Ollie lets out a loud rumble of a man snore. I’m about to sucker punch him right in the throat for goofing off while I’m spilling my heart out, only to find out he’s not joking. Prince Oliver Dudley has passed out. Cold.
Chapter Twelve
17 Years, 7 Months, and 5 Days
“Why won’t you say something?” I ask, wringing my hands as I pace back and forth across my room. Ollie opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand. “You know what? Never mind. Don’t say anything. Pretend like I never suggested it.”
“Ryans.”
“I said don’t say anything!” I exclaim, screeching to a halt.
“Like ever? You want me to stop talking entirely? I’m supposed to live my life as a mute now?” he deadpans.
“Don’t tease me right now, Ollie.” I cross my arms.
Ollie takes a deep breath before grabbing my hand. He looks up at me, and I’m not quite sure how to define the expression in his eyes. Which, considering I’ve spent almost every day with him for more than a decade, is saying something. “Why, Ryans?”
I bite down hard on my lip. I don’t really know how to explain the why part. At least not in a way that would make any sense to him.
Ollie tugs on my hand until I’m sitting next to him on my bed. He interlaces his fingers with mine. “Why, Ryans?” he asks again.
“I just want it done with,” I reply. “Why not with you?”
Ollie lets out a short, clipped laugh. “Can’t say that’s the most complimentary thing a girl has ever said to me.”
“Well, good thing that list is a mile long, so it won’t feel neglected by my complete inability to talk without sounding like a buffoon,” I reply drily.
“Stop doing that,” he says, knocking his shoulder into mine, still holding on tightly to my hand. “I hate when you talk about yourself like that. You’re not stupid.”
“That so? Ask all my tutors. I bet they’ll say something different,” I counter.
Aiden would probably disagree with him. He thinks I’m just a silly, foolish little girl. Or at least he has ever since going off to university. The glass slipper most assuredly does not fit.
“They’re the idiots. So you don’t do well with geometry or chemistry? Who the hell cares? The way you move on the field or on a court? That’s bloody brilliant.”
“Yeah, great, I can handle some balls.”
“Well, obviously not, considering what you’re asking me to do with you,” he teases.
“Ugh,” I groan, pulling my hand from his and slapping him on the back of his head. “Don’t be so crude.”
Ollie chuckles, rubbing the spot where I hit him. “It’s more than handling balls, Ryans. You outwit every opponent. No matter their size. It’s like some Harry Potter magic. There are different kinds of intelligence. The way you move is something special.”
“This is why,” I say quietly, unable to look at him as I do. “Why I want it to be with you.” I take a deep breath before continuing. “It’s not easy growing up in this place. Don’t get me wrong. I love it here. I adore my life with your family. But it makes other relationships…”
“Difficult,” he interjects.
I nod. “Maybe it’s different for you because you’re a boy or because you’re the prince. I’m just the houseguest, and I can never be entirely sure that when boys talk to me, they aren’t doing so because of who I hang out with. And if I did, somehow, decide to be with them? You know like be with them, be with them and it was terrible? What if they told someone, and I ended up in some tabloid? I don’t want to bring down the royal family with my vagina.”
Ollie’s eyes go wide and he starts laughing hysterically. Like tears streaming down his face hard. He falls back onto the bed, cackling as he wipes at his cheeks. I punch him in the stomach. “Ugh,” he groans, still laughing.
No way.
No freaking way.
I climb on top of Ollie, straddling him. “You stop laughing at me, or I’ll sucker punch you right in the throat.” Which only causes Ollie to laugh even harder. “Better yet, I’ll elbow you in your precious balls,” I promise, fuming.
“But…but…we might…need those if we’re going to do this,” he pants, breath labored from laughing and struggling with me. He grabs onto my waist and flips me over, so I’m on my back and he’s on top. I reach up to slap at his face, but he pins my arms down by my sides. He leans over me, bringing his face close to mine. We both sit there silently. Our heavy, uneven breaths filling the room. He licks once at his lips before clearing his throat.
“I understand. I do,” he says.
I roll my eyes and try to squirm out of his hold. “Please. You’re with a new girl every week. How could you understand what it’s like for me?”
“Stop moving and hear me out,” he begs.
“Fine,” I say as I stop struggling.
Ollie narrows his eyes as if he doesn’t believe me. I try and feign innocence as best I can, which appears to work. He releases his hold on me but remains straddled over me. I don’t hesitate. I reach up and pull his hair as hard as I can. He yelps, momentarily blinded by the pain. Using all my strength, I push him off and back down on the bed, swinging my leg over his body. Back on top.
Ollie chuckles a bit before grabbing on to my waist and holding on. Hard. “Listen to me, Ryans.”
For a moment, I fall silent. Sitting there, staring down at the boy I’ve known since before I could fit into a training bra, feels different all of a sudden. A shift from the real world to an alternate universe. Both real and unreal. Like the way I never noticed how the muscle in his jaw twitched, and how, for some reason, I found that to be…to be…
I try to move out of his grasp but he only holds on tighter. We’ve wrestled on this bed a thousand times, but something about it feels dangerous. Sure, we were talking about losing my virginity, which was certainly major, but something about it felt wrong in the type of way that felt right. Like really freaking good type of right. “Fine,” I exhale a little shakily. As I look down at him, he searches my face for something.
He licks at his lips again. “I’ve been with a lot of girls, but I’ve never…you know…”
“You have got to be kidding me. You expect me to believe that?” I scoff.
“You think that’s something I’d make up? I don’t think most blokes would brag about being a virgin at nearly eighteen years old. But it’s like you said before. Being us, living this life, it’s not easy to be with people. Not like that. I mean…” He sighs as his face explodes in crimson red. “What if I’m not good? What if some girl blabs all about it to the tabloids? I have the same bloody fears you do. We don’t get to be normal people.”
It couldn’t be true. Could it? That was one of the reasons I had decided on this plan. At least if I lost my virginity to Ollie, one of us would know what we were doing. I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not shitting me?”
He squeezes my hips. “I promise.”
Did that change things? I wasn’t sure. I mean, when I first came up with the idea, I was just so desperate to grow up. Become a woman. When I was fifteen Ollie had been my first kiss, and we were fine after. Nothing changed. Why couldn’t it be like that with this?
Ollie reaches up and tugs on a strand of my hair. “What are you thinking about? Should I have kept that last part to myself?”
“Of course not. I want us to always be honest. It’s just…”
“Just what?” he asks, moving his hand back to my waist. His finger moves under my shirt and he begins to draw delicate little circles on my skin above my hip. It does something weird to my stomach. Not in an entirely unpleasant sort of way.
“Wouldn’t you rather wait? Find someone you love and trust and all that mushy crap?” I ask, my voice coming out higher than normal.
“Someone I trust more than you?” he asks, moving his finger so it dances along my waistline. My hips ache to move in response. This is moving too fast. It all sounded good in theory, but now that
it might actually happen?
I scramble off the bed and away from Ollie.
“Are you all right, Ryans?” he asks, standing up. “Do you want me to leave?”
His words whisper to me from the past. “Better your first kiss is with someone you know. Someone you trust.”
Wasn’t it better?
And then there was the other thing—I wanted to. I needed to.
Standing there, him managing to look at me like I am the only girl he could ever want, I can’t imagine wanting to share this with anyone but him.
“Lock the door, Ollie.”
He stands there staring at me a moment, and I think he’s going to run. He shakes his head once, answering some conversation going on in his head that I’m not privy to. He moves past me without another word. I hear the door close behind me and then nothing.
Did he leave?
Slowly, I turn around. He’s here. With me. Ready.
“Are you sure?” I ask, reaching up and smoothing a hand over my hair, desperate to fill the silence that dances between us, caressing and tempting me. Ollie raises an eyebrow, and my cheeks heat up. He knows it’s a nervous habit of mine, and he’s never resisted the opportunity to call me out on it. Not even now. There’s something a bit comforting about that. Hope that even after this, things could remain the same.
He takes a step closer to me, his toes touching mine. He gently trails a finger across my collarbone and swallows hard. He opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out. He stares down at me, the kind of stare that makes a girl feel like a woman. Suddenly, his lips are on mine, and I stumble back from the force of them and him and the overwhelming emotion of the moment.
Never had the possibility of this, of us, entered my mind.
I break away because I have to ask before this goes forward. “What if you regret it? After? What happens after, Ollie?”
He reaches down and takes my hand into his, placing it over his heart. “You’re not the kind of girl any man could regret, Ryans.”
Chapter Thirteen
22 Years, 9 Months, and 26 Days
I try to keep my eyes closed for as long as possible. Unlike Ollie, I didn’t pass out drunk during a heart-to-heart conversation that could mend everything. He might not even remember last night. He’ll simply wake up next to me, and it will mean nothing. Just another time he passed out drunk in his friend Aly’s room.
It could mean absolution, and I can’t bear it if he wakes up with some quip or brush-off because the only way he can talk to me is if he is drunk.
My stomach, on the other hand, has other plans.
I cringe as it sings out, begging for sustenance. I freeze, holding my breath to see if I can hear some sort of sign that Ollie’s awake, but I don’t hear anything. My stomach growls again. There’s no point trying to tame the beast. As an athlete, my body requires food and lots of it.
My body always gets what it wants.
Reluctantly, I open my eyes and turn my head to face Ollie. Except he’s not there. I quickly sit up and look around the room. He’s gone. Disappeared. As if he had never been there. I fall back onto my pillow, blowing air out through my clenched teeth.
Wasn’t I just dreading the whole awkward-next-morning thing? Shouldn’t I be happy? Then why am I feeling jilted?
My stomach roars again, and I decide food first, moody wallowing later. After a quick brush of the teeth, pulling my hair into a bun, and throwing on some deodorant, I trudge down to the family’s dining room. It’s early still, and I have the place to myself. Gorge on all the carbs I can get my hands on, and then I’ll run. And run. And run.
Except as I move closer to the dining room, it becomes clear this morning is going to be a royal family affair. “Aly!” squeals Sophie once she sees me, dropping the knife she was using to butter her scone. She pops up from the table and skips over to me. “I’ve been waiting all morning to talk to you,” she says, grabbing onto my hands.
“All morning?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “It’s only nine.”
“Darling, you should clarify that you haven’t been to sleep yet,” Freddie says. He looks up at his bride-to-be with the sloppiest grin I’ve ever seen.
Sophie’s cheeks bloom pink. “That’s true. How could I sleep? Last night was so magical. Have you ever seen such a lovely party?” She sighs.
Sophie is nobility. But I suspect, much like Freddie, she’s spent most of her days playing the role of wallflower during these events. Freddie has accepted his role as a prince of England, but he never quite enjoys the pomp and circumstance of it all. Heck, even though he’s twenty-five, I can’t recall any serious relationships besides his one with Sophie. I can’t remember any less-than-serious one, either. You figure a prince of England can get laid whenever he wants. If that’s the case, Freddie sure keeps quiet about it.
Judging by the way he looks at Sophie now, I imagine he wouldn’t mind the balls and galas so much anymore. It’s as if they give each other courage, letting their true selves shine for the world to see. It’s how it should be. A true fairy tale.
“No one deserves it more than you two,” I reply, squeezing her hands.
Sophie throws her arms around me and holds tight. “You are absolutely my favorite American.”
“I think that sentiment holds true for the entire Dudley family.”
My throat goes dry as my eyes move to Ollie, who sits cradling a cup of tea in his hands. There’s a hint of darkness under his eyes, and the food on his plate looks less eaten and more like it danced around his plate. His curly dark-brown hair looks less regal and more wild man. He gives me a small smile before holding his cup in the air toasting me. I smile back as best I can.
Sophie releases me and takes a step away. “I feel terrible that Freddie and I never made our way back around to you last night.”
“That’s my fault, Aly. Ollie here invited the curator of the British Museum, and, well, I just got so lost in conversation,” Freddie replies.
I smooth down any fly aways that may have slipped free from my bun. “That was very thoughtful of you, Ollie,” I say. Hesitantly, I take a seat at the table.
“Contrary to popular belief, I am a very considerate bloke,” Ollie replies. He winks at me.
“He really is. Since day one, he’s always made me feel welcomed,” gushes Sophie as she takes her seat at the table. “If you’re my favorite American, he’s my favorite regent third in line for the throne.” We all smile at Sophie who giggles into her napkin at her own joke.
“Speaking of my benevolence and goodwill, I have an offer for you, Ryans,” Ollie says, turning his attention to me.
I nearly choke on my scone. “For…for me?”
“Don’t get your kni—” Ollie presses his lips together before taking a deep breath. “Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to wear a Manchester United jersey. Freddie, here, would like you to attend his stag party.”
I shift my eyes to Freddie, who stares up from his plate expectantly. Sophie gets up from her chair and places a quick kiss on her fiancé’s cheek. “I do believe this is my cue to leave.”
No, no, no, no. There is no way I’m going to the bachelor party! If last night proved anything, the less time I spend with all the Dudley brothers, the better. It made my mind all wonky and fuzzy, and I couldn’t tell left from right. Besides, I’m not entirely sure how much of last night Ollie remembers. He stopped himself from making the knickers joke, which indicated that he recalled my promise to punch him in the throat, so maybe he remembered it all.
And while, yes, earlier this morning I wanted him to remember, the thought that he does makes me feel a bit dizzy. What if he wants to finish that conversation? Where do I want it to go? Every time I think about admitting how I feel, I can’t shake the fear I would be turning onto a dead-end street. But I can’t deny that I’m starting to think Ollie feels something for me, too. Which…yay. But also…crap.
Even hungover, the way he looks at me, I’d let him lick butter off my spoon any day.<
br />
I reach out and snatch Sophie’s arm to stop her from leaving. “Wouldn’t it be more appropriate for me to attend the bachelorette party?” I ask, my voice high and pitchy.
“Well, there was some discussion about that with Mrs. Wright, but we all decided that you grew up with the boys, so that’s who you should be with. Besides, this is a press-free event, so we don’t have to worry about how it will look,” she explains. I nod, releasing her from my grip as the color drains from my face. “It’s not that I wouldn’t be delighted to have you celebrate with me,” she offers, misreading my pained expression.
“Of course, she knows that,” Ollie interjects. “I hope you have a wonderful evening tonight, Sophie.”
Sophie fixes her face into the best fake scowl her painfully happy self can muster. “You better not hurt him!” she warns, wagging her finger at Ollie.
“And face your wrath, Sophie? Never!” he promises, suppressing a chuckle. “I swear he will be returned unharmed, and we will all be together for Grandmother’s tea tomorrow.”
Ugh. I forgot about that. Even if I somehow manage to get out of the stag party, I won’t be able to skip that. Another awkward social event with the warring Aiden and Oliver is eminent.
I’m momentarily distracted from my life crisis by the long, lingering kiss Sophie plants on Freddie. I catch Ollie’s eye. He waggles his eyebrows a bit, and I bite down on my lip to keep from laughing. Despite always having to suffer as the butt of Aiden and Ollie’s nerd jokes, Freddie appears to be doing quite all right for himself. Ollie and I both clear our throats at the same time.
“Sorry,” Sophie says sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’m not,” Freddie says before giving Sophie’s bum a light tap.
“Well done, chap.” Ollie laughs, clapping his hands.
Once Sophie has left the room, both Freddie and Ollie turn their attention to me, and I start to squirm under the real firing squad feel of the situation. “You’re going. It’s important to Freddie, and it wouldn’t be the same without you there,” Ollie demands. When I start to object, he narrows his eyes. “Just a few mates having a low-key night out. No shenanigans.”
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