“We’re all turned around,” she says, pointing over her shoulder. “My apartment is that way.”
I curl the corners of my mouth down. “No. Your house is this way.”
I feel her eyes boring into the side of my face, but I refuse to look over.
“What did you do?”
I lift a shoulder innocently as I turn onto the winding dirt drive that leads to Jane-Ann’s new cottage.
She’s still pestering me to explain when the trees part and she gets a glimpse of the blue house. Hanging from the porch is a sign that says “Welcome Home.” It is made with lined notebook paper and crayons, but I make a mental note to thank Blakely later.
“You didn’t.” Jane-Ann looks from me to the house and back again, her mouth hanging open. “Did you?”
“I did,” I say, reaching across the console to grab her hand. “I know you aren’t the type of woman who wants anyone to take care of her, but I couldn’t sit by and let you and our son cram into a guest bedroom that barely has space for a crib, let alone all of his clothes as well as yours. You both needed your own space, and I wanted to help take care of it. Don’t think of this as a gift. Think of it as my contribution to the pregnancy. You gave birth, I bought a house.”
“Christian, I—”
“You,” I say, interrupting her, “have a new house to tour. Blakely told me where to put everything, so if you hate it, you can blame her.”
Jane-Ann looks at me for a long while, and I can see the wheels in her head spinning. Finally, she wraps her hand around my neck and leans across the console.
My breath catches in my throat, and I stare at her mouth as it moves closer to mine. I’ve kissed her lips before. I’ve had all of her, yet this feels momentous. I don’t care about my family or Freyja or Sigmaran. Nothing exists outside of this rental car. Just me and her and our son. It is the only thing that is important, and with this kiss, she is telling me the same thing. I take a breath and lean forward, but just before our lips can touch, she turns and presses a kiss to my cheek.
I’m embarrassed and disappointed, yet a flutter of warmth emanates from where she touched me. From where her lips pressed and where her hand is still wrapped around my neck.
“Thank you, Christian,” she whispers in my ear.
When her hand slips away and she sits back in her seat, the bubble bursts. I’m once again the Prince of Sigmaran. My family matters. My country matters. But so does Jane-Ann and Tyler. And I have no idea how all of those things will work together.
Chapter 19
Jane-Ann
The house is paid for. One hundred percent. Mine.
We’ve been living in it for a week—me and Tyler and Christian—but it still doesn’t feel real. I keep thinking I’m in a really nice bed and breakfast, and the owner will be around soon to remind me about the checkout time.
Christian filled me in on the house’s history. It belonged to the same family for years, and I could see that in the notches etched into the kitchen doorway showing how the children grew. I could see it in the scuff marks in front of the hearth where someone had knelt time and time again to light a fire. I could see it in the hand-made porch swing hanging from the front porch and the matching trim hanging next to all of the windows. The house was well loved, and I intended to continue the tradition.
Blakely had done a great job organizing the few things I had, and over the course of the week, Christian arranged for a dining table, a sofa, and a rocking chair for Tyler’s nursery to be delivered. I wanted to refuse any more gifts because buying me a house was already well beyond the scope of reasonable gifts, but I had cut Christian out of so much of the pregnancy, and it felt wrong to take away something that made him feel useful. Besides, the house was gorgeous, and I never could have afforded it on my own. I have pride, but I’m also not immune to wanting nice things.
We find an easy rhythm faster than I would have thought possible. Christian sleeps on the couch and is always the first one up and standing at Tyler’s bassinet in the middle of the night. He changes diapers, burps him, and refuses to let me lift a finger while I’m healing from giving birth. Christian reads the newspaper to Tyler, takes him outside every day for a bit of fresh air on the front porch, and falls asleep watching the world news with Tyler on his chest. He is everything a husband should be, and I have to remind myself several times a day that not only is he not my husband, but we aren’t in a relationship at all.
My mom pads into the kitchen while I’m making a pot of coffee and drops donuts on the counter. “Am I too late? Or has that overprotective mother hen already made you breakfast today?”
I laugh. “No, I told him you were coming with donuts. He knows not to step on the original mother hen’s turf.”
“Smart man.”
My mom grabs a donut and drops onto the barstools at the kitchen island. We don’t look anything alike, but all of my personality has come from her. She loves people really hard—though she doesn’t often express it—we both have sarcasm in our blood, and nothing excites either of us more than a breakfast pastry.
“Where is he?”
“Changing Tyler,” I say, stifling a laugh. “And himself. Tyler may have peed all over Christian’s shirt during the last diaper change.”
She laughs. “Boys will do that. I’ll have to show him how to cover him with the diaper during the dirty diaper to clean diaper transfer. That way he can avoid a lot of accidents.”
If my mom had any reservations about Christian, she didn’t reveal them to me. As soon as she saw him at the hospital, she observed him for a moment, looking him over as though she were checking a carton of eggs to see if any of them were broken, and then she pulled him into a hug.
“About time you showed up,” she said with zero animosity.
Since then, Christian has been a member of the family.
“I’d like to see that trick, too. One of these days Christian is going to let me change a diaper, and I’ll need to know how to protect myself.”
She nods. “Good for him for taking care of you. You need to relax and heal.”
I wave her away. “I’m fine. Tyler was barely over seven pounds. Easy peasy.”
“Six weeks,” she reminds me, eyebrows raised threateningly. “The doctor said to go easy for six weeks. You don’t get to do anything strenuous until after you’ve been looked over and Dr. Johnson gives you the all clear.”
“I know, I know,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And you call Christian the mother hen.”
My mom grabs a donut and slides it across the island, ignoring my comment. “Will Christian be here the full six weeks?”
Her question hits me like a punch to the chest, and I quickly take a bite of donut to hide my surprise. When I finally swallow, I shrug.
“I’m not sure.”
“You haven’t talked about it?” she asks, her eyes appraising me.
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
She doesn’t say anything but the words sit between us anyway. You should.
And I know we should. But I’m afraid. Afraid that if I mention Sigmaran and his responsibilities there, Christian will reawaken from this domestic dream and realize he has to leave immediately. He’ll remember that he can’t put his life on hold, and he’ll wish us luck and be gone. And I’m not ready for him to leave. Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
I hear Christian coming down the stairs and arrange my face into a pleasant smile I hope doesn’t look too forced. He walks in holding Tyler in the crook of his arm, his eyes wide and shell-shocked.
“That was an ordeal.” When he sees my mom, he smiles. “Hi, Shelly.”
She tips her head and gestures to the donuts. “Christian.”
I reach out for Tyler, and Christian hands him over and moves immediately for the donuts. Tyler is dozing and doesn’t stir during the transfer.
I didn’t know how I’d feel when my son was born. If the maternal instinct would be immediate or if it would take time to develop. In a wa
y, it has been both. As soon as I saw him, even covered in goo, I thought he was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen. But it felt surreal. I couldn’t really believe he was mine.
But as each day passes and we slip into a routine, I feel a connection to him that I know will never be severed. It has given me a glimpse into how my parents must feel about me. And helps me understand why my mom is watching Christian move around the kitchen like he might take off his shirt to reveal he is actually a pile of squirrels in a human suit.
“You seem really comfortable with children,” she says suddenly. “You have other kids?”
My eyes widen, and I stare at her dumbstruck. Thankfully, Christian only laughs.
“No. Definitely not. But I have three younger brothers. The youngest is ten, so I changed a lot of diapers.”
“You didn’t have nannies?”
“Mom,” I warn.
“We did,” Christian says without hesitating. “But we’re also a normal family. In some respects, anyway. My parents still took care of us outside work hours.”
I elbow my mom in the arm. “They’re royal, not aliens.”
“Same difference,” she says with a mischievous smirk. “To a born and raised Texan like me anyway.”
When my mom leaves half an hour later, I apologize on her behalf.
“It’s fine,” Christian says, shrugging off the apology. “She just wants to know more about me.”
“There are better ways to go about it,” I say. “She sounded really judgey, didn’t she?”
Christian sits next to me on the couch and reaches out to adjust the swaddle around Tyler’s face. The movement is easy and natural. Then, he turns to me.
“I’m used to scrutiny, Jane-Ann. I’ve experienced it my entire life. I’ll only be angry if she sells her story to the tabloids.”
“But she’s family,” I say, brow furrowing. “Family should be different than how the public treats you.”
When I look up, Christian’s brows are raised.
“What?”
“She’s my family?” he asks, his mouth half-turned in a smile.
“Well, I mean,” I stumble, unsure what to say. Finally, I settle on the truth. “Tyler connects us all. You are his dad, and she is his grandmother. That makes you and her…something to one another. Family even if it doesn’t have an official title.”
He leans closer to me and lays a hand across Tyler’s tiny body. Our baby fidgets from the movement but still doesn’t wake up.
“We’re a family,” Christian says softly. “I like that.”
I don’t say anything, but I think it really loudly.
Me too.
Chapter 20
Christian
My parents must have hired people to spam my phone with calls and texts because they are relentless. I’ve taken to leaving my phone on silent and only checking it once an hour to see what I’ve missed.
Freyja calls a few times, but she never leaves a message, and I wouldn’t listen to it even if she did. She more than anyone doesn’t care where I am. She only cares that I’m not with her, being photographed at the latest event she has deemed “the place to be.”
But I will have to answer eventually. Either over the phone or in person. I can’t stay in Texas forever. I have to go home—soon—and I have no idea what I’m going to say when I do.
No one knows about Jane-Ann or Tyler yet. And I’m not sure if they should. What would happen to their lives if people found out about them? They’d be hounded by the press in Sigmaran at least, but with the American preoccupation with royal families, American tabloids could pick up the story, too. It would change everything for them.
Eight days after Tyler’s birth, Jane-Ann and I are sitting on the couch, resting during one of our son’s many naps. She doesn’t have her head on my shoulder, but my arm is draped across the back of the couch, and her body fits into the shape of mine. All it would take is for her to scoot another inch closer and me to lower my arm, and we’d look like any normal couple having a normal night-in together. But we aren’t a normal couple.
Lady Freyja is back home, blissfully unaware of all of this. Though, she is the last person I want to think about with Jane-Ann sitting next to me. And a responsibility to my country. The land mine we’ve been walking around for the last week can no longer be avoided. So, I slide away from her on the couch, pull one of my legs up onto the cushion, and prop my head up on my fist.
“I think we need to talk about a few things.”
Jane-Ann frowns but clicks off the television and turns to me, mirroring my pose. “Okay?”
“What are your plans for Tyler’s future?” I ask.
She tilts her head to one side. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I say, trying to broach the subject carefully. “What do you want for him?”
She takes a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the ceiling while she thinks, and then she smiles. “I want him to grow up the way I did. I want him to learn to ride a horse and play in the mud. I want him to spend weekends with his grandparents and have sleepovers with his friends in the backyard. But mostly, I want him to be kind and feel loved.”
The future Jane-Ann outlined sounds idyllic. I just hate that I won’t be there to see it.
“What do you want for his future?” she asks, and by the smile on her face, I can tell she thinks this is a fun game we are playing.
I reach out and lay a hand on her palm. “I want whatever you want for him. Because I know you love him and will always do what is best.”
She smiles, but the light begins to fade in her eyes, and her eyebrows lower. “What about you? Are you going to do what is best for him?”
“I’m going to try.”
Jane-Ann nods, and I know she is beginning to understand what this means. What this conversation is really about.
“When do you leave?”
I look down at my lap, unable to meet her eyes. “Soon. I don’t have anything scheduled yet.”
She twists away from me and stares straight ahead at the now-black television screen. “Why did you come back at all?”
The words feel like a punch to the gut, but they are fair. More than fair.
“Because I care about you, Jane-Ann. And Tyler. Because I needed to make sure you two were going to be okay.”
“Okay without you,” she clarifies. “You needed to make sure that we weren’t destitute and living in a friend’s apartment, and now that you’ve bought this house, you think your duty here is done?”
“That is not why—”
“We were just fine before,” she says, interrupting me. “I could have managed on my own. I didn’t need the house or the furniture. I got through the pregnancy without you, and I could have found us a house without you. I didn’t need you to come back and save me like some knight riding in on a white horse.”
She stops suddenly, eyes wide, and then she laughs. It is a bitter sound. “God. You even picked me up from the hospital in a white Mustang. Was that some kind of plan? A cute play on words?”
“Completely unintentional,” I say, waiting to see if she’ll continue talking. She doesn’t, so I grasp desperately for the right words to fix things. “If people find out about you two, your lives will never be the same again. You will never have a normal life. I don’t want that—my life—for either of you.”
“We don’t get a choice?” she asks, her voice breaking.
I’ve thought about the three of us together more times than I can count in the past eight days. I’ve worked through every scenario, and I never found one that ended with a happily ever after.
“The only way we could ever be together would be to get married,” I start.
“Is that so horrible?” Jane-Ann asks, surprising me.
It’s not horrible. It sounds wonderful and is so easy for me to imagine. I’ve been dating Lady Freyja for months, and I could never see myself with her. But I’ve spent nine days total with Jane-Ann, and I’d commit to her on the spot. But it can’t hap
pen.
“Even if my family would agree to me marrying an American woman outside of our social class, Tyler would grow up to be a king. Do you realize that? Everything you wanted for him—a normal, happy life full of fun and love—would be so much more difficult.”
Jane-Ann frowns. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“He would grow up under the spotlight. His every move would be monitored, and he would be under more scrutiny than I ever was. Because he would be half-American. And, based on strict moral codes, illegitimate.”
She sags back into the couch.
“I know this is a lot to take in,” I say, wishing I could stop right there. But I have more to say. Now is the time to come clean about everything. “But there’s more.”
Her head whips to me, eyes narrowed. “What?”
I swallow back my nerves and spit out the words as fast as I can. “I’ve been dating someone these past few months, and my family expects us to be engaged within the month.”
She stares at me for a few seconds and then shakes her head. “I wish you’d stayed in Sigmaran.”
The words hurt, but I can tell they hurt Jane-Ann just as much. She lowers her head into her hands.
“How long were you planning to play house with me before you told me there’s another woman waiting for you?”
“It isn’t what you think,” I say. “Freyja is not my choice. She was chosen for me by my family.”
“That doesn’t change anything. You’re still going to marry her.”
Jane-Ann stands up and walks into the kitchen. I think about giving her a minute to cool down, but I can’t. Not when there is so much she doesn’t understand. Not when I need her help.
When she hears me behind her, she turns and plants her feet, arms crossed over her chest. She’s wearing loose pajama pants and a tank top, the evidence of her pregnancy obvious. Still, she looks fierce, and I take a step back.
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