I’m not sure how much time goes by, but after a while, someone clears their throat behind me. I turn to see Margot standing at the entrance to the living room, looking as beautiful and as radiant as ever.
How did I ever turn my back on her? How did I ever make her feel like she wasn’t the one for me?
There’s no one else. Never has been, never will be.
I promised that I’d be by her side, and then I turned my back on her.
For what?
For my own pride. My own twisted past. My own prejudices.
“Margot,” I say.
“Hi.” She pads into the living room and sits down on a couch with a sigh, cupping her hands under her stomach.
I desperately want to run my hands over her bump. I want to lay a kiss on it, and talk to the baby inside. Because as stupid as I’ve been, I know in my heart that I want that baby to be mine. Even if it carries Beckett’s DNA, it’s always been my baby. Our baby.
Instead of sitting beside her, though, I take a seat on the armchair to her left. I lean my elbows on my knees, tenting my fingers and staring at the carpet.
“So, you’re here,” she starts. I can feel her eyes on me, but I’m too scared to look at her. If I meet her eye and I see nothing but pain, I know it’ll be over.
“I’m here,” I finally respond. With a sigh, I force myself to meet her gaze.
“Why?”
My heart thumps. Any speech that I imagined delivering flies out of my head, and all I can do is gulp past the lump in my throat.
“To apologize.”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Our words bounce off each other, with barely a breath between them. Then, silence hangs heavy. I swallow again, struggling to find the words to tell her what I feel.
“I was an ass, Margot. I should never have gotten mad at you. I told you it didn’t matter who the father was, and then I went back on that.”
“I understand. I probably should have told you sooner.”
Wringing my hands together, I lick my lips. “I care about you and I care about the baby, Margot. I made a mistake. I want to be here.”
“I can see that,” she says. Her voice is flat, and alarm bells start ringing in my head. Margot stares at a pile of magazines on the coffee table, and I can see the tension heightening between us. Silence stretches, second by second, until Margot finally drags her gaze back to mine.
“There’s something you need to know,” she says.
My mind races. What else could there possibly be? Is there another man? Something about Beckett?
My face feels hot as my heart starts to thud. My fingertips tingle, and still, Margot doesn’t speak.
She takes a deep breath, putting a hand over her baby bump. “I have Huntington’s disease.”
I stare at her, blinking. “You have what?”
“Huntington’s disease. My mother had it, too.”
My eyes flick to her bump, and Margot lets out a sad sigh.
“I’m not sure about the baby.”
“What… What’s Huntington’s?” My mouth is dry. I try to lick my lips to transfer a bit of moisture, but my tongue barely has any to spare. My heart is still thumping. I force myself to sit still and listen.
“It’s a brain disorder.” Margot extends her hands, and I see a slight shake as she holds them in front of her. “This will get worse. Anxiety and depression are common, which might explain why I’ve suffered from both.”
She smiles sadly at me before shifting her gaze to the back window. I see her throat bob as she swallows, her hand moving in slow circles around her stomach.
“My mother was irritable and angry for many of our teen years,” Margot says. Her eyes are soft, and I know she’s far away in her mind. “In the end, she was pretty aggressive and angry. Very different from the soft, loving mother that we grew up with. I wasn’t there when she died. I’ve told myself that it’s because I was working to provide for my family, but to be honest, it was because I couldn’t face what she’d become.”
Margot takes a deep breath, staring down at her bump.
“I can handle the tremors,” she says softly. “I’m not afraid of not being able to walk, or to struggle to swallow. I’m ready to lose control over my body. But my mind…”
“Margot.” I reach over and put a hand on her thigh, but she flinches away.
A tear rolls down Margot’s cheek, and she shakes her head. “It’s better this way, Dante. It’s better to stop this now. We had fun, and it ended badly between us, but at least it ended before I turn into someone else.”
“No.” I shake my head. “No.”
“It’s not your choice.” Margot lifts her eyes up to mine, straightening her back. Her gaze hardens, and her teeth clench together. “I don’t want you to see me fall apart. I’d rather you remember me as the person I am now, instead of dragging you down with me. It’s too much of a burden to put on another person. I won’t do that to you.”
“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Margot,” I answer with a strangled voice. “What if I said I want to be there for you?”
“I’d tell you that you were stupid. You have no idea what you’d be signing up for.”
“What about the baby? Doesn’t the baby deserve a father?”
“Yes,” Margot nods. “But I’m not going to be the one to take your life away from you. I’m not going to force you into throwing your freedom away just to take care of me and my baby. It’s not fair, Dante.”
“I’m not throwing anything away. I’m here for you.”
Margot smiles sadly. She stands up and reaches over to put her hands on either side of my face. I put my palms over her hands, searching her eyes. I look for something—anything—that will tell me she’ll change her mind.
“Live your life, Dante. Find someone healthy, happy, and unencumbered. Don’t try to be a hero. Trust me, the guilt of holding you back would kill me faster than the disease.”
“Margot, you’re wrong.”
“And you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She leans down, pressing her lips to mine. “I love you, Dante. I do. That’s why I’m not going to let you be with me.”
“Margot…”
“Go back to Argyle.”
Margot straightens up, smiling sadly at me. She gives me a soft nod.
I can’t move from the armchair where I’m seated. I’m pinned to the cushion, staring up at the woman I love.
She thinks she’s doing this for me, but she can’t see my heart being ripped out of my chest right in front of her. She can’t see the hope being extinguished inside me.
There won’t be someone else who’s happy, and healthy, and unencumbered. I already know that. The only woman who has made me want to live my life to its fullest has been Margot. In all the years I’ve been on this earth, she’s the only one who’s made me want to leave Argyle.
There’s no one else. There never will be.
But Margot still walks away. I listen to her footsteps fade as she makes her way back up to her room. I sit on her sofa, shell-shocked, heartbroken, and alone.
34
MARGOT
I THOUGHT I’d go straight up to my room and cry, but instead, I lay in bed and a feeling of complete calm washes over me.
I’m sad, of course, but I’m strong.
For the first time in my life, I’ve faced my problems head-on. I told him the truth, and I took the hard path. The right path.
Dante deserves better.
I love him with all my heart, and that’s why I need to let him go. Now, he knows why. He can have closure. Even if he says he wants to be there for me, he doesn’t understand, and I don’t want to be the one to hold him back.
Still, when I lay in bed, I think about seeing him at family events. Ivy is married to Luca, so I’m sure I’ll cross paths with him.
What if he gets married to someone else?
Pain slices acr
oss my chest and I squeeze my eyes shut until it passes.
It’s for the best.
Letting Dante go is the first truly good thing I’ve ever done. It’s the only time I’ve been strong not only for myself, but for someone else. It’s the first step in being the kind of person I want to be. The kind of person I need to be for my child.
I close my eyes, and another wave of pain washes over me. I can sense Prince Dante’s presence downstairs, even though I can’t hear anything. I can feel him in the house, so close to me.
But I can never have him.
Knowing that I told him the truth, and that I broke it off with him for his own sake gives me strength. Any time I feel the urge to tiptoe out of my room and go find him—even for one last kiss—I hold myself back.
I’m strong.
I’m honest.
I’m doing this for him.
When I hear the guest bedroom door close down the hall, a tear escapes my eyes. It soaks into my pillow, and I turn my back to the door.
I made the right choice.
It had to end.
It’s the only way.
…Right?
THE NEXT MORNING is cold and grey. When I go downstairs, Dante is already gone. Luca tells me he flew out of the Kingdom at first light, and a sharp pain pierces my chest.
It’s for the best.
I know it is. I keep telling myself it is. Last night, I was even proud of myself for breaking it off with him for good.
So, why does it hurt so badly?
I wrap my fingers around a mug of herbal tea, bringing it up to my lips. Ivy pads into the kitchen, glancing at me. She wrinkles her nose.
“I’d kill for a cup of coffee.” She glances over at the coffee machine, her eyebrows arching wistfully.
Squaring my shoulders, I fling my tea into the sink. “Fuck it,” I say. “Me, too. The doctor said a coffee once in a while would be fine for the baby. I think we deserve one today. It’s nearly Christmas.”
Ivy grins, nodding. “I like the way you think.”
As soon as the smell of coffee hits my nose, I let out a soft moan. For those few minutes while the coffee is brewing and I drink it, I only think of the pleasure of the hot, bitter liquid on my tongue.
I don’t think of Dante or of being alone. I don’t think about the fact that he left without saying goodbye, or that I might have to watch him fall in love with someone else.
I just sip my coffee. Bitter, black, liquid gold.
When my mug is empty, though, the Prince floods my mind again. My eyes prickle, and I start to regret pushing him away.
I did this for him.
That’s what I need to keep telling myself.
I love him, and that’s why I pushed him away. It’s best for him if he isn’t tied down to me. I can suffer on my own. Raise my child on my own. Stand on my own two feet for once.
If he stayed with me, he’d be signing up for a lifetime of caring for someone sick. He’d be giving his life up for a child that isn’t his, and then he’d watch me fall apart in front of him.
Breaking up with him is the kindest thing to do, even if it feels bad.
My baby moves, and I put a hand to my stomach. A few violent kicks later, and I’m giggling with Ivy as she touches my belly.
That’s all it takes for me to snap out of my mood. I spend the rest of the day focused on my baby, planning a renovation in one of the guest bedrooms to turn it into a nursery. Ivy pores over Pinterest boards with me, and not for the first time, I’m grateful to have my sister by my side.
A WEEK LATER, though, on Christmas Day, I’m dealt another blow. Ivy stares at me across the dinner table and announces that she and Luca will be moving out into their own place.
I blink back tears and paint a smile on my face. “I don’t know why I’m surprised.”
“It’s not that we don’t love living here,” Ivy says. “It’s just that we’re ready to have our own space. The babies will be here in less than three months, and we’d like to have the house set up before then.”
I nod, wrapping my arms around my sister. She hugs me tight, but it does nothing to dispel the emptiness I feel inside.
I’ll be alone. Again.
But instead of spiraling into self-doubt and self-pity, I square my shoulders and force myself to smile at my sister. “Do you have a house picked out yet?”
She shakes her head. “We have some viewings set up for the first week of January. Will you come with us?”
I nod, smiling. “Of course.”
Ivy’s face brightens as she lets out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, Margot. I was worried you’d be mad at me. We’ve lived together for so long, and I didn’t want you to feel like I was abandoning you.”
“Not at all,” I lie.
I swallow past a lump in my throat, turning my face away from her as I compose myself. Taking a few calming breaths, I force myself to think of the positives.
From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I feel like things have been happening in quick succession. Within months, my entire life is turning on its head.
But that’s not a bad thing.
Even with Dante, as sad as I am to see him go, I’m glad that he was in my life. The few weeks that we spent together gave me hope that I can still have happiness in my life. Even if I never meet anyone like him again, I know that my life isn’t doomed.
I have hope for the future, which is something I never would have thought when I got my diagnosis.
Maybe, even with this disease, I can still live a full life with the time that I have left.
35
DANTE
A SHORT, grey-haired woman with perfectly round glasses smiles at me from behind a reception desk when I walk through the door. A few people are sitting down in the waiting area, and the whole room is plastered with informational posters and motivational quotes.
The reception desk has large, block letters proclaiming the organization’s name: Huntington’s Disease Society of America.
I’m in New York City, at the organization’s head office. Just over two weeks ago, Margot told me she didn’t want me in her life. I’ve spent every waking hour researching her disease, and it’s landed me in the United States. If I’m going to show Margot that I’m not afraid, I need to prove it to her.
“You must be Prince Dante,” the woman behind the desk says, and all heads turn toward me. “Welcome to HDSA! I’m Lou.”
“Thank you,” I answer, nodding to her and then to the people waiting in the room.
The woman jumps up from her chair with surprising agility, moving from her chair behind the desk to beckon me forward. “Let me show you around. Vicky said you’d be here today.”
“Thanks for having me on such short notice.”
“Oh, please,” Lou says with a grin. “We wouldn’t turn down royalty. We just re-opened after the holidays, and we’re glad to have you.”
Lou chatters the entire time she leads me down a long hallway. She points out different offices for doctors and administrators, gives me a handful of brochures, and tells me about all the work that the organization does for people suffering from Huntington’s.
“So, what made you decide to reach out? It was quite a surprising phone call to get, let me tell you! I never thought I’d be on the phone with a Prince!”
I clear my throat, hesitating. “I met someone with Huntington’s, and…”
My voice trails off, and Lou just nods. “I get it. Welcome.” She smiles at me before knocking on one of the doors, not waiting for an answer before opening it.
“Vicky! The Prince is here.” She glances at me, laughing. “Never thought I’d say those words.”
“Thanks, Lou. Come in, please.” Vicky motions for me to enter, nodding at Lou to close the door behind me. She pulls out a chair for me, then takes a seat beside me.
Her face is kind, with deep-set, dark brown eyes. Her brown hair is streaked with grey, pulled back in a low bun. She’s wearing a long scarf around her neck and a sim
ple wedding band on her ring finger.
“Thank you for coming in,” she says, smiling.
“It’s no problem. I appreciate you taking me in on such short notice.”
“You mentioned you wanted to volunteer, and you wanted to see how we run things here?”
I nod. My voice seems to have disappeared, and I clear my throat to try to coax it back. “I have a…friend…”
My eyes mist up, and Vicky puts her hand on my knee. The touch surprises me—people don’t usually touch me—but it’s remarkably comforting. She doesn’t say anything, she just sits there and waits for me to continue.
I take a deep breath. “I have a friend who was diagnosed, and she, uh—” I rough a hand through my hair. Why are words so hard? “She sort of pushed me away after telling me about it. I was hoping that if I came here and learned about the disease, maybe I could show her that… I don’t know. That I’m not afraid?”
Vicky lets out a sigh, nodding. “You’re very brave.”
That makes me laugh, and for the first time in a long time, a tear falls down my cheek. Without skipping a beat, Vicky grabs some tissues from beside her and pulls three of them out, handing them to me.
Wiping my face, then crumpling the tissues in my hand, I lift my eyes up to hers. “So, is there anything I can do to help?”
Vicky grins. “There’s lots you can do to help, Your Highness.”
EVEN THOUGH EVERYTHING I’m doing is way out of my comfort zone, it feels right. I get a room at a hotel near the center, and I spend every day helping out. Sometimes, all I do is make phone calls to confirm patients’ appointments. I tidy the waiting room and make sure things are organized. I listen to Lou nattering and nod politely when she tells me about her grandchildren.
I ask Vicky a thousand questions, and she shows me how she got the center started, and how it grew into the national organization that it is today.
After a few days, Vicky introduces me to some of the patients. From then on, every day, I get to talk to people who have been affected by the disease. To my surprise, I start gravitating toward the family members and carers that come in with the patients.
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