Total pages in book: 230
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 217798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1089(@200wpm)___ 871(@250wpm)___ 726(@300wpm)
Good god, the man had eaten everything on the plane and he was complaining again? “Boomer” apparently meant never-ending gut in American English. “Ana, would you please escort Mr. Boomer to the kitchen and inform the chef that he’s in need of sustenance? He’s only eaten two full meals in the past few hours.”
“Thank god. I’m starving.” Boomer let himself be led off.
Which left him with only one intrusive guard. He’d managed to ditch Weston and the Texan, Michael Malone. They’d declared they needed to do a quick tour of the grounds so they could get something called a “lay of the land.” Now all he had to do was get rid of Murdoch and his life would be perfect. “Why don’t you go with him?”
Murdoch simply smiled. “Because I would rather be with you.”
“I’m going to yell at my mother,” Kash explained. “I would prefer to do it alone.”
Murdoch shrugged. “I can stand out here. Please don’t try to run off.”
“I’m not being run out of my own palace.” Kash turned for the door. His mother would be in her parlor at this time of day. He’d snuck in the back way in the hopes of catching his mother off guard. Surely she knew his plane had landed, but he’d moved quickly. She would be expecting him in another thirty minutes or so. He wanted her off guard so he could tell her exactly what she could do with her bloody wedding plans.
His anger had been building over the course of the long flight. How dare she throw this at him? With everything else he had to deal with, the last thing he needed was his mother losing her mind.
Yes, perhaps that was the way to go. His brain was working overtime and on almost no sleep. He’d tossed and turned all the way over. Not even drinking had helped ease him into peace. The whole time he’d fumed and raged, and he was ready to play as dirty as she was.
Dementia. It wasn’t so surprising at her age. So what if she was only seventy and had all her faculties? The fact that she’d decided to take him on was proof enough that she’d lost her mind.
He’d have her in a nice home shortly, and then when she cried and begged him to allow her to come home, he would. But only after she’d taken back that stupid invocation. She would go to parliament and explain that she would never question her son again.
And anyone who ever did would find out that he was the damn king.
He was about to open the doors when the lord chamberlain showed up, stepping right into the way. “I think you should wait, Your Majesty. The queen mother is busy at this time. I’ll set an appointment for you if you like.”
Hanin stood there, a smug smile on his face and his suit in perfect condition.
“I would like to fire you and punch you in the face on the way out. If you don’t move out of the way and allow me access to my mother, I will.”
“You always were a bit of an animal, weren’t you, Kashmir?” But he stepped aside.
“Don’t ever forget it. And that’s ‘Your Majesty.’” At least it was until he shoved the crown somewhere the sun didn’t shine.
He opened the outer doors, ready to have it out with his mother.
“Be quick, Pashmi. They say he’s on his way. I can’t have my son seeing this.”
Seeing what? Oh, he would see everything. He would control everything since it seemed he was never allowed to be out of control. They came at him from all sides. When he wasn’t dealing with parliament, he was fighting with OPEC or some other oil cartel. When he finally found something he felt good about, some asshole ex-CIA guy blew it all up, and now he was expected to take this from his own mother? No way.
He shoved through the inner doors and stopped.
Hanin moved past him. “Your Majesty, I’m so sorry. I tried to stop him but he threatened me with physical violence.”
“It’s all right,” his mother was saying. “He would have found out anyway.”
His mother’s long-time maid was helping her to sit up and a woman in medical scrubs was wrapping up an IV that had obviously been used on his mother.
His mother, who had taken to not eating supper. Or breakfast.
His mother, whose clothes hung off her lately and she’d waved off his worry by telling him she was trying a new diet.
His mother, whom he’d neglected so much he hadn’t seen that she was ill.
Hanin turned on him. “Can I expect that his majesty will be civil to the queen mother? I told her you wouldn’t take this well. She insisted. As you can see, she’s not strong enough for a fight, much less a wedding. You should convince her not to do this.”