Read Online King and Kingdom by Danielle Bourdon - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Danielle Bourdon
Tags: Suspense, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Contemporary Romance, romantic suspense, New Adult & College, Mystery & Suspense, royals
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cavalierly sent her home and paid her advance as if buying her off.
Spending the rest of the ride in silence, Chey alternated between seething anger and crushing remorse. Just twenty-four hours ago, she and Sander had been flirting and happy and making plans for their immediate future.
Now she was ten minutes from her old stomping grounds, stripped of a relationship and a man she'd grown terribly fond of.
When the limousine pulled into her complex, a sense of the surreal hit Chey on an entirely different level than it usually did. She couldn't believe she was back here again.
Rolling to a stop in front of her building, the driver put the limousine in park and popped the trunk before coming around to open her door. Chey got out on her own, feeling ridiculous in her expensive gown. The guards followed, one collecting her luggage from the back. It felt a lot like a gallows march toward the stairs leading up to her door, and it took her several long minutes to fish her keys out from her belongings. Someone had tucked her clutch in among the other things.
“Again, we extend Prince Dare's sincere apologies. Be well,” one guard said, before they turned on a heel and descended the stairs to the parking lot.
Chey watched them go. There was nothing left to say.
Turning the key in the lock, she opened her door and pulled her luggage inside. Today, she didn't care if it sat haphazardly against the wall instead of her usual preference to line it up behind the couch. Closing the door with her hip, she stood there and stared at the small, rather plain apartment. Her head buzzed with disbelief. It wasn't the luxury of the castle she missed, or the expansive space of her suite of rooms on the second floor.
It was the gaping hole Sander left in her life. His presence had filled every waking second, and even some of her dreams. He was all consuming, a vivid persona that had engaged her imagination, her laughter, her fears.
Now he was gone and it hit her as hard as his death might have, leaving her wallowing in bleak despair.
Burying her face in her hands, she cried.
. . .
Twenty-four hours later, sitting amidst a pile of used tissues, Chey felt no better. Sleep had eluded her all night. The morning found her sitting lotus style on the couch, the television buzzing white static instead of a show, her cell phone parked next to her knee. It wasn't the same phone the Royals had given her to use, but the one she'd left Seattle with. Chey realized after searching for her cell that the other one had been removed from her belongings.
Any direct contact to Sander was gone.
A half hour before, in desperation, she'd called her best friend Wynn. They'd met in seventh grade and had been inseparable ever since. In her rush to depart Seattle, Chey hadn't had time to call Wynn and tell her what was going on. She'd meant to correct that oversight once in Latvala until her life had been threatened and put in jeopardy. Now Wynn had no clue why Chey was heartbroken and sobbing, though she'd promised to come over right away.
Without knocking, using a key Chey had given her months before, Wynn let herself in. Slim as a willow reed, she slipped past the door and closed it resolutely behind her. For her height, an unimpressive five-foot-three, Wynn nevertheless cast off a sturdy, capable air. This was a girl who got things done. Without fuss, without muss, and with enviable efficiency. Doe-like dark eyes, framed by indecently long lashes, peered out from the fragile bones of her oval shaped face. Silky black hair cut into a bob brushed the top of her shoulders, a more modern cut that went with the red lipstick painting her bow shaped mouth. A blue and green argyle sweater with a white collar peeking above the neckline at the throat topped a pleated skirt the same navy color in the sweater. Long leggings disappeared under the modest hem, her shoes patent leather with a strap across the arch.
“What's all this?” Wynn said, stalking
Spending the rest of the ride in silence, Chey alternated between seething anger and crushing remorse. Just twenty-four hours ago, she and Sander had been flirting and happy and making plans for their immediate future.
Now she was ten minutes from her old stomping grounds, stripped of a relationship and a man she'd grown terribly fond of.
When the limousine pulled into her complex, a sense of the surreal hit Chey on an entirely different level than it usually did. She couldn't believe she was back here again.
Rolling to a stop in front of her building, the driver put the limousine in park and popped the trunk before coming around to open her door. Chey got out on her own, feeling ridiculous in her expensive gown. The guards followed, one collecting her luggage from the back. It felt a lot like a gallows march toward the stairs leading up to her door, and it took her several long minutes to fish her keys out from her belongings. Someone had tucked her clutch in among the other things.
“Again, we extend Prince Dare's sincere apologies. Be well,” one guard said, before they turned on a heel and descended the stairs to the parking lot.
Chey watched them go. There was nothing left to say.
Turning the key in the lock, she opened her door and pulled her luggage inside. Today, she didn't care if it sat haphazardly against the wall instead of her usual preference to line it up behind the couch. Closing the door with her hip, she stood there and stared at the small, rather plain apartment. Her head buzzed with disbelief. It wasn't the luxury of the castle she missed, or the expansive space of her suite of rooms on the second floor.
It was the gaping hole Sander left in her life. His presence had filled every waking second, and even some of her dreams. He was all consuming, a vivid persona that had engaged her imagination, her laughter, her fears.
Now he was gone and it hit her as hard as his death might have, leaving her wallowing in bleak despair.
Burying her face in her hands, she cried.
. . .
Twenty-four hours later, sitting amidst a pile of used tissues, Chey felt no better. Sleep had eluded her all night. The morning found her sitting lotus style on the couch, the television buzzing white static instead of a show, her cell phone parked next to her knee. It wasn't the same phone the Royals had given her to use, but the one she'd left Seattle with. Chey realized after searching for her cell that the other one had been removed from her belongings.
Any direct contact to Sander was gone.
A half hour before, in desperation, she'd called her best friend Wynn. They'd met in seventh grade and had been inseparable ever since. In her rush to depart Seattle, Chey hadn't had time to call Wynn and tell her what was going on. She'd meant to correct that oversight once in Latvala until her life had been threatened and put in jeopardy. Now Wynn had no clue why Chey was heartbroken and sobbing, though she'd promised to come over right away.
Without knocking, using a key Chey had given her months before, Wynn let herself in. Slim as a willow reed, she slipped past the door and closed it resolutely behind her. For her height, an unimpressive five-foot-three, Wynn nevertheless cast off a sturdy, capable air. This was a girl who got things done. Without fuss, without muss, and with enviable efficiency. Doe-like dark eyes, framed by indecently long lashes, peered out from the fragile bones of her oval shaped face. Silky black hair cut into a bob brushed the top of her shoulders, a more modern cut that went with the red lipstick painting her bow shaped mouth. A blue and green argyle sweater with a white collar peeking above the neckline at the throat topped a pleated skirt the same navy color in the sweater. Long leggings disappeared under the modest hem, her shoes patent leather with a strap across the arch.
“What's all this?” Wynn said, stalking
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