by R. S. Lively
“I know. We are almost there, my sweet.”
Jesse catches my eye, and he snaps a fake whip in the air, telling me that I’m a goner. He cackles, and I take my middle finger and flick it toward him.
“That is not very royal-like,” he says.
“I’m not royalty. It doesn’t pertain to me.”
“Yet. You aren’t royalty yet,” Luca emphasizes.
My fingers curl into his jacket from his sly little words. He knows how happy it makes me when he speaks like that. “Okay. The two of you keep your heads down. When we exit the airport, there will be reporters and photographers. It always leaks when royalty visits and becomes news for some reasons. We’re just people,” he mutters.
“Fancy, crazy rich people,” Jesse snarks.
“Hey! We used to be that way too. Be nice,” I scold. I can’t believe he said that. The brat.
“He isn’t wrong.” Luca shrugs a shoulder and his reasonableness is starting to gyrate my nerves. How can someone be so calm and agreeable all the time?
A burst of air hits my hot, feverish skin and I sigh in relief, but only for a moment before we get bombarded with questions.
“What are you doing in the States?”
“Is it true that you have cancer?”
Cancer? How does a rumor like that get started?
“I hear you have a secret life with another family. You even have children, is that true Prince Addington?”
“You’re staying at the Glendive bed and breakfast, why? Is it true the king and the queen are here as well?”
Clicks and flashes happen all around us, and I do what Luca says—hide my face so they don’t see me. These people are vultures. How do they know about the king and the queen?
“Who is the girl in your arms, Prince Addington?”
Hundreds of footsteps crowd around us, hunting us like wild animals. Luca ignores them like a professional, not answering a single question they throw at him. I’m happy he doesn’t say who I am. A spotlight will be placed on my family and all the dirty little secrets will surface, and I can’t handle that right now. Tabitha would love to get her claws around a reporter asking questions to slay the family name.
Luca presses his hand against the back of my head, keeping me close to his chest. The sound of a car door opens, and he bends down, placing me in the leather seat of the limo. Jesse gets in next. And Luca’s hand presses against his stomach before he gets in and slams the door.
“Driver! Go!” he yells, pressing a button to lock the doors.
Whoever is in the front seat presses their foot on the pedal. The tires screech and the friction from the rubber sends smoke behind us. They can’t see us through the window, but I can see them. They cough from the strong smell, and it starts to fill the car with the chemical scent of rubber. I watch the nosy journalists and photographers take a step back from the car, and we finally lurch forward, speeding away from the scene.
No one says a word for a minute. I sit stunned. Did that just happen?”
“So, do things like this happen to you all the time?” Jesse asks, rubbing his palms on his jeans.
Luca glances out the window, the sharp-cut muscle in his jaw clenching. It’s so strong and defined. The urge for him to scrape it along my inner thigh makes me tremble. The rough hairs along his chin would feel so good scratching my sensitive, unexplored skin.
“It only happens in America. Americans are so nosey about everything. People just wave to me on the street in Belgium. I don’t understand why you guys care so much about… well… everything.” He picks me up and sets me on his lap. “How are you feeling, me sweet?” The warmth from Luca’s palm settles on my stomach, soothing the turmoil flipping around inside.
It actually makes me feel better.
I place my head on his shoulder and sigh, relaxing against his body. “I feel so much better.”
“Man, gross, I don’t need to see that,” Jesse huffs, crossing his arms in a stubborn, teenage kind of way.
“You just wait until you find someone. I’m going to throw this moment in your face. Hmmm, maybe I should call Alice. I know how much you like her.”
“Shut up. I do not.”
“You do.”
“Do not!” he yells, pushing me away when I flick my tongue out at him.
“So this is what it is like to have siblings? Looks like I missed out on so much.” Luca tightens his arms around me to stop me from poking at Jesse.
Party pooper.
“It isn’t all so bad,” Jesse says as he looks at the window. “She cooks for me.”
“Jesse!” I can’t believe he said that. “I offer more than that.”
“She cleans, too.”
Jesse puts his arms over his face to protect himself as I slap him. Luca grips my arms to hold me back, but I fight him off. “Let me at him! I’ll turn all your clothes pink next time I wash your nasty clothes.”
“Go ahead! I’ll rock it just like everything else I wear.” He flexes his arms, trying to show his muscle.
“You might want to up how much you lift. Baby weights are cutting it anymore.”
“You’re a brat.”
“You’re annoying!”
Luca sits in the middle between us and pushes us away from one another. “Both of you need to stop talking or you’re going to make my ears bleed. Not another word. Or I’ll duct tape your mouths shut.”
“Even me?” I pout my bottom lip. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“You’re still pretty when you aren’t talking to your brother.”
I slump against the seat and sigh when I see a sign that says, Glendive 130 miles.
“She started it,” Jesse mumbles, and right as I open my mouth to snip back, Luca covers my lips with his hand, muffling the snark remark on the tip of my tongue.
This is going to be a much longer trip than I thought.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Luca
A headache throbs in the front of my head. The ride from Billings to Glendive was the longest of my life. I’ve never been so happy to get to a destination. A car ride with Rosie and her brother needs alcohol. They are upstairs in the bedroom, arguing, and I literally can’t take it anymore. I want to buy my parents the most expensive thing in the world, thanking them for not giving me siblings.
As of this moment.
In general, I think I would have liked having a sister or a brother.
“Does it ever stop?” I groan and open a cabinet, careful of how I shut them since each slamming sound makes my head throb that much harder. “There has to be something here for this headache.” I fumbled through the kitchen of the bed and breakfast and find a bottle of whiskey. I take it out and debate for a minute about pouring a glass, maybe two.
But it’s six in the morning, and we have to leave for the hospital soon. I don’t think the doctors will appreciate that. “Later.” I stare at the cheap bottle, knowing that it is going to taste just as foul as it looks. I put it back in the cabinet and continue my search for headache medicine. The last drawer holds all my dreams. I pick up the bottle and give it a hard kiss. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I push the top down, turn it, and pour four pills into my palm. After I toss my head back and throw them in my mouth, I turn on the sink and put my lips under the stream of water.
I look around the bed-and-breakfast, and it reminds me of the time I visited Dublin. It’s a charming little house. More like a cottage, really. It has grass as a roof, which is quite eco-friendly, I think. If it were possible, I’d look into that for the castle. The inside is quaint. The hallway archways are round like a boulder blew through when the place was being built. All the trim is wood, and the cabinets are white-washed, making it look vintage. The hardwood floors seem old, original perhaps. A thought occurs to me to buy this place. It isn’t for sale, but everything can be bought for the right price.
Money talks.
An exasperated sigh comes from the bottom of the staircase. Pushing off the cabinets,
I wander over to see my sweet leaning against the rail, tired and sad. I lift her chin with my hand. “What’s wrong, my sweet one?”
“Jesse. He hates me.”
“He’s seventeen. He hates everyone.”
Her eyes turn to wells, spilling over with tears. “No, he really does. I think he resents me.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Rosie, he loves you. Maybe something else is going on. Give him space. He is a moody teen after all.”
She sniffles and nods, jumping when someone starts coming down the stairs. “It’s just my dad,” I tell her. “It’s about time to go. Is Jesse coming?”
“Yeah.” She moves out of the way so there’s enough room for Father to carry his queen down the steps. Once he gets to the bottom, the air shifts into something that crawls over my skin: doom.
My father presses my mother’s head against his chest, swaying them back and forth like he is rocking an upset child. He stares at the front door, unmoving. The way he looks at it is as though his worst fears are on the other side, and maybe there are. There is a chance that my mother will die today. And I’m not ready for that, but if this is what she wants, then I need to respect that.
“We need to go, Father,” I say, placing my hand on his elbow.
“I can’t,” he whispers, eyes wide and unblinking with tears flowing freely.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I can’t move. My feet. I can’t move them.” He tightens his grip around my mother’s body, not wanting to let her go.
The scene in front of me breaks me, but I have to hold it together for them. Today is going to be a hard enough day as it is. “You can do this. She will be fine. She is strong.” I repeat the words that have played over and over in my head. I just hope they don’t fall on deaf ears.
“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?” He spits at me—like, actual spit flies from his mouth.
Rosie opens the front door, letting in cool Montana air. It rushes over my father’s face, snapping him out of the depressive state. He takes his time walking to the door. His big body blocks the wind coming through, but not the number of leaves blowing through the door. Another set of feet comes down the stairs, and in walks Jesse. He has a scowl on his face, but once he sees my father carrying my mother, he slows, and his face softens. Something changes. He runs to Rosie and gives her a big bear hug. She stares at me in shock for a minute, her arms loose at her sides, and right as the hug becomes awkward, she hugs him back.
Everyone leaves the little bed-and-breakfast and we drive to the hospital. My mother’s asleep in the king’s lap, and he runs his fingers through her hair. My hand tightens around the steering wheel as we follow the long black path to salvation, or hope for it, anyway. The car ride is quiet. The early-morning sun peaks through the trees, gracing the horizon with its presence. It’s a beautiful day—hopefully it ends with a gorgeous night and a miracle.
The car jostles when I drive over a pothole to get into the parking lot. My body sways a bit and my headache jostles, reminding me that it’s still there. When I park, I hop out of the car and open Rosie’s door as well as the back door. My father gets out first along with my mother. She’s still asleep. Her skin is pale, and she lies in his arms limply, like she weighs nothing. She looks dead, but the pulse in her neck tells me she is very much alive.
Every step toward the hospital door feels like a mile. Rosie’s hand slides into mine, and knowing I have her support is everything. Her touch is like a vacuum, sucking the distress away from me until I’m steady.
The automatic grey doors slide open, revealing a large, sterile room with a front desk and waiting room. Pages turn from someone reading a magazine to our left. Another person covers their mouth as they cough. A child giggles as their mother cries in the corner. The little one isn’t laughing at her. He doesn’t understand what is happening.
We walk to the front, and the smile on the nurse's face who greets us falls. “Oh my…”
I raise my hand to stop her from coming around the desk. “No, no. We have an appointment. She is just very tired, that is all. We are here for Dr. Jackson.”
“Oh! I see. I’ll page him right away.”
“Thank you,” I say.
My father sits in one of the chairs, never letting my mother go. I’m wondering how he is going to let her go to Dr. Jackson.
“Hi, I’m sorry. I overheard you talking about Dr. Jackson.” A pretty blonde with brown eyes smiles. “Sorry, I’m his wife and I just delivered his lunch. He’s getting ready to come down. I’m very sorry to hear about your mother. My name is Molly.” She reaches out her hand—she has a very kind energy about her.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. But lunch? It’s seven in the morning. And I’m Luca. This is my father, Luca Senior. My mother, Caroline. Rosie, my girlfriend, and her brother, Jesse.” I introduce everyone,Rosie evaluates Molly. I wonder if she thinks Molly is a threat. She is a pretty girl, but she is not my Rosie.
“He has been here for a while, practicing the surgery. He wants to make sure he is prepared.” A loud wail resonates from her stroller. “I have to go, but I’ll be sending positive thoughts, okay? Where are you staying? I’d love for us to drop by and say hello after the surgery.”
“You sound very positive that everything is going to be okay.” My father’s voice is like gravel when he speaks, strangled with emotion.
Molly gives him a sad, compassionate smile. “My husband is very good at his job. He wouldn’t operate if he didn’t think he could do it.”
“Thirty-five years I’ve had with this woman. I don’t need him taking her away in less than an hour, you understand me?” He raises his voice, and my mother’s hand moves across his chest, soothing him. His breath comes out shaking as he rocks back and forth, embracing the last moments. This might be the last time the king holds his queen.
My mother might die.
I look up at the bright fluorescent lights to dry and blink away the tears.
Molly wipes under her eye, and when I see the splotchy red patches over her face, I notice she is crying for us, complete strangers. I stand and clear my throat. I have to raise my voice over the baby’s cries in the stroller. “Thank you. We will be happy to see you and Dr. Jackson. What better way to celebrate life than with the man who saved hers?”
Molly croons at the baby, trying to get him to sleep. “I’ll be back in a few hours. I’ll bring you guys something to eat. It’s going to be a long day.”
“Merci,” I say in my home tongue.
She gives me one last smile and strolls away, out the door where the world will treat her kindly. I unbutton my suit and sit back down, wondering how the hell I ended up here. I’m from Belgium, and out of all the places in the world, the best doctor is here? There’s no way.
The swinging doors open on the right side of the front desk and a tall, broad American man walks confidently through the door. He has thick and wavy hair, and his white coat flows behind him. He seems a bit tired with dark circles around his eyes, but maybe that’s just the life of a doctor.
“You must be the Addington’s.”
“Dr. Jackson, I presume.” I reach out another hand to greet him.
He sits down next to Luca Senior and moves his coat out of the way. “That’s me. Now, before we get started, I want to run a few things by you. How long it will take, the risks, things like that. Okay?”
My mother reaches a hand out and places it on the doctor’s face. “You’re an angel,” she says.
Sadness creeps into his eyes as he removes her hand. “The tumor is causing her to see things. Is that a new symptom? It’s only been a few days.”
“I haven’t heard her say anything like that before. Is that bad?” I panic, wondering if he is going to cancel the surgery now.
“No, it just means we have to hurry. Let’s get her checked in. I’ll take you to her room and then after that, that’s where you will say your ‘see you laters�
�—not goodbye though. I don’t do goodbyes in this hospital.”
“Your mortality rate confirms that, Dr. Jackson.” I hold out my hand to help Rosie up, and she takes it, holding her tears back. It’s time to walk, but my father is glued in place.
The king will fall with his kingdom, like every king should.
Except, his kingdom is different.
He is holding his.
Chapter Thirty
Rosie
Five hours have passed since they have taken Caroline into the back. Five long hours of watching the king pace around the floor and Luca stare into space with his elbows on his knees. Jesse is asleep with his head against the pillar that goes from the floor to the ceiling.
The bright side to this is that it has been five hours and we haven’t heard anything. So that’s good. It means she is still alive, and Dr. Jackson is working his magic.
“Does anyone want anything? I’m going to go get some coffee.” I stand up, putting my hands in my back pockets.
“No, thank you. I can’t think of drinking anything right now,” Luca Senior says before pacing again. He hasn’t even gone to the bathroom because he doesn’t want to miss them giving an update.
Luca stands and stretches, too, saying, “Can I come with you?”
“Of course. I’d want nothing more.” I take a quick glance at my brother to see if he wants anything, but he is still asleep, mouth open and all.
We walk hand-in-hand down the hall until someone points us in the direction of the cafeteria. I’ve always hated hospitals. They are like a maze, and I hate mazes. Plus, I’ve spent more time in here than I care to. It seems the only thing that happens in the hospital is death. I can’t voice that though. I have to stay positive. I have to believe that she will make it out of here.
We enter the cafeteria and Luca runs his hands through his perfectly parted hair, messing it up. His tie came loose hours ago, and his sleeves are rolled up to the elbow. He looks delicious.
“You’re staring again,” he says.