Page 65 of X: Command Me through Alexander’s Eyes

Chapter Twenty-Five

Norris is not happy with me. I tug the ballcap down as I make my way off the Tube at Stepney Green. No one noticed me on the train, which is hardly surprising. No one is looking for me. I’m just some bloke with his hands shoved into his pockets on his way home from work.

I make my way toward Clara’s flat. According to Norris, who’s watching her at her work, she’s still there. I could have waited to do this. Norris wanted to come with me, but I wasn’t sure what would be worse: sitting in a car going crazy or sitting in her room going crazy. In the end, I thought she’d be safest with Norris keeping an eye on her, ready to keep the camped-out paparazzi at bay.

I spot a food cart selling kebabs, making my stomach rumble. The man behind it tilts his head curiously when I pause to consider getting one, but the last thing I need is to draw attention. The reporters will be following Norris and Clara home, but if he’s smart—and he is—he’ll lose a fair number of them on his way. Even the relative calm of the car ride will be a respite for her after being mobbed by the tabloid leeches.

When I reach her building, I press the buzzer and pray that Belle is home. She strikes me as the type who’s too busy planning her wedding—to that obnoxious wanker, Philip—to have a job. She answers within thirty seconds with a bright, “Hello?”

Clearly, she hasn’t seen the tabloids yet.

“Can I come in?” I ask.

She buzzes me in without asking why I’m here. I take the steps two at a time until I’m at the door to her flat. It’s already open, and Belle and an older woman regard me with an almost aristocratic surprise. It’s the kind of response that bred into titled people—people who might one day be called upon to entertain their king.

Belle shoots a glance at the older woman, and I see her legs cross.

“Don’t,” I say before she can curtsey. “I’m just your flatmate’s boyfriend stopping by unannounced.”

Her crimson lips twist into a bemused smile. “I suppose I’ll stop looking for the glass slipper then.”

She moves to the side, nodding her head that I should come in. I step through and look around. The older woman has the same regal cheekbones and bright eyes as Belle, but her platinum hair is silver from age, not dye, and she wears it in a short, artful mess. She holds out a hand, her wrist jangling with bangle bracelets.

“Jane Stuart,” she introduces herself. “Your highness.”

“Belle’s aunt.” I take her outstretched hand. “Alexander, please.”

“Can I get you some tea?” Belle asks, looking around like she’s trying to figure out how I fit into the day.

“Scotch?”

She tips her head, then shrugs. “That bad of a day?”

“I assume you haven’t seen the news.” There’s no point avoiding it. If anything, Belle might have some insight into how to handle this bloody situation. I’m at a loss.

She plucks the lid off a decanter and pours me a glass, then two more. “What happened?”

I don’t know Belle, but I need all the help I can get. “I think a simple google search will clear it up more quickly than I can.”

I sip the Scotch while she types on her phone. There’s a pause, and then her eyes widen, her mouth forming a quiet O of horror. Her aunt reaches for the mobile, looks at the screen, and proceeds to down her drink in one gulp.

“Something tells me this isn’t news to you,” I say dryly.

Belle heaves a sigh, looking back and forth between her aunt and me. “It’s not really my place to tell you about this.”

“I can respect that.” I nod. I’d rather hear it from Clara. “But it’s true? She has an eating disorder?”

“She did,” Belle hedges.

“She does,” Jane corrects her gently, “and it’s under control at the moment.”

I understand what’s being left unspoken. Belle doesn’t want to scare me off. Jane is wise enough to know that ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away. I don’t press either for particulars.

“Fuck,” I mutter, finishing my own drink. I whip off the cap I’m still wearing, toss it on the table, and comb my fingers through my hair.

“Is that a problem?” Belle asks defiantly, misunderstanding my reaction. “Because if you’re not man enough—”

“I’m man enough,” I cut her off. “I just wish I knew. It didn’t come up…” I trail off before I give myself away.