "We can try the back exit," the receptionist said. Her voice quavered, but she was ready to get out. The smoke grew thicker, ribbons of white coming in under the door. Eliot's eyes burned.

  "Yes," Eliot said. "Ready?" He grabbed Marta's arm to pull her. She clutched his arm but stopped resisting.

  "Go!" Eliot cried, and the stylist threw open the door. Clouds of opaque smoke billowed into the small room, and a rush of heat washed over Eliot's face. He couldn't see anybody from the mob, which was no surprise since he couldn't see anything. He held Marta's hand tightly and turned to follow the stylist, but in front of them the heat intensified.

  "Out the front!" Eliot said, coughing through the words. The stylist and receptionist turned and both disappeared into the smoke, leaving the two of them behind. Eliot followed in their direction, walking carefully across the salon with Marta behind him. With so much smoke in his eyes, all he could see were glimpses of daylight from the windows. His shoes crunched the shattered glass on the floor. His throat burned with the smoke—something chemical must have caught fire; the sting was acrid—and he felt Marta lean against him for support. Sirens blared in his ears as though they were inches away. Just a few more steps...

  He hit the doorframe with his foot and stumbled sideways just as he felt Marta pitch forward. He caught her falling and lifted her limp body against his shoulder. The stylist and receptionist had already escaped, he hoped, and he staggered forward with Marta's weight out of the clouds of smoke and into the street. The air cleared, and Eliot saw where the siren noise came from: a half-dozen police cars circling the salon and blocking off the rioters and news reporters. A fire truck rounded the corner, engine roaring. Marta coughed and spat, and Eliot eased her to her knees in the center of the street. The mob's noise dulled to a mute din in Eliot's ears as he crouched down beside her.

  "Are you alright?" Eliot asked. Marta nodded her head in a jerking motion before falling into another coughing fit. Eliot held her by the shoulders as she heaved. Surely an ambulance would be coming. He looked around frantically. Video cameramen and photographers crowded around the police barricade, the black lenses following Eliot and Marta. Rioters ran away from the scene.

  "It's alright," Eliot said. He looked around at the mob of people swirling around the street. Smoke billowed out of the salon storefront, and the sirens flashed red and blue, the klaxons deafening. He saw Marta's white Ferrari, the windows smashed, the seats smoldering. The rioters had set it on fire.

  "It's going to be alright," Eliot repeated, and he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Marta, or himself.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Brynn

  “For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love.”

  Carl Sagan

  I didn't believe Csilla. I didn't believe the newspaper. But when I looked through the news archives on my phone, I found articles—dozens of them—talking about Eliot's trial. And then I came to one article where I had to look up a word in the headline. Gyónás. Confession. I shut my phone and jumped when it rang immediately. It was my grandmother.

  "Hi Nagyi," I said, forcing brightness into my voice. "How are you?"

  "I am well," Nagyi said. "How about you? How is your prince?"

  "He's doing well," I said, my face turning warm as I thought about what I had just learned about him. "Working hard."

  "I hope he's been supportive of you after...after everything that happened to you."

  "He's been wonderful," I said. It wasn't hard to sound earnest—Eliot had done everything for me in the weeks after I was sexually assaulted. He'd come close to me when I'd asked him to hold me the one time I needed him to. He'd backed off when I told him that I wasn't ready to be with him in that way, even giving me my own room to make sure he wouldn't be any kind of pressure. Sure, he'd been more irritable, but that was to be expected after all of the issues he'd had working on the mathematical proof. I was still thinking about his embrace, about how nice it had been to sleep with him, when my Nagyi's voice came into my ear again.

  "Sorry, Nagyi," I said. "What was that?"

  "You can stop sending me money for the medicine."

  "Oh? Did the doctors say you don't need it anymore?"

  "Ah, no," Nagyi said. "They didn't. I...I actually haven't been able to get my medicine this week."

  "What? Why not? You got the money I sent, right?" I had sent the wire transfer last week with the money I'd gotten back from returning some of the clothes Marta had given me.

  "Yes, yes, thank you so much. No, it's the insurance company. They're refusing to pay for their percentage. They say it's not a necessary expense."

  "Didn't your doctor say it would help prevent strokes? You have a prescription!"

  "They're absolutely refusing. The medicine would cost six times as much without insurance," she said. "I've talked with everyone—the hospital, the doctors, a thousand different people from the insurance company—and they keep telling me it will be weeks, maybe months, before I could appeal the decision."

  I was shocked. I knew that Nagyi's doctor bills were expensive, but there was no way I could give her thousands of dollars without Eliot noticing. I would have to ask him.

  "Brynn?"

  "Can you get at least some of the medicine? To last you a few days?"

  "I don't want you to worry. I think I'll be fine," Nagyi said, her voice crackling over the line. "The doctors said that it would only lower the risk of my having a stroke. And I feel very healthy!"

  "I can get you the money," I said. "I'll wire it as soon as possible."

  "I couldn't ask that of you," Nagyi said. "Even that you've done so much—I can't thank you enough. But no, this would be impossible."

  "It's not," I said frantically. "Not impossible at all. Eliot has the money. I can ask him—"

  "I don't want to be a burden," Nagyi said firmly. "That's entirely too much money."

  "Please," I said. "Just until you get the insurance settled with."

  There was a pause on the line, and I thought I had lost the connection. But then her voice came back on the line, a bit shaky.

  "Alright," she said. "But please, if you can't send the money, don't worry. I can get a loan. I can ask someone else..."

  "Like who?" I asked, before thinking. "I mean—"

  "No, you have the right to know," she said. "It was your father. Is. He's sending me money to cover some of the bills."

  "You don't need to accept money from him," I said, bristling. "I can cover it."

  "Thank you, Brynn, but he likes to give a little something to help. And I'm thankful to see him so often. It reminds me of your mother, back when they were a young couple."

  "I can't imagine that," I whispered.

  "What's that?" she asked. "I can't hear you."

  "I'll send it," I said. "I'll send the money. Just let me know how much."

  "Thank you, Brynn," Nagyi said. "Thank you so very much."

  "I love you, Nagyi," I said. "I miss you."

  "I miss you too," she said. "I am so glad you're off having an adventure, though. That's an opportunity for good luck if I ever saw it."

  "Or for bad luck," I said, laughing. It was just like her to stride forward onto an optimistic road, and just like me to retreat from it.

  "If you do it for love, it'll always be good. Remember that, Brynn. If you're ever in doubt, take a chance on love."

  "Okay," I said, not quite sure what she meant.

  "I love you."

  "Love you too," I repeated. "Bye."

  The entire ride home I spent in worry. Eliot's confession. My Nagyi's medicine. But the picture that kept reappearing in my brain was the photograph of me in a bikini sitting by the pool. Printed for everyone to see. The idea of it made me sick, just like when I thought about the hunter who has assaul
ted me in the forest. I blinked and blinked and couldn't get the picture out of my mind. Was this really an adventure? It was beginning to feel less and less like the dream I'd thought living with Eliot would be.

  When I came back to the house, only the light to Eliot's study was on. I flew through the front door and went straight to the back of the house, throwing the crumpled newspaper Csilla had given me onto the kitchen counter. The picture of me in the bikini was taken from the backyard as I lay by the pool. I shuddered as I looked out of the back window toward the forest. There, the photographer must have stood amid the trees, waiting until I came out, to take photos of me.

  Starting in the kitchen, I slammed the shutters of the windows closed, one by one. One window was not shuttered; I yanked the curtain across it. Each window I closed shut out the daylight, and the rooms began to grow dark. I had not remembered to turn on the lights, and I didn't care. I wanted the whole house to go dark. I wanted it to be impossible to see me, to see Eliot. The dark was wonderful, the dark was blinding.

  I heard Eliot's footsteps on the stairs just as I closed the last shutter, sending the first floor of the house into near-complete darkness.

  "Brynn? What on earth is—"

  A scrape of wood on tile, a shout, and then the shattering of glass. I blinked in the darkness and fumbled for the light switch. When I switched on the hallway lights, I saw Eliot standing over the remnants of the vase that he had knocked over. Red roses and glass were scattered all across the tile.

  "Are you okay?" My voice sounded quiet.

  "Yes, yes. Let's—here, let's get this cleaned up." Eliot bent to scrape the glass together into a pile.

  "I didn't think—I'm sorry. Let me get a broom." My hands were shaking. I got the broom out from the pantry and came back to sweep the glass up. Eliot was picking up the roses and shaking the glass pieces off of them.

  "I picked these up for you on the way home," he said, giving a small chuckle. "I know cut flowers aren't supposed to last a long time, but still—"

  "I'm sorry," I said again. Eliot reached out for my shoulder but I ducked away, bending down to sweep the rest of the glass up into the pan.

  "What's the matter?" Eliot asked. I shook my head as I walked back into the kitchen and threw the glass away into the trash can. The shards tinkled as they fell into the garbage, and the few rose petals that had fallen off refracted red through the shiny fragments. How could I possibly ask him about what Csilla had told me?

  "I'm worried that we won't get this math paper written up in time," I said finally.

  Eliot leaned against the kitchen counter, watching me. His eyes were full of concern. I lowered my gaze and saw red on his hand.

  "Eliot, you're bleeding—"

  "It's nothing." He closed his hand into a fist, the red disappearing. "And it's not just the math you're worried about."

  "Eliot—"

  "Brynn, you have to trust me. Please. Talk to me." His eyes fell on the newspaper, and his entire face twisted into an angry grimace. I had never seen him look so upset, but the expression disappeared quickly into a neutral facade.

  "You read this?" he asked, his fingers tapping near the newspaper. He did not touch it, as though it were poison.

  "There's a picture of me in the backyard," I said. I felt tears burning the backs of my eyes, but I tried to keep them down. I did not want him to see me so vulnerable.

  "The backyard?"

  "They must have come through the forest and taken the picture from there," I said. "They're watching me. No matter where we are, they're there."

  "Brynn, I'm sorry." Eliot's hands pressed down on the kitchen counter, his fingertips white with the pressure. "This is my fault. I need to talk to you about this."

  My lips trembled and I set my jaw.

  "About what?"

  "You read the newspaper today?"

  I blinked back the tears.

  "Yes," I said. "I only understood part of it, but I think I know what you're talking about."

  "I have to explain—"

  "Csilla told me about what happened before you left Hungary ten years ago," I said. Eliot's mouth closed. He looked at me without any hint of emotion in his face. I felt a chill run through me.

  "What did she tell you?" he asked quietly.

  "Is it true?" I couldn't keep the hysteria out of my voice. "Is it true about the escort? I looked it up. The news from ten years ago. I didn't believe her. But—"

  "Brynn."

  "Just tell me if it's true! My voice echoed in the empty kitchen. I couldn't believe that he would lie to me. "The articles I looked up all said the same thing. Tell me they're lying."

  Eliot stood silently, his eyes on the paper darting from left to right to left again. Deciding what to say.

  "You confessed, you were sentenced, you left Hungary," I continued. "Is that true?"

  "Brynn," Eliot said, closing his eyes.

  "Is it true?!" There was no way it could be possible. No way that he had slept with an underage escort. It was Eliot!

  "Brynn," Eliot said, looking up at me. His face was full of sorrow, and I felt a cold sinking in my stomach. "I need to confess something to you."

  "I never realized that the past would come back to torment me like this," Eliot said. I couldn't breathe. The air around me felt like cement.

  "So it's true?" I said, shaking my head as if that would turn everything around.

  "No," Eliot said, leaning over to take my hand. "Well, partially."

  "Partially?" I could barely feel his fingers on mine.

  "Not the worst of it. It's true I confessed, I was found guilty. But I never hired any escort, underage or otherwise. Brynn, you know me."

  "I know," I said. My breath came out in a rush, and I could hear my heart start to beat normally again. "I know. That's why I couldn't believe it. But you confessed? Why?"

  "Can we sit down?" Eliot asked. He looked weary, ten years older than normal.

  "Sure," I said. I let him lead me to the living room couch, and he sat clasping my hands in his. It reminded me of sitting on the bench, the day we first met. I had been wary of him then, a total stranger. I felt that way now, like I was sitting next to a stranger I didn't know. Somebody whose mind I couldn't understand.

  "Ten years ago," Eliot said, "Otto had given me a position on one of the government boards, a sinecure, really. I never did any work for them, but they wanted my academic prestige for their project proposals."

  "Your brother. I've never met him."

  "No? You will soon. He used to be more involved in my career. Always getting me accepted to this committee or that one. And then this happened."

  "What happened? Did someone frame you?"

  "No, no, nothing like that. It was Otto. He—he hired an escort. I doubt he knew she was underaged, he's never been interested in young girls, but he paid for it over the phone using a credit card, and it was traced back to him."

  Eliot took a deep breath.

  "He came to me for help, and I agreed to take the fall for him."

  "You? Why?" I asked.

  "Why not?" Eliot smiled sadly.

  "What do you mean, why not? You threw your reputation away. People think you're—they think—" I couldn't even finish the sentence. Eliot sighed, his voice pained. I could feel the hurt radiating from him.

  "Brynn," he said. "When Clare died, I was ready to kill myself. I didn't know what to do. I was lost. I didn't want to stay in Budapest a second longer. Everything here—" and here he waved around in the air, the entire house in his gesture— "everything reminded me of her. I couldn't walk down the street without seeing her face. I couldn't function. How could my life be any worse?"

  He smiled suddenly, and his eyes met mine.

  "I never dreamed that I would meet a woman like you, Brynn. I never knew that I could find love like this."

  "So that's why you left Hungary?" I said. "Because of Otto?"

  "If he had been found guilty, his life, his career, his family would have all b
een destroyed," Eliot said. His lips pressed together, his face pinched. "There was nothing left in my life to destroy. So I told him I would confess."

  "And you came to America."

  "It was an easy decision," Eliot said. "The judge who decided the sentence was close with Otto. He might even have known that I was innocent. But he gave me the option of circumventing the probationary period by simply staying out of the country for three years. And after three years, I decided to stay in California."

  "Does Marta know?"

  "Yes," Eliot said.

  "But she's still with him." I thought of how happy she had seemed when I first met her. She'd told me that she owed Eliot a great debt. Now I knew what that debt was. It made me hate her a little bit, that she was okay with having Eliot take the blame for something he didn't do. And I hated Otto, the brother I had never met, for being the kind of person who would commit that kind of crime and then let his family take the fall.

  "It tore them apart for a while," Eliot said. "I can't know what happened between them. Who knows what goes on between two people who love each other? But she stayed with him, and he's never strayed since, at least not as far as I know."

  "Thank you for telling me," I said. I sat quietly on the couch, trying to make sense of everything.

  "Brynn?"

  "Yes?" I looked up into Eliot's face crisscrossed with furrows.

  "I would never do something like that. Not to you. Not to anyone. I love you."

  "I know." I breathed in and out. "I love you too."

  "Does it matter very much to you, though?"

  "What?" I asked.

  "You know now. I'm not the sterling prince you thought I was. My reputation isn't...exactly what you imagined."

  "I don't love you because of your reputation, Eliot."

  He lifted my chin in his cupped hand and pressed a kiss onto my lips. His breath was warm, sweet, and I nuzzled his cheek after he broke the kiss. My lips grazed the white seam of his scar.

  "I want you," he whispered. I froze at the words. My body ached for him, but my mind was thrown into fear by the desire I felt.