Royal Treatment (Royal Scandal Book 3) by Parker Swift

Author:Parker Swift [Swift, Parker]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2017-06-10T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Dylan

I could still smell her on my fingers.

Fuck, that was hot, wasn’t it? I don’t know what came over me. Each hour that passed without someone pointing me out, without a photographer angling for a shot, without the subtle but powerful need to keep my guard up, I felt just a bit unleashed. A bit more reckless. And with each hour that passed with Lydia adorably and enthusiastically dragging me around Brooklyn and Manhattan, proudly showing me her stomping grounds, I felt a growing urge to bring her to heel, to show her that any other little prick that took her out before me was a goddamn imbecile, and never again in her life would she feel anything less than completely taken care of.

So by early evening, when I saw her sitting on that museum bench, mesmerized, open, ready for me, I couldn’t fucking help myself.

I understood why she hadn’t wanted to pay the admission fee for the museum, but I felt the place deserved something. Not just for giving me a memory I was going to be having a wank to for the rest of my life, but for making Lydia’s life better for all those years before I came into it. For being a place she could afford to go, that had given texture to her life. While she’d used the loo before leaving, I texted Thomas and had him make a generous donation. If it had been up to me, it would have been used to designate that entire impressionist wing for our private use.

I’d wanted to get her back to her apartment after that—I was hard as a rock and wanted her under me, and soon. But the girl had her heart set on an outdoor movie. So there we sat. Or I sat. In Brooklyn Bridge Park. On a blanket I’d bought at a shop in Dumbo an hour before. The sun had set, the air was cool but not cold. The bridge lit up in front of the perfect view of Manhattan, and Lady Liberty stood regally to the south. On the mammoth screen in front of us played Singin’ in the Rain. Now clad in a sweater and jeans she’d had stashed in that bag of hers, with her gorgeous head in my lap, the girl I was going to marry lay laughing at the slapstick comedy.

She was so beautiful.

The day had been perfect. She’d been perfect. I respected her wanting me to understand that her life was rich, even if she hadn’t had money before me. I loved seeing how her passion had made her world expansive and lush. Even if part of me had wanted to punch the coffee chap for knowing her, for caring about her, I was mostly grateful to him for looking out for her. Fuck grateful, I was in awe. My girl was loved, and not just by me. I’d never met anyone like her—who cultivated love the way she did? Who drew people in like that? Her world was incredible, and money had nothing to do with it.

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