Page 31 of Royal Heir (Westerly Billionaire 3)
He placed a hand over his heart. “It cut me to the bone. Left me a humbled man.”
Rachelle wasn’t sure she wanted him humbled. Part of his charm was his confidence and the realization that he was a man who might never be tamed. And yet, he’d stayed and watched over her. “Are we at your family’s riverfront home?”
“A.k.a. what I’d imagined would be a sex den last night.”
“You’ll live.” She moved to sit up but felt nauseated when she did.
“Will you?”
“The jury is still out on that.”
Magnus picked up the phone beside him and made a short call. Despite the time of night, he requested a continental breakfast as well as an assortment of juices—and a Moody Tuesday.
“What is that?”
“It’s a hangover cure from my college days. Steadman kept the recipe for emergencies, although I haven’t needed it in years. Age has taught me that sampling a wine does not require downing the glass.”
“I don’t think I can keep anything down.”
“You will try.”
“Is that a royal command?”
His eyebrows arched. “Do you respond to those? If so, I definitely won’t waste them getting you to try something that will have you feeling better within an hour.”
Still flirting, still hot for her, and Magnus didn’t appear at all upset with how the night had gone. Was this the real Magnus? “I really liked your aunt and uncle. They were surprisingly down-to-earth and funny.”
“They liked you, too. Very much.”
A light knock on the door announced the arrival of a member of his house staff with a silver serving tray. “Your Royal Highness,” the woman said. “Would you like it near the bed?”
“Yes, thank you,” Magnus said. “You may place it beside her.”
Rachelle pulled herself into a seated position. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Westerly,” the woman said before quickly departing.
In place of a tall Bloody Mary, as Rachelle had expected, there was a short tumbler of dark liquid on ice. She picked the glass up, sniffed the contents, and made a face. It smelled like alcohol but looked like mud. “What is it?”
“Fernet-Branca. The Italians swear by it as a hangover cure. Some put it over espresso, but I find that adding crème de menthe lessens the bitterness.”
Her stomach churned just looking at it. “I’ll stick to water.”
“Playing it safe? You disappoint me, little Rachelle.”
She chose a piece of bread with honey and bit into it. Delicious. “I’ve never eaten dirt, but I know I won’t like it.”
He walked over to the bed and moved the tray so he could sit beside her. “Once you give in to fear, you’ve decided exactly how small your life will remain.”
If he weren’t so absolutely gorgeous, even more so in his disheveled state, he would have been easier to be irritated with. As it was, her body was doing a wild scramble to decide if it could ignite with passion even while still uncomfortably ill. “Peer pressure only works on children.”
He lifted the glass to his own lips. “No pressure, merely an educated suggestion. You’ll hate the taste if you’ve never had it. It’s bitter. Revolting. Not a drink for the meek. But if you dare more than a sip, it will warm its way through you.” He took a generous gulp of it. “Much as you’re doing to me.”
Swoon.
He held the beverage out to her, and she accepted it. How could she not after that?
Wait. “It’s bitter and revolting but will grow on me, just like I’m bitter and nasty but growing on you?”
He chuckled. “Perhaps I worded that poorly. At first it doesn’t seem to your taste, but the more you get to know it, the more difficult it is to imagine a time before it.”
“Is that actually better?”
“Drink, Rachelle.”
Her first sip had her gagging in disgust. Bitter medicine. Thick. Oily. With just a hint of mint as a reprieve. She almost replaced the glass, but he was watching her closely. To prove something to herself as well as to him, she downed the rest of the glass.
The initial shock of it was followed by a lingering taste similar to licorice. She expected her stomach to refuse it, but oddly enough it didn’t. There was a punch to it, but not like she remembered from her one and only whiskey shot.
“So?” he asked.
“I don’t think I’m going to throw it up,” she said, because that truly had been her fear a moment earlier.
He laughed. “Eat your honey toast and finish your water. You’ll feel better.”
Rachelle lifted a piece of toast to her mouth, then stopped. “Do you phrase everything as an order?”
“Do you always fight for control, even when something is for your own benefit?”
“I don’t know.” She looked at the bread, then back to him. “My mother blamed the end of her marriage to my father on how controlling his mother was. Delinda had all the money, and she held that power over my father. Not over us, though, because my mother thought we were better off without the money.”
“So your mother raised you to not trust half your family.”
“No. No, she wasn’t like that.” Even as Rachelle said the words, she wondered if there wasn’t some truth to them. She loved her mother and for most of her life had taken her side without question. That didn’t mean her mother was perfect—hell, she’d hidden an affair and the parentage of one of her children. Was it possible that the only way for Rachelle to find her way back to her family was to admit that her mother was human—flawed? “Maybe she did divide us without realizing how it would change all of us. Those of us who stayed with Mom wondered why our father didn’t care more about us. Those who went with Dad wondered why Mom found them easy to leave behind. It didn’t have to be that way.”
“It didn’t, but you are building bridges over that divide. I admire your dedication to your brother, especially since he has little toward you.”
There was no denying that one, even though it hurt not to be able to. “Brett tried to explain our different upbringing to me. He said he and Eric were raised without the laughter and open expression of love that we were.” She placed the bread down on the plate and hugged her stomach. “You don’t want to hear this.”
“Yes, I do,” Magnus said, caressing her arm gently before dropping his hand. “I want to know you, Rachelle. The good and the bad.”
She met his eyes and saw only sincere interest there. However this turned out, Magnus was part of this journey to understand herself. His opinion would help, because it was a fresh look at situations she was too close to. “My understanding of my family has been shaken lately. I used to think my grandmother was a horrible woman, that my father had cheated on my mother, and that Brett and Eric thought they were better than us. Then my grandmother turned eighty and offered all of us grandchildren access to our inheritance on the stipulation that we marry and invite the family to the weddings. I stupidly suggested that my best friend, Alisha, marry Spencer. He needed money, and she’s always been part of our family. I didn’t see the harm.”
“And they married?”
“No, but they did get engaged. Then she met my oldest brother, Brett.”
His eyebrows rose.
She continued, “Exactly. It wasn’t good. Alisha and Brett fell in love just after Spencer found out his father was not my father.”
“So, your mother was unfaithful.”
“Yes, and none of us knew. We all assumed it was our father who had cheated.”
“And then she took half of his children from him.” There was disgust in Magnus’s tone that made Rachelle wish she hadn’t shared the story.
“Her second husband was an amazing man we all loved.” Magnus didn’t need to say anything for Rachelle to see even that in a new light as well. “Which could not have been easy for my father.” As Rachelle looked back with new eyes, the line between right and wrong blurred. “Brett always says that our family’s divide was lik
e cracks in glass that could be traced back to one defining event.”
Magnus took her hand in his.
Although everything Rachelle was sharing had been disclosed to her months earlier, it was the first time she was truly facing it. “My grandfather Oliver killed himself, and Delinda considered it her fault for not preparing him better when he took over her family’s business. When he died, my father, Dereck, took his place, and Delinda was determined he would not fail. Brett says Delinda’s greatest fear was losing her son or one of us the way she’d lost her husband. So she made it her goal to toughen us up. I try to like her, but I don’t know that she’s ever said anything nice to me.”
“I wondered why you wouldn’t tell her where Eric was.”
“I want to see the good in my grandmother, but life is always a battle to her, and we are soldiers she’s trying to prepare for it.” Rachelle thought about what working with so many children had taught her. “Tough love can be a good thing, but sometimes people need a kinder touch. Sometimes you have to consider what the other person needs. My grandmother doesn’t do that.”
“Yet.” His voice dipped.
Her gaze flew to his.
