Royal Rogue by Jessica Peterson

Author:Jessica Peterson [Peterson, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Peterson Paperbacks

Chapter Nineteen

Charlie

I didn’t get a taxi home.

Instead, I walked. I’d always been a walker. It helped me think. Cleared my head. It was one of my favorite things about London—how walkable the city was. I’d spent whole days wandering its alleys. Crossing its bridges and devouring its sidewalks, one stride at a time.

I gulped lungful after lungful of diesel-tinted air. But I couldn’t calm down. Couldn’t clear the logjam inside my chest and my head.

I had to crawl through the rubble, but now I’m finally getting somewhere.

This fucking woman. This caring, charismatic, well-loved woman was just putting her life back together. And I was going to obliterate it. How did that square with mom’s wish for me to make the world a better place?

Jane wasn’t supposed to be so down to earth. She wasn’t supposed to be so sexy or so smart or so good. She was better than good. She was excellent.

All of my marks—they’d been dickheads. Assholes of the highest order. Pretentious and short sighted.

Jane was anything but. And I liked her.

I liked her.

Although I was an idiot to even think I could actually make this work. Because it was impossible. Jane would be right to shut me out for pretending to be someone I’m not.

She wouldn’t hate me for being a nobody. I didn’t even think she’d hate me for stealing from her.

She’d hate me for lying. For “pulling the wool over her eyes”, as she’d said.

I knew she was going to be hurt when she learned the truth. Which meant I needed to get the theft done as quickly as possible. Get in. Get out. The less time we had together, the less pain in the end.

I wanted to spare her feelings as much as I could. I cared about her. I wanted her to keep moving on from her prick of an ex-husband. Even though the thought of her moving on with someone else made me want to die.

Several miles and a few hours later, a familiar awning came into view. The lettering on it was cracked and peeling in places.

THE SANDWICH SHO (the P had been missing for years).

Even now, with everything going on, my heart ached with pride at the sight. I remembered the day mom opened the deli. She’d beamed from behind the counter, spreading mayo on toast, ringing up customers.

A Closed sign hung in the door. But I knew Owen would be inside, cleaning up and doing prep work for the week ahead.

I dug my keys out of my pocket. My hands shook so badly that I dropped them. Owen must’ve heard me, because a beat later, the deadbolt clicked and the door opened.

He was in houndstooth chef pants and an apron, broom in hand. His eyes followed me as I stood back up.

“Oh fuck,” he said. “What happened?”

Spearing a hand through my hair, I stepped inside. I smelled bacon. The yeasty tang of bread.

The ache in my chest intensified.

“I really look that bad?”

“Dude. You look like shit.”

“Wow. Not even gonna try to sugar coat it, are you?”

He motioned to me with his free hand.

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