by T. K. Leigh
“What makes you think that?” I take a timid sip of water, unsure whether it’ll help keep the few bites of food down or cause it all to come back up and destroy the tablecloth that probably costs more than most of the clothes I owned before I met Anderson.
“Because I know you.” He grabs my hand, brushing his thumb against the diamond ring on my right hand.
God, I’ve missed this connection, the roughness of his skin against mine. I miss him. Miss spending hours doing whatever we wanted as we roamed New York City for hidden gems.
Like when I took him to the subway grate made famous by Marilyn Monroe, both of us proceeding to pose like the famous actress did.
Or when he showed me the Hess Triangle in the West Village, a small triangle of privately owned property in the middle of the sidewalk that’s the result of a dispute between the Hess Estate and the city.
Or when I took him to Grand Central and demonstrated the magic of the Whispering Gallery. How one person could whisper something while standing on one side of the famed arches, the person standing on the other side clearly hearing it over all the noise of the train station. He’d whispered he loved me. Then quite a few things that would make even some of the girls working at the strip clubs blush.
“Remember what I told you before we stepped off that plane?” Anderson presses, pulling me out of my memories. “I need you to be open and honest with me. If I don’t know something’s upsetting you, how can I help fix it? I don’t want to always worry that you’re not telling me something that affects your well-being. If you keep things from me, I will be.”
I study his own tired appearance. His weary eyes, eyelids drooping, bags underneath. I look at his hand as it caresses mine, noting he’s been chewing his fingernails, a habit he only does when extremely stressed. I hate the idea of adding to that stress. Hate the idea of making him feel guilty simply because I’m a little homesick. That I’ve rarely been able to talk to my friends because of the time difference.
That I wish I saw him more.
All I can hear are Queen Veronica’s words she shared with me during tea. That it’s my job to continue the illusion, to not let the world see that being near the crown is a burden.
And that means not letting Anderson see being close to him has become a burden.
“I’m just a little nervous about today. That’s all.”
He furrows his brow, glancing down at his calendar on the tablet in front of him. “Is it something for the wedding? Or a training exercise?”
My heart sinks, and I lean into him. “I told you last week.” I keep my voice low. “I have my first appointment with the palace OB/GYN. Even made sure it was on your agenda.” I look from him to Lieutenant Colonel Bridge, who sits on the other side of him, as he always does during breakfast in order to review his schedule. Most days, this is the only time I get with Anderson, yet I still must share it with his private secretary.
Am I always going to have to share him?
“Shite.” He squeezes his eyes shut.
I pull my hand from his, my shoulders slumping. I don’t even have to ask. He either forgot, or my appointment never made it onto his calendar for today.
Possibly both.
“I’m sorry, Nora. I guess I…lost track of days or something.”
I swallow down the disappointment bubbling inside me and force a smile, despite being on the brink of tears. It’s utterly ridiculous for me to be upset over this. It’s only a doctor’s appointment.
But after suffering a pregnancy loss as traumatic as I did, I’m constantly worried I’ll lose this one, too. Constantly scared of sitting in that exam room all alone. What if the doctor tells me there’s no heartbeat?
I went through that alone once.
I don’t want to go through it again.
“It’s okay. There will be more appointments,” I say, although my voice lacks any conviction.
Hopefully there will be more. But will he be at those? Or will they also be conveniently left off his schedule?
Anderson shifts his gaze from me, pinning Lieutenant Colonel Bridge with a glare. “Why isn’t Ms. Tremblay’s appointment on my agenda?”
“It was,” he begins. “Unfortunately, a few things came up last minute that were deemed a higher priority.”
I laugh under my breath. “Of course they did.”
I have no doubt his grandmother played a role in this. Maybe I’m being paranoid. But after she all but bribed me to walk away, what am I supposed to believe?
“What do you mean by that?” Anderson asks.
“Nothing.” I grab my napkin, dabbing at my mouth before pushing back from the table and standing.
Anderson and Bridge jump to their feet, their own etiquette training kicking in like it’s second nature.
“I have a busy day, so I should get to the palace. Am I to assume I won’t be seeing you at my doctor appointment?”
“I’ll be there,” Anderson says without a moment’s hesitation.
“But, sir,” Bridge interjects, “your schedule is quite packed today. I don’t see how we can add anything else without canceling something. And, as I mentioned, everything is deemed a high priority.”
“I understand that,” Anderson responds in an authoritative tone. “But my priority is and always will be Ms. Tremblay. Her doctor appointments are the highest priority. Even above anything to do with this referendum.” He turns back toward me, grabbing my hand. “I’ll be there.”
“Don’t make any promises you have no intention of fulfilling, Anders. I’d rather go in knowing you won’t be there than be disappointed later.”
“If I tell you I’ll be there, I’ll be there.” He loops an arm around my waist, pulling me against him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Bridge lower his head and walk away, giving us some privacy, as I expected. After all, overt displays of affection between royalty are severely frowned upon.
“Better yet, I’ll cancel all my engagements afterward.” He nuzzles my neck, peppering light kisses along my skin. “We’ll have a nice, romantic dinner in the gardens. Then a night to do anything we want.”
I close my eyes and melt into him. In a heartbeat, all the unease that’s consumed me since I woke up this morning slowly vanishes. This is exactly what I’ve needed. To not feel so alone. To be reminded why I gave up my old life. Now I have something else to look forward to instead of spending all day worrying about my appointment.
“How does that sound, gorgeous?” he asks in a husky voice that should be illegal in public. Or at least in his formal dining room, where we’re never truly alone.
“Heavenly.”
“Good.” He abruptly pulls back, leaving me wanting. Judging by the smirk on his face, he knows it, too. “To be continued later.” He waggles his brows. “For now, shall we?” He extends his elbow for me.
“Of course.”
I hook my arm through his, allowing him to lead me from the dining room, down the corridors, and out to the front driveway where two black SUVs wait to whisk us away for our morning obligations.
He kisses my cheek before I turn, giving Lieutenant O’Kelly a smile as he holds open the rear passenger door for me. I’m about to climb inside when a hand on my arm stops me. I whip my head up to see Anderson clutching onto me. Then he yanks my body against his.
“Kylian, you might want to turn around, particularly if public displays of affection make you uncomfortable.”
“Yes, sir,” my protection officer says with a slight laugh, doing as he was ordered.
“And what kind of public display of affection did you have in mind?” I flirt.
“This.” Anderson’s hold on me tightens as his lips slowly descend toward mine.
It’s not a ravenous, desperate kiss. More loving and affectionate, his tongue urging my mouth open and swiping against mine in carefully measured strokes. I sigh and curve into him further, wanting to be as close to him as possible.
His kiss is like that first warm, spring da
y after a winter of cold and desolation.
Like that first taste of wine after a long, trying day of work.
Like the smell of hot chocolate on a snowy day.
Welcome.
Inviting.
Absolutely beautiful.
“New rule,” he says when our kiss comes to an end.
“What’s that?” I toy with a few tendrils of his hair. What I wouldn’t give to run my hands through it and mess it up so it more closely resembles the man I met in that Chicago diner.
“No more leaving without kissing each other goodbye.”
“You kiss me goodbye every morning.”
He gives me a knowing look. “A kiss on the cheek is a rubbish way to say goodbye.”
“Rubbish?”
“Bullshite. I hate it, all because of some stupid rule against public displays of affection. This is our home, so if we want to make out on the front steps, we’re going to bloody make out on the front steps, to hell with who sees.”
I laugh, an overwhelming sensation of weightlessness filling me. My chest expands at the love I can physically feel radiating from his heart and into mine.
“From now on, we agree to never say goodbye without a real kiss. Okay?”
I edge toward him, ghosting my lips against his. “I think this might be my new favorite rule.”
Chapter Seventeen
Nora
Sometimes it’s the littlest things that make the biggest difference in your day. One positive thing to change your outlook.
That’s precisely the impact Anderson’s new “rule” has on my day.
I’ve had so much positive energy all morning that I’ve barely thought about my doctor’s appointment. I feel deep in my soul it will all work out. That it won’t be like the last time a doctor hooked up the ultrasound machine to me, only to quickly turn the screen away so I wouldn’t be able to tell there was no heartbeat. This time, I won’t have to go through it alone. No matter what happens, Anderson will be by my side.
“Pardon the interruption.”
I pop my head up when my private secretary peeks into the conference room where I’m currently in the middle of a meeting with my PR team, all of whom I’m convinced hate me.
“A call just came in for you, ma’am.”
No longer having control over who has access to me has been one of the most difficult things for me to get used to. All incoming calls to my old cell phone are forwarded to one screened by my private secretary, who decides whether I should take them or if it’s simply something for him to handle on my behalf.
“Prince Gabriel?” I ask.
In the past three weeks, Anderson’s the only one he’s let through. Everyone else has been told to leave their information for me to call back.
“No, ma’am. It’s a nurse from a hospital in New York.”
My breath hitches, panic rushing through me. Maybe it’s just Izzy reaching out to see how I’m doing. I glance at the clock to see it’s only a little past noon here. Meaning it’s barely after three in the morning in New York.
Lieutenant Thomas drops his voice. “Mentioned it’s regarding your friend, Chloe.”
I jump to my feet.
“I’ll show you to an office for privacy.”
“Thank you.”
He quickly leads me from the conference room to a vacant office a few doors down the corridor. But unlike most office spaces I’ve seen in my life, this isn’t filled with florescent lights, a cheap desk, and filing cabinets. The desk is solid mahogany, the walls all built-in bookshelves, containing what appears to be law books and other historical texts.
“Here you go, ma’am.” He hands me the phone.
“Thank you.”
He bows, then closes the door. Silence surrounds me as I close my eyes, drawing in a deep breath, trying to brace myself for whatever news awaits me.
But nothing could have prepared me for this.
“This is Nora Tremblay.”
“Well, look at who is so important as to have somebody else answer their phone calls.”
A sudden chill envelopes me, my stomach roiling at the sound of that grating voice. One I would have been happy to never hear again.
“Mom…” On shaky limbs, I lower myself into the ornate chair.
“Surprised? You are difficult to get in touch with. Have you not been getting my messages?”
I grit a smile, despite the fact she can’t see me. It’s become a habit. “I have.”
“Too busy to call dear ol’ mum back?” She mimics a proper British accent, much like the people speak with here.
I bite down on my lower lip. It would be so easy to hang up on her, tell her to never call again, then order my private secretary to make sure she’s unable to get through if she does. After all, there are only two reasons she’d ever get in touch with me. She either wants something from me, or needs to feel superior and wants to use me as a verbal punching bag for a few minutes. Perhaps both.
I need to address this, though. Not ignore it and allow it to blow up down the road. Need her out of my life, once and for all.
“Actually, yes. I am quite busy these days. But that’s not the reason I didn’t return your call. In case you’ve forgotten our last conversation, I’ve turned over a new leaf. I—”
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah,” she slurs, evidence she’s been hitting the liquor hard tonight. “You’re removing all the negative energy from your life, or whatever New Age bullshit you’ve been fed.”
“It’s not bullshit. As a psychiatrist, I’d think you’d be happy to learn I’m taking steps to clear the clutter from my life.”
“Speaking of which, imagine my surprise when I turn on the news a few weeks ago and see my very own daughter making headlines across the world. Some call you the new Grace Kelly. You don’t want to hear what others are saying about you. Trust me. It’s not pretty at all. And it’s certainly not pretty for me to be associated with some gold digger American who’s only spreading her legs to be a princess.”
I clench and unclench my fists, trying to find my calm and serenity again, but it’s impossible with this woman.
Worse, she knows it.
I don’t know how she does it, but every time I’m having one of the best days in recent memory, she somehow senses it and decides to do everything in her power to make me feel inadequate. It’s a talent’s she’s had all my life.
“As enlightening as I find this conversation, I have a busy day,” I say, practicing all the refined speech and etiquette rules I’ve learned. “Why don’t you get to the reason for your phone call.”
It’s silent for a beat, then I hear the telltale sound of ice against glass, confirming my suspicions that she is, in fact, drinking. At nearly 3:30 in the morning. “I wasn’t sure who to call about this, but I wanted to find out my travel arrangements.”
“Travel arrangements?”
“For the wedding.”
“What wedding?”
“Your wedding, of course.”
“Oh. I see.” A conniving smile pulls on my lips. “Now that I’m about to marry a prince, you actually want to come to my wedding. Need I remind you that you showed zero interest in my relationship with my first fiancé, and even less in my wedding to Jeremy. In fact, you got married the same day, just out of spite.”
“Oh please, Nora. That’s always been your problem. You’re so self-centered. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”
I bark out a laugh. “Me self-centered? Do you even listen to yourself? Since Dad died, you’ve done nothing but criticize and berate me. You’ve never supported me. Never loved me. Like I said, I’ve made it a goal to keep all negativity out of my life. And you’ve never been anything but negative. So no, you’re not invited to our wedding.”
She inhales a sharp breath. I can sense her exasperation from across the ocean. “Excuse me? I’m your mother. How do you think it’s going to look if you don’t invite your own mother to your wedding?”
“It’ll look like I’ve gro
wn the backbone I should have years ago. I will not have you there to ruin the most important day of my life.”
“Until the next wedding.”
“There won’t be another wedding. I’m not you.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“We certainly will. But you still aren’t invited.”
“I can make life extremely difficult for you. Don’t forget. I know all your secrets. I’d hate for the world to learn them, too.”
“At one point, that might have been enough to scare me into caving to your demands. But not anymore. Go ahead. Tell the world my secrets. Anderson’s the only person I care about, and he already knows everything about me. So you lose. Goodbye, Elaine,” I say, refusing to call her mother.
“He’s not Hunter,” she says before I can end the call.
I grind my teeth, resisting the urge to scream. She always has a way of saying the precise thing that will cut me deeper than anything else.
“That’s not why I’m marrying him.”
“Are you sure about that? That’s why you married the last one. What was his name again?”
“I just mentioned his name,” I hiss. “It’s Jeremy.”
“Right. Jeremy. And he only looked like Hunter. But this one… Well, in my line of work, you learn that relationships born out of a shared tragedy never survive.” Her voice softens, oozing with sympathy. Except I know it’s about as real as her latest lip enhancement. “It won’t bring him back.”
“I don’t need to bring Hunter back. He’ll live on where he’s meant to be. In my memories. Which is where I plan on keeping you. At least the memories I have when you cared about me. You haven’t in years. So, for the last time… Goodbye.”
I punch the end call button on the screen, then shoot to my feet as adrenaline winds through me. Agitated, I pace the length of the room, trying to work off some of this anxiety.
With every step I take, another painful memory of my childhood comes to the surface. How I was never good enough. How I was never smart enough. How I was never pretty enough.
It all becomes too much. A lifetime of being made to feel incompetent and lacking burns within until the only way I can find relief is to let it all go. So that’s what I do.