THREE: WALK AWAY BEFORE YOU'RE BLEEDING
FEBRUARY 6
WIL DIAMOND
IT WAS LATE LAST NIGHT when he came to bed and when he did, he slipped in beside her and draped his arms over hers. He kissed the side of her head, murmured a quiet "goodnight, baby" and then they both drifted off to sleep.
It was morning now and she had been out of bed long enough to shower and tweeze her eyebrows. She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of a ten-foot mirror, applying her makeup and air-drying her long, chestnut-brown curls. In the mirror, she saw him sleeping soundly in her bed, wrapped up in sheets made of cream silk and gold thread. A morning sun spilled through a large window, casting a light over him and the entire room.
There was a soft knock on one of the two French doors to the room and she padded over to it, wearing his blue button down and her white Calvin's.
When she opened the door, she saw her personal security detail, Mr. Flynn, with his sunglasses over his eyes and his hands folded in place. Beside him was a girl whose summery blonde hair was still damp and she wore a set of lilac-colored satin pajamas.
"Kate," said Wil, smiling at her sister. "Hey. I thought you'd be at your fitting by now."
Kate shook her head and tugged on the cuffs of her pajamas.
"It got pushed to the same time as yours," she answered, then peeked over her sister's shoulder into the room. Her Tiffany's box-blue eyes spotted the man-shaped lump in the bed and then she asked,
"What time did he get here last night? I didn't hear him come in."
"Late," Wil answered. "He had work to finish and I wanted to wait until Clarion went to bed."
"You know she knows about you two," Kate smirked. "The whole Realm does after WoMWeekly dedicated five cover stories to you two."
"I know," Wil sighed, turning back to look at him asleep in her bed. "But this is our second chance. I don't want to screw it up, you know?"
Kate nodded like she did and then gestured to Wil's lack of pants. "Well, I'll let you finish getting ready. See you for our fitting at ten?"
Wil nodded, blew her sister a kiss, and then stepped back into her room, shutting the door behind her.
"Good morning, gorgeous."
She looked over to see him sitting up in her bed, the sheets gathered at his waist to reveal a taut, bare chest. He folded his hands in his lap and he was smiling at her. He had a beautiful smile.
Wil padded over to him and climbed the length of her bed so she was in his arms—her safe place. "Hi baby," she said, pressing a kiss into his lips. "How'd you sleep?"
"Better with you here." His hand caressed her side and his chin rested on top of her head. "Was that your sister out there?"
Wil nodded. "We have our dress fittings in a bit. Your suit should be sent up soon. Then I have a deep-conditioning treatment scheduled with Maurice before this luncheon with my family."
He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her on top of him. "No. Don't leave me," he whined. "Let's just stay here in bed all day."
"Ollie!" she laughed, gazing into his sea glass-colored eyes. They weren't quite blue but were a shade lighter than green. They were beautiful. They were kind and happy and loving. And when they looked at her, they lit up.
"Believe me, I'd stay if I could," she giggled and held his face in her hands. She leaned down to kiss him. "But Leo's coronation is tomorrow. I have a million things to do before then and my family's in town so I can't. But if you're lucky, we can do dinner tonight and end up right back here in this bed."
"If I'm lucky?" Oliver Henstridge retorted, laughing while he did. He flipped her so his body was pressing hers into the bed and he kissed her. His lips moved with hers and he pulled at her bottom lip with his teeth. Her hands reached around to his back and she held him close to her. He pulled away and rubbed his nose against hers. "Woman, you happen to make me the luckiest man in the entire world."
"JEAN ANNE, I SWEAR IF you prick me with that pin one more time, I will kick you in the jaw," Wil threatened the seamstress, Jean Anne, who was currently hemming the navy evening gown she would be wearing for tomorrow's ceremony. She was standing on a circular platform in the middle of her bedroom and beside her, Kate stood on a similar platform with her own seamstress and gown.
"I thought people in love were supposed to be nicer," Kate teased, twirling in a sparkly red number. It was an odd choice for Kate, thought Wil. Usually her sister went for more muted neutrals and pastels. But the dress looked stunning on her, nonetheless.
"I'm not in love," Wil tried to say but the blush rising in her cheeks betrayed her.
After the explosion at the Veil, Wil and the others were taken to the palace infirmary where they were treated and cleared. Most, like Wil, suffered minor cuts and bruises, though there was a broken arm and concussion in the bunch. Hours after being admitted, Wil was visited by one handsome Oliver Henstridge who'd rushed to be by her side. In the months that passed, he never left it.
But she didn't know if they were in love. She used to think if she was, she'd know it. She knew it with Damon Donovan—the man she would have once done anything for—but then they fell apart, leading her to wonder if she even knew what love was.
"Oliver and I..." Wil bit her lip, smiling at the way they'd left things that morning, before he rushed off to a meeting at his family's foundation and she got ready for the dress fitting. "We're good. We're exactly where we're supposed to be."
Down by her ankle, she felt a sharp prick and she snatched her foot back.
"Damn it, Jean Anne," she cursed at the woman on her knees below.
The seamstress dropped her head and continued pinning Wil's hem—more carefully. "I'm so sorry, Your Highness. Please forgive me."
Wil rolled her emerald-colored eyes and then looked back at Kate. "What about you I heard the rumors. They say a certain Heart boy was sneaking out of your dorm the other morning."
Kate's cheeks burned.
"Nothing happened." She sounded like a record when she said that. Wil wondered how many times she'd said that about him.
"Right," Wil said, making a face at her sister. "And I bet nothing happened the last three months too, huh?"
"We just sleep together," said Kate and Wil snorted through a laugh. "No. I mean it. We just... We sleep. Since the Veil, I can't... I don't like to sleep alone. Liam helps with that. Come on, you and Oliver don't just sleep?"
Wil thought about last night and the way Oliver traipsed up to her room, accompanied by Mr. Flynn. Oliver walked into the room, dropped his bag from his shoulder and then undid his belt. He stepped out of his jeans and took off his blue shirt—leaving them in a neat pile at the foot of her bed. Then he climbed in under the sheets and held her. She slept in a sweatshirt and a pair of his boxers.
"That's different," Wil said. "Ollie's... I don't know. Things are different with him. They're good. I'm good." When was the last time anyone said that? Wil Diamond's good.
"You are good," Kate reassured her, turning to get a better look in the mirror. The dress had a dip in the back which showed off the curves of her shoulders and her svelte waist. "Always have been."
There was a knock on the door and as both princesses turned to it, it opened and in walked Chloe Lawson, fresh with her second-trimester glow.
Last fall, Chloe (the younger half-sister of Damon Donovan) transferred to the Academy and quickly made friends with her roommate, Wil, and the rest of the Eight. Weeks later, while she and Wil hid away at Damon's apartment, the girls discovered Chloe's pregnancy and the circle of those who knew was extremely small—so small, that it did not include the baby's father, fellow Academy soccer stud and generally unlikable ass, Xavier Fallon.
Chloe entered the room and she had a small picture in black and white. Upon closer inspection, Wil saw it was a sonogram picture and she practically tore out of Jean Anne's busy hands to see it.
"Twenty-two weeks," Chloe announced though in the bulky sweater she was wearing, it was impossible to tell she was even showing at all. "Baby Lawson is the size of a spaghetti squash."
Wil smiled, admiring the ultrasound picture even though she couldn't tell the difference between the baby's foot and its ear.
"Hey Chlo?"
The voice came from the hall and it was one Wil knew well—maybe too well. There, at the open door, appeared a tall, handsome man whose coffee brown eyes Wil had gazed into many times. He entered the room, looking for his sister, but he spotted Wil first and his eyes locked on hers like he'd forgotten why he was even there.
"Sorry," he said when he remembered how to speak. "I didn't realize you were in a fitting."
"You're fine," said Wil, returning to her place so Jean Anne could continue her work. "We're almost done."
Once they finished, Kate and Wil changed out of their gowns and the seamstresses left to finish their work. Kate and Chloe had apparently made plans for manicures prior to the Diamond family luncheon and left Wil to herself. She was in the midst of picking out shoes for tomorrow's coronation when she saw Damon lingering by the door.
"Shouldn't you be getting ready for tomorrow?" she asked him, a smile working its way onto her face. "I hear it's a pretty big day for you, too."
Tomorrow, as was tradition at royal coronations, the new King would be inducting his first knight. Fifteen years ago, when Walter took the throne, Dr. Evan Karamazov, his dearest friend, received his knighthood. Tomorrow, Leo would be knighting Damon, someone he'd grown very close to in recent months.
Damon shrugged like it was no big deal. "Looks like I'll be joining the ranks with your Lord. He was knighted a while back, wasn't he?"
Wil nodded. "After his work with the foundation. My dad knighted him two years ago. But tomorrow's about you. Tomorrow you will officially be Sir Damon Donovan."
"It sounds weird," Damon admitted but Wil shook her head, giggling like a schoolgirl when she did.
"No. It sounds right. You were my knight in shining armor once, you know."
Damon grinned. "Careful, Diamond. Or your Lord might find himself challenged to an old-fashioned knight's duel."
Wil rolled her eyes at him, smiling softly. "He's a Sir," she said like she had many times before (though, if she was being honest, she didn't know if there was even any difference). "And you should be nice to him. He's one of the good guys."
"Good," Damon said, preparing to make his exit.
Just before he was gone, he leaned into her ear and smiled when he whispered,
"He may be one of the good ones but he'll never be good enough for you. No one will be."