Shaking my head, I push myself off the sofa and leave the library. I need to get out of here. Flora is in breathing therapy, and she’ll be in bed early. I can’t bear to look at the rose garden without Jo in it. The flowers are already starting to wilt, and seeing them die breaks my heart.
So, I head to the glade. Maybe in the shadow of the ruined fort, I’ll be able to clear my head.
I decide not to drive. Instead, I take a golf cart to the nature reserve at the back of the palace grounds, and I head to the boundary on foot. My feet carry me across the gurgling creek and through mossy undergrowth until I get to the wall. Pushing aside some overgrown vines, I find the small opening in the fence.
It’s still here, all these years later.
I’m bigger than I was before, though, and I rip my shirt on the way through. The sleeve hangs off my shoulder and I shake a leaf from my hair. Glancing behind me, I sigh.
It feels good to be alone—not as good as it feels to be with Jo, but still good. As I walk through the woods and find the trail to the fort, my steps get lighter and lighter.
Jolie wasn’t writing about me. She was probably protective of her work because she’s an artist, and she doesn’t want anyone to see it until it’s done. I laugh to myself, in the silence of the forest.
She’s exactly the same as me. I don’t show people my work, either—not always because I want to ruin it, but sometimes, because I doubt its quality.
How could I fault her?
I wouldn’t even show her the sketch I drew of her, that night in my studio.
My smile widens and I shake my head. I inhale the clean forest air, and I stare up at the leaves above me. A bird sings in a nearby tree, and a squirrel rustles in a bush. I watch it shoot up the trunk of a tree and disappear in its branches, and I laugh.
Jolie’s not writing a book about me. She’s not going to destroy my reputation. She’s not going to betray Flora’s trust—or mine.
Jolie is better than that. Better than I am.
When I get to the clearing, most of the wildflowers have already died. Now, the opening is just a grassy dell with the fort looming at the far end. I step into the sunshine and enjoy the warmth of its rays on my skin, smiling from ear to ear.
I care about Jolie. Maybe… I love her?
Closing my eyes, I tilt my head up toward the sun and take another cleansing breath.
I love her.
Another laugh bubbles up my chest and tumbles through my lips. I rake my fingers through my hair and laugh to myself, relishing the feeling in my heart.
Love.
It’s intoxicating, addictive, and so fucking terrifying—but I like it. I drink it up, wanting to scream it at the top of my lungs. I love Jolie Beaumont!
Then, movement catches my eye. Someone steps out from the shadow of the fort.
“Your Highness.”
It’s Paulette, sinking down into a deep curtsy.
The laughter dies on my lips. My face falls, and my blood turns to ice. I stare at the woman in front of me, trying to make sense of this. Why is she here? How did she get here? How did she know where I was?
This woman ruined my life. She abandoned our daughter. She used me for her own personal gain, and then aired out all my dirty laundry for the world to read. She wrote a book about our sex life, and spilled my deepest secrets. She used the birth of our daughter—no, my daughter—to make money for herself. She neglected Flora when she was an infant, choosing instead to go on a fucking book tour. She slashed me across the face with a knife when I gained custody of my daughter, and accused me of taking her beloved child away.
She never cared about Flora, and she never cared about me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I spit.
“Is that any way to greet the mother of your child?”
“It’s the way I’m greeting you.” The tension in my body is increasing by the second. My blood is burning hotter with every second that passes with Paulette in my presence. “I would never call you her mother.”
She looks like she’s enjoying my hatred. My ex takes a step toward me, tilting her head and staring at me with the same eyes that used to bewitch me.
Now, I hate them.
“You took my daughter away, and now you’re gallivanting around with a fucking gardener.”
My eyes narrow. She knows about Jolie?
It’s not outside the realm of possibilities. Jolie and I haven’t exactly been super secretive. We’ve tried to be discreet, but someone could have seen us together. Maybe that other gardener, Harry?
“She’s not who you think she is,” Paulette continues. She comes closer, and I catch a whiff of her perfume. She still wears the same scent as she did when we were together. Back then, I loved it. Now, it’s cloyingly sweet and it clings to the inside of my nostrils. I want to take a step back, but I force myself not to.
I stiffen. “What are you talking about?”
“Here.” Paulette takes out an envelope from her bag and presents it to me. I hesitate, not wanting to know what poison she’ll inject into my life this time.
“Fuck off with your lies. I don’t trust anything you touch.”
“You don’t have to trust me, Your Highness. You just have to look at the photos. They’ll be easy enough to believe—even if you don’t want to believe me.”
When I take the envelope from her hand, my fingers brush against hers. A shiver of revulsion runs up my spine, and I do my best to keep the snarl off my face.
“Why are you here?”
“I’ve been in Westhill since the ten-year celebration in Farcliff. I saw Flora in the procession…”
“…and your motherly instincts kicked in?” I scoff, shaking my head. “You don’t have a motherly bone in your body. When Flora was inside you, you called her a cancerous tumor. Do you remember that? Because I do.”
“I was hormonal.”
“Fuck off.”
“Look at the pictures. Your rose gardener isn’t so different from me. At least we know you have a type.” She arches a graceful eyebrow, and I hate that she’s still beautiful. Looking at her face is like staring at all the mistakes I made all those years ago:
Believing her. Loving her. Trusting her.
My hands shake as I open the envelope. I don’t want to look inside. I know that this is just a ploy on Paulette’s part to wriggle her way back into my life. Everything she touches dies a painful death, and now she’s reaching for me. For Jolie. For Flora.
I stop, shaking my head. “I don’t care what’s in the envelope.”
“Even if it’s your new girlfriend meeting with the same agent who represented me?”
As soon as Paulette stepped out from behind the ruins of the fort, I knew she was going to drop a bombshell on me. I knew she was back because she wanted to ruin my life again. I knew.
Yet still, I’m surprised. Shocked. Angry.
More than angry. Liquid rage floods through my chest as I pull the photos from the envelope. I see Jolie having wine with a man I recognize all too well. Shaking his hand. Smiling at him. Laughing with him. Laughing at me.
Jolie’s smile sends a dagger straight through my heart. I stare at the photo, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing.
“This is fake.”
“I promise it’s not,” Paulette responds, triumphant. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Wouldn’t you? Last time I checked, you assaulted me and tried to kidnap my daughter when she was an infant. You neglected her and called her a cancerous tumor—and yet you still couldn’t bear the thought of not using her for your fucking publicity stunt. Photoshopping a couple photos to get back at me seems like it would be right in your wheelhouse.”
Paulette waves a hand, as if the traumas of our past are an annoying fly buzzing around her head. “I’m not evil.”
I snort. “Right.”
Turning on my heels, I walk away from her. I leave her standing in the clearing in the woods as my worst fears come true.
; The beast inside me stirs as my anger grows. It’s been quiet, these past weeks, but it’s still inside me. White-hot anger pumps through my veins as I make my way back to the castle. The envelope of photos burns a hole through my breast pocket as I hurry toward my studio.
When I lock myself inside, I pull the photos out with a trembling hand.
Jolie betrayed me. She’s been using me all this time. She’s been using Flora.
My whole body shakes as I try to contain the anger brimming inside me. An urge is building in my heart—an urge to hurt. To ruin. To destroy.
27
Jo
My father beams, and my mother wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. I just sent off my signed contract to work with Jeremy, and he’s already in contact with publishers. My new novel might become a reality, and I can hardly contain my excitement.
“I’ve got good news, too,” Dad says, exchanging a glance with my mother.
“What is it?”
“Well, I had a blood test today, and my results were the best they’ve been so far. The doctor says that if they stay at this level for a month after my last round of chemo next week, I might officially be in remission.”
I nearly explode from happiness, rushing to my father and practically bowling him over as I wrap my arms around him.
“We still have to wait and see,” he says, his voice muffled against my shoulder. “The cancer could come back. I still have to get checked out every couple of weeks.”
“I know, but this is good, right?”
“It’s good.” He smiles as he pulls away. “Couldn’t have done it without you and your mother.”
“I haven’t done anything,” I say, shaking my head.
“You took care of the roses,” Mom says, winking at me. “That did more than the chemo, I think. Your father actually started to relax when he saw they were in good hands.”
“Hopefully, you can come back and see for yourself soon. The repeat bloomers should be flowering in September, in about six weeks or so. You could be in Westhill by then, right?”
“I could be, if everything keeps going the way it is.” My father smiles, and I sit down in a chair beside him.
Mom decides to go to the butcher and get a roast for dinner to celebrate. I spend the afternoon with my father, leaning my head on his shoulder as we watch television.
“Thanks for coming to see me,” he says during a commercial break.
I chuckle. “Of course, Dad. I missed you and Mom.”
“You look healthy and happy, Jo. You’re glowing. Maybe you should keep taking care of the garden—even when I’m better.”
“I don’t know, Dad,” I say, glancing away. I know I’m blushing. “I have a meeting with Jeremy tomorrow, so we’ll see if this manuscript will actually get picked up, and then go from there.”
“Have a little hope, Jolie,” my father winks. “You’ll get your book deal, I’ll get better, and then we’ll all go back to Westhill together. It’ll all work out.”
I bite my lip as my heart thumps. I want to believe my father. I so, so want it to be true. If he’s healthy, and I’m writing, and the Prince is near—I’d have everything I could ever want.
But how would it work with my parents back? Would the Prince still want to see me? Still, a smile tugs at my lips. Maybe we could all move back together. My father could teach me everything he knows about rose gardening, and I could work on my book. I could spend time with the Prince, and with Flora…
…and I could be happy. I could have a successful career and a healthy relationship. I could move on from being a constant failure, and I could grow into something more.
When my mother comes back, I help her to make dinner. My stomach grumbles loudly, and when the food is ready, I descend on my plate like a hungry seagull. Scarfing my food down, I nod at my mother and go back for seconds.
“I’m glad to see you eating, Jolie,” she laughs, “I was worried about you when you got back from New York. You look better with a bit of meat on your bones, but you should slow down. You’ll choke yourself.”
“You look like your mother did when she was pregnant with you,” my father grins.
I stop, my fork frozen midway to my mouth. My parents are laughing, as if it’s the funniest thing my father has ever said.
Seeing the look of horror on my face, my mother laughs at me. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“No. I couldn’t be.” I shake my head, knowing that it’s not true. It could be true. The first three times Prince Gabriel and I had sex, we didn’t use any kind of protection. It wasn’t until I walked into Westhill and bought some condoms that we started being safe.
I could definitely be pregnant.
My parents laugh, and an uncomfortable feeling gurgles in my stomach. I stare at my heaping plate of foods—my second plate of the evening—and my heart falls.
No. I’m not pregnant. There’s no way.
I finish my meal in silence, doing my best to avoid my parents’ looks. They’re too busy being happy for me and happy for each other to notice anything amiss.
After dinner, I go to the bathroom and strip naked. I stand in front of the mirror, staring at my stomach. I stand sideways, running my hand over my abdomen.
Is it bigger?
Of course it’s bigger—I just had a massive meal. Even if I wasn’t pregnant right now—which I’m not, of course—I’d look like I was.
I jump at a knock on the door. “Are you okay, honey?” My mother asks. “You looked a bit worried after dinner. You don’t have indigestion, do you?”
“I’m fine, just having a shower before I go to bed.”
“Okay, Jolie.” Her footsteps fade, and I stare at myself in the mirror again.
Shaking my head, I turn on the shower. There’s no use freaking out about it right now. My stomach is bloated from food, and it would be too soon for it to be showing if I were pregnant.
Which I’m not. Obviously.
When I wake up in the morning, I do the same routine of checking myself out in the mirror. I turn sideways, staring at myself and frowning. Do I look different?
Would it be so bad if I did have a baby growing inside me?
I stare at my stomach, putting my hand just below my belly button. I could be a mother. Flora could be a big sister.
I’ve seen how much the Prince loves his daughter… Does he have enough love to give to another child?
Yes, I decide, he does. I’ve seen the softness inside him. I know his capacity to love is almost infinite, even though he’d deny it if anyone said it.
He’s not the savage everyone says he is. He’s loving, and gentle, and protective. He’s a wonderful father and a generous lover.
Maybe he would want another baby.
Maybe I want a baby.
My hands tremble as I put my clothes back on. I hurry to the nearest pharmacy, pulling a hood over my head as I slink to the aisle with the pregnancy tests. I glance around me when I grab one, worried someone is watching.
Why am I being so secretive? No one knows me in Farcliff. No one knows I’ve been sleeping with Prince Gabriel. So, with a deep breath, I walk to the cashier with my head held high.
I use my false confidence to carry me all the way home and up to the bathroom. I take slow, deep breaths as I read the instructions on the pregnancy test, trying to ignore the panic that starts to creep into every heartbeat. I pee on the end of a test, and set the timer on my phone…
…and then I wait.
Who knew three minutes could last so long? The seconds tick by, one eternity at a time. I sit on the bathroom floor and bite my nails. When my timer goes off, I’m almost too scared to see the results.
I take a deep breath, and then grab the pregnancy test and look at the little window that holds my future. I gasp, and then let out a sigh.
Then, I cry.
That afternoon, Jeremy ushers me into his office with a big smile on his face.
“I’ve been talking to the publishers,” he sta
rts.
“Already?”
“I don’t waste any time, darling,” Jeremy winks. “They’re very interested. Your story is fresh, it’s new, and it’s exactly what the middle-grade market needs.”
My head is spinning. Jeremy explains that a deal is imminent, and he expects an offer before I leave for Westhill.
“I’m going to have a book deal?”
“I’m trying to get them to buy into a series,” Jeremy says, tenting his fingers across his chest. “I think we could get three, maybe four books out of this. You in?”
I laugh, nodding. “Yeah. I’m in.”
Jeremy’s phone rings, and his eyebrow arches. “This is them,” he says. “Let me take this call in the conference room.”
I nod, watching him slip into the next room. My heart thumps. My future is about to be decided. My knee bounces up and down and I wring my hands together. Standing up, I start pacing the room. I go to the bookshelves that line Jeremy’s office and start reading the spines of the books, just to distract myself.
One title catches my eye: Loving Prince Gabriel: The Tell-All Memoir.
My eyes widen. I’ve never seen an actual physical copy of this book. It was banned from the Kingdom when I was away, and all the known copies were destroyed. Glancing over my shoulder, I check to see if Jeremy is still on the phone.
I’m alone, so I pull the book out of its slot on the shelf. My eyes widen as I open the first page. My heart thumps, and my hands start to shake. This is the book that started it all. This is the book that broke Prince Gabriel, that turned him into the reclusive, brooding person that he is now.
Prince Gabriel’s ex-lover’s words are addictive. The book starts with an anecdote of Paulette and the Prince’s meeting at a state event. She describes the look in the Prince’s eyes, and how it made her feel alive.
It feels wrong to read this. I feel jealous and embarrassed, and like I’m betraying his trust somehow…
…but I can’t stop myself.
I don’t hear Jeremy coming back in the room until he starts chuckling. “Curious about your boss, are you?”
I slam the book shut, shaking my head. “I thought this book was illegal.”
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