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The other royals fade into the room as Damon reaches me first, his expression set, jaw tight, eyes wandering over my face and body.
“Did you—” I start, but he grabs me, lifting me off the ground and kissing me hard. His teeth drag against my bottom lip before parting them to taste my tongue. When he finally pulls back and lets me breathe, he says, “Fuck, Doll Baby, you were amazing.”
He sets me down, and I feel a little unsteady, but only until Hunter’s hands push under my hair, warm against my neck as he lifts my face to his. “You nailed it. All that hard work paid off.”
“You helped by building me the studio.”
He shrugs like all his sweat and work wasn’t a big deal when it was a freaking huge one. He kisses me, a little softer than Damon, but no less intense. I feel the way his fingers press into my skin, the possessiveness that’s such a hard balance for Hunter to find, and I bask in it.
When he releases me, I search behind him, looking for my husband. His opinion matters more than I want it to. He married one girl, Arianette Hexley, the girl who spent her whole life trying to be exactly what everyone expected and failing over and over. Since his injury, I’ve shed much of that. I not only look different—I feel different. Tonight is just a more dramatic reveal. What if he doesn’t like it? What if he hates who I’ve become?
Except I don’t see him.
“Where…” I blink, the tears already blurring my vision.
“He’s not here, Doll Baby,” Damon says quietly. “There was a protest outside the hotel and I don’t know if it upset him or what.”
“Oh, well, It’s fine,” I nod, doing everything I can not to sniff, but I fail. Miserably. “It’s so public and he’s still recovering and it’s just a stupid school recital.”
“Hey,” he says, moving toward me. His hands cup my face and the rough pads of his thumbs wipe away the tears. “It’s not okay. It’s bullshit.”
“He’s going to regret missing it, Nettie,” Hunter says, sliding his phone into his pocket. His eyes roam over my hair. “You were so fucking good and you look like a goddam queen.”
The words help dull the pain of knowing I wasn’t enough for Timothy to show up for.
“Hey,” Damon lifts his chin. “We should go celebrate.”
“I agree,” Hunter adds, his arm wrapping around my waist. “Not only because you nailed it tonight, but Sofia’s safe. Wicker and JJ are hanging out at the Purple Palace doing whatever babies do.” He runs his thumb over my cheekbone. “Whatever you want, Ari. It’s your night.”
The adrenaline of the night starts to wane, and I’m caught in that place where I’m both wired and exhausted. Not to mention heart broken. “We should probably go back home.”
Across the room, I see Killian take a call, his phone pressed close to his ear. Story looks up at him, concern etched across her forehead. I tug Damon’s sleeve. “Something’s wrong.”
“What?” he says, dragging his eyes off me.
“Killian looks upset.”
He must see what I see, because his hand slides into mine and he strides over, the man of authority taking back over. The other Royals follow. Everyone notices the tension in Killian’s shoulders, the tight knot flexing in his jaw.
He hangs up.
“What is it?” Hunter asks. “Is it Sofia? Amber?”
He shakes his head, his big hand reaching for Story and pulling her close.
“It’s not Sofia. It’s Augustine…” He swallows. “She’s missing.”
“Augustine?”
I’m not sure who says her name first. The word cuts through the lingering post-performance haze like a blade.
I’m not even sure who she is, but everyone around me clearly does. Their expressions shift fast—concern tightening faces. Killian is already on the phone, barking orders in a low but forceful voice, one hand pressed to his ear while the other stays locked around Story’s waist.
“Who’s Augustine?” I ask out loud.
“She manages the Hideaway,” Hunter says quietly. “She’s close to the Lords.”
“She’s Stella’s sister,” Verity adds.
