#3

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THREE

'What is it about elevators?' E.L James

Some days I think I'm stuck in a rotation of people as if I'm on a wheel that only spins one way. There's no stopping the wheel and the only chance of getting off is to fall. And now I feel like someone has stuck a jackhammer in the wheel because I can't breathe.

I struggle to catch my breath as the lift jerks upwards and the music begins again. I'm still crumpled on the floor in some pathetic heap. I know I'm being ridiculous; my entire scene down there moments ago was a dramatic way of showing that after all this time, yes, it still affects me. What happened hurts and seeing him is like being reminded of the monumental stab in the chest I got over a year ago. I don't know how long Adam and I ride that lift. Minutes, maybe but it doesn't feel long enough. I know it's finally time to get up when Adam doesn't hold onto the door closed button.

This time nobody is waiting for me on the other side of the lift, but I still feel as though all the air has been knocked from my chest. The sound of familiar heavy footsteps trudging behind me echoes down the corridor as I try to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.

I breathe as if I'm a tide away from drowning. I breathe as though I'm a second away from letting myself sink. I tell myself to pull myself together. I remind myself I made a promise this morning to not let him see how much his family's presence in this house affects me.

"Your Highness," Adam murmurs, reaching out to steady myself once we reach the top of the staircase I unconsciously began climbing. "We can take a moment before going in."

I stop and turn to stare at my head of security. Adam's slipped his shades off and now his grey eyes bore into mine. He's a step lower than where I am standing, and his hand is around my wrist.

"I can do this," I say but I have no idea if I'm telling Adam or myself.

"Your Highness,"

The double doors in front of me open and the doorman disappears with a small tilt of his head.

Here goes fucking everything.

I step through the doors and the smell of expensive cologne fills the air. My parents have deigned to dine in the small dining room for lunch, usually reserved for family only. The small spread on the table in the middle of the room is anything but usual, the tablecloth my mother only ever approves of during birthdays is now laying flat against the table, the lace edges falling underneath the table. Where the paintings hang, so have the colours of Prescott's flag – blue and gold as if we all need a bigger indication of their arrival.

My eyes graze over the table. Both sets of parents sit opposite each other with my brother at the head of the table. James sits beside his father on the left-hand side, the open seat opposite him clearly marked for my arrival.

"Ah, there she is, Evangeline," Katherine Prescott stands and greets me. I push my feet forward and force a smile, leaning into her hug. "You're looking radiant, my love."

Before I can even answer the queen, James' velvety voice breaks through the quiet.

"I wouldn't bother with the flattery, mother. Eva's head doesn't need to grow any bigger. It may very well just topple off her shoulders."

I grit my teeth and fight the urge to swallow the quick retort that's sour on my lips. Katherine shoots an impressive pair of daggers at her son a silent warning.

"Thank you, Katherine," I direct her way and take my seat. Michael catches my eye from the end of the table, a look of amusement playing deliciously on his features. He loves every second of this and he has no shame in making the entire room know it.

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