by Ember Casey
Sometime during my little speech the frustration seeped out of Victoria’s eyes, and in its place is something I don’t want to study too closely. I’ve said too much.
“So you can see,” I add, trying to keep my tone light, “I’ve given a lot of thought to this. And I hold no ill will toward commoners—in fact, I have nothing but the deepest respect for them.”
She frowns. “I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“No, you said exactly what you meant to say. And frankly, I hope you continue to do the same.” I take another step toward the bed. “If you are to help me through these next few months, then I want your complete honesty. Assuming you do still intend to help me?”
For a breathless moment, I fear she will change her mind and tell me she’s no longer interested in telling my story. But then, finally, she nods.
“Yes, I’m still planning to help you.”
“Good,” I say, relief rushing through me. “The moment you are cleared to leave, we’re heading to Montovia.”
Victoria
I can’t believe I’m doing this to myself again.
It’s one thing for me to be attracted to Prince Andrew. I’m fully capable of admitting I’ve been attracted to him for a long time—that I’ve found him by far the most appealing of the royal brothers. But it’s a completely different thing knowing he’s somehow attracted to me, too.
How the hell did this happen?
Forget how wrong it is for me to have some sort of intimate relationship with the subject of my news stories—not that Andrew and I are ever going to have relationship of any kind. Forget about the lines that would be crossed and forget about whatever sort of boundaries we’re supposed to have in our professional relationship.
I cannot allow myself to do this again.
There is nothing I would like more than to forget how I have a rotten history of doing this to myself—sacrificing my life for some asshole who will never repay me, no matter what he says. And I’d think I would have learned as much after the last time, especially after what happened. How my life fell apart all around me and he just…left. And left me with nothing.
No. Never again.
Andrew is staring out the window, probably at the news reporters I’m almost certain are parked outside. He glances over at me, and I can see the lust still in his eyes. The passion burning there, just under the surface is enough to send another shiver through me.
Stop this.
How can I even be considering what he’s suggested? It sounds a hell of a lot more like something his brother would want than the uptight Prince Andrew.
The sudden realization that he’s probably trying to be like his brother makes me feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. It probably doesn’t matter to Andrew who the woman is—just that he’s able to fulfill some fantasy of his, trying to have a casual relationship the way Leo has always been able to.
I straighten, smoothing the starchy hospital gown down around me. I let out breath—mostly trying to calm the shakiness I can still feel in my chest—before I speak again. “You know, Andrew, you aren’t your brother. And I have a feeling that if you were to ask Leo if he prefers the relationship he has now to the casual affairs he’s had in the past, I’m sure he would tell you that now—”
“I know what he would say. Or at least what he would say to me. But that is beside the point. Earlier, I was merely trying to ascertain if you would entertain the idea of…” His voice trails off and he looks back out the window. “Never mind. It was a terrible idea.”
I nod. “It was.” I pause for a moment, watching him, but he doesn’t turn back to me. “You know, I think I’d like to try to sleep. I think—”
He turns to me. “Would you like me to hold you again?”
My mouth falls open and I can’t seem to find any words—that definitely is not the reaction from him I was expecting.
“Victoria, you…” He presses his lips together, searching my eyes for a moment. “That is to say that we both…”
I blink a few times at him. “You’re having trouble sleeping.” I nod. “Is that it?”
He says nothing—he only turns back to the window.
“If… If you’d said something earlier… You know, before…” I know I almost sound like I’m stuttering, but I don’t think there’s any way to hide what’s happened. It isn’t like we can just go back to holding each other for comfort now, not after what just happened between us.
“Before I kissed you again.” He continues to stare out the window as he speaks. “Before you kissed me.”
“Yes.”
He nods, still gazing out the window. “You asked me to hold you last night, Victoria. And I must admit, I had no hesitation. I had been trying to sleep on a cot that the hospital so kindly provided, but I couldn’t seem to rest. Certain memories still flood my mind when I close my eyes. It’s—”
“I still see it, too, Andrew. Every time I close my eyes, I see it, too. The ground getting closer and closer. How we were going so fast. The water…” My voice is low, just like his. “No one else can ever understand what we’ve been through.”
He finally turns to me, giving me a slow nod. “You do understand.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to sleep again.”
“I imagine I only slept last night because of the medication. And because…” You held me. Damn it, I don’t want to say that out loud to him. I’m not sure I even want to admit it to myself. We’ve been holding each other for the past three nights because we have to. Because there is no one else. Because no one else will ever see what we did. We’re bound now in a way I hadn’t even considered.
But it doesn’t mean he won’t let me go as soon as something better comes along. As soon as someone appropriate is available for him to hold.
And that’s just it—he’ll never be mine. He’s made that much perfectly clear. He’s willing to use me while he needs me, but after that, he’ll be done with me.
Just like before.
I close my eyes for a second, reminding myself that this is nothing like what happened with my ex. For one thing, Andrew doesn’t need me for anything. Well, he needs me to write his stories for him, but he doesn’t actually need me for that. It’s a job—and he knows I’m the best candidate. Andrew doesn’t need me to support him, to devote my life to him. Except that that is exactly what he’s asking of me. He wants me to give up my life to move to Montovia and write about his search for a wife. It’s not so different than what happened before. Andrew wants me turn my life over in support of his, and when I boil it down that way, the two situations are exactly the same.
“Do you have any other suggestions, Victoria? For our sleeping arrangements this evening?”
I have to blink my eyes a few times, snapping myself out of that memory. I shake my head. “It’s not like we can stuff that particular genie back in the bottle.”
He nods and rubs his chin, turning his gaze back out the window. “Pity.”
Pity is right. If things were even slightly different, I would invite him in my bed to do a hell of a lot more than hold me, but I know it will never work. I’m sort of surprised he didn’t try to seduce me last night—I suspect if he really was like Leo, he might have tried more, whether I was under the influence of narcotics or not.
“Shall I ask for a cot, then?”
“Probably.” I press my lips together—it’s hard to ignore the pain in his voice.
He turns to me again, lifting a brow. “Is that hesitation I hear, Victoria?”
I let out an exasperated breath. “You can’t kiss me—touch me—like that and expect me to let you back in my bed.”
“I think that’s exactly what you want, though.”
I glare at him. “Even if it is, this is a hospital. And it would be entirely inappropriate. That is what this is all about, isn’t it, Your Highness? The appropriateness of what you do in your life?”
He shakes his head, staring at me for a moment before turning his att
ention back to the window. “I’m a gentleman, Victoria. I told you I won’t touch you again until you ask me. I suspect, however, that you’ll be asking me to before the hour is over. And when you do, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to remain gentlemanly. I’m merely asking if you have any suggestions for how we might handle our unique situation. I assume you have more experience with this than I—”
“Are you calling me a slut, Your Highness? You’re seriously accusing me of being—”
“I said nothing of the sort.” He glances at me for a second before he looks away. “I only said that you likely have more experience in delicate matters such as these.”
My jaw clenches. “Delicate matters being…what? Sleeping with the subjects of my articles?”
His shoulders drop and he turns to face me fully. “You are reading far too much into my words, Ms. Simpson. I was merely asking if you had any ideas for how we might be able to comfort each other as we attempt to sleep without resorting to intimacy, which you seem to clearly not wish to have with any man.”
My mouth drops open for a second. “How dare you. You think that just because I don’t want to sleep with you that I’m…what? Frigid or something?”
He shrugs.
“You know what, Andrew? You really are the asshole everyone says you are. You had no right to kiss me like that right after you told me you’re looking for a wife. You had no right to tell me any of that shit—”
“You’re going to be writing the story, Ms. Simpson. I thought you would relish having some inside information, even if it was off the record—”
“You think you’re so important. That I should be hanging on every word you say. That I should welcome you in my bed, even though you made it clear that we would never have any kind of relationship other than a professional one.” I shake my head. “Get this through that thick head of yours, Your Highness. I do not have sex with the subjects of my stories. I actually do have some journalistic integrity, even if you don’t believe it—”
“I do.” He frowns, his shoulders dropping. “I do believe it. It’s the only reason I told you any of my plans. It’s the only reason I’m still standing here in your room tonight, Victoria.”
My mouth hangs open—I had been so ready to tell him again what an asshole he is that I don’t have a comeback for anything else he’s said.
We’re both quiet for a moment before I’m finally able to speak again. “What do you want from me?”
He shakes his head. “I wish I could answer that question, Victoria. But I don’t know. I only know that I made a mistake in allowing my desires to cloud my judgment. And I’ve already assured you that it will not happen again.” He pauses for half a second. “Unless you want it to.”
“Don’t you dare put this back on me.”
He stares at me for a moment. “Tell me one thing, Victoria.”
I set my jaw again. “What?”
“Will you be able to sleep tonight? Without being in my arms?”
I glare at him. “Will you?”
“No.” His face is expressionless. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
I don’t need to answer his question—we both already know the answer. Without a large dose of pain medication, I’m not so sure I’ll ever sleep again. My heart is racing just a little too quickly at the thought of being alone. And I’m not sure that anything would be different even if the fears from my past weren’t dictating my fears in the present moment.
I see a pile of pillows on a shelf near the window and I point at them, motioning for Andrew to bring them to the bed. He grabs them and carries them over to me.
I still can’t read the expression on his face—I can’t tell what he’s feeling at all. But I arrange the pillows in a line down the bed next to me and motion for him to lie down on the other side.
“This isn’t going to work, Victoria.”
I reach over my arrangement of pillows to pat the empty space on the bed. “It only has to work for tonight. I imagine they’ll let me out of here in the morning and you can find someone else to hold you tomorrow night when we’re in Montovia.”
He frowns, but he lies down next to me, sliding his arm under the pillows beneath my head.
I close my eyes. Less than a minute later, I feel Andrew’s hand on the top of my arm again. I stiffen, afraid he’s going to try more—at least do the touching thing I caught him doing earlier. I lift my head to look at him—really, more to glare at him—but I set it down almost as quickly as I had raised it, closing my eyes again.
Andrew is fast asleep. And it’s probably not even a minute later that I am, too.
Andrew
I do sleep well, in spite of everything. I dream of a wedding on an airplane, but I wake before I have a chance to see whether it ends in happiness or in a crash.
I slowly sit up on the bed. Victoria is still asleep beside me. Carefully, so as not to disturb her, I slide off the cot. The temporary mobile phone I purchased is charging on the far side of the room, and I walk over and check the screen for messages. Three voicemails await me.
The first is from my mother, asking me to call her again. Though we’ve spoken twice on the phone since my arrival at the hospital, she is—understandably—still quite upset about the events of the last few days. The second message is from one of my family’s stewards, assuring me that a private plane is ready and waiting for me at a local airstrip the moment we are prepared to fly.
The third message is from Leopold.
The moment I hear his voice, I end the message and slide my phone into my pocket. I have no interest in what he has to say at this time.
I straighten my clothes. Fortunately, I was able to acquire some slacks and a clean shirt from a local retailer, but the cheap fabric feels coarse against my skin, and the clothes are wrinkled from a night spent sleeping in them. If I’d thought ahead, I would have had our steward bring me some things from my own wardrobe—the last thing I need is for the press to see me looking disheveled, as I can only imagine the impression that will give—but my mind has been elsewhere.
I’m still considering my options when the door opens behind me. It’s the nurse, coming in to check on Victoria.
“Do you think she will be able to leave today?” I ask her quietly.
“Probably, Your Highness. Unless something happened during the night to change her condition.”
I’m not certain whether that is an accusation or not, but I decide to give the women some privacy. Victoria has started to stir in the bed, but I slip out the door before she comes fully awake.
I stride down to the end of the corridor and look out the window into the parking lot. Six news vans still sit in the lot below, waiting. Unless we want a scene, we’re going to have to sneak out of here somehow. Hopefully, our steward can arrange a discreet car to collect us from a side entrance or fire exit.
By the end of the day, you’ll probably be back in Montovia, I think. I should be relieved to be going home, but instead, the thought makes my stomach tight. How could a few short days change everything so much?
I run my hand along my jaw. A layer of stubble has appeared on my face over the past couple of days. Yet another thing I failed to notice while my mind was elsewhere.
Just get back to Montovia and set things right, I tell myself. The sooner, the better. And with Victoria by my side, helping me, I have no doubt this catastrophe will soon be managed quite nicely.
Victoria. My body reacts to just the thought of her name. If I’m not careful, I might completely lose my head around her.
It’s simply the situation, I tell myself. You feel a certain intimacy with her because of the things you endured together. But as much as I’d like to tell myself it’s nothing more than that, I’d be lying if I told myself I hadn’t been attracted to her even before the plane went down. I must be vigilant with myself. Ensure I do not lose sight of the important matters ahead by drowning in the eyes of some woman.
I look back over my shoulder. The nurse is leav
ing Victoria’s room, so I turn and head back down the corridor. When I enter, I find that they also brought her breakfast while I was deep in thought.
When she first sees me, she looks almost as if she doesn’t know what to say to me. And then she gestures at the tray in front of her.
“Want some yogurt? There’s no way I’m going to be able to eat all of this,” she says.
I walk over to the bed. I’m not especially hungry, but I take the yogurt anyway. “What did she say? Are you well enough to leave today?”
She nods as opens a little cup of applesauce. “They’re discharging me.”
“Good.” I look down at the cup of yogurt in my hand. “There are still a number of reporters outside. I’m going to see if I can make arrangements for us to leave discreetly. There’s already a plane waiting for us.”
She nods, then frowns. “We’re leaving for Montovia today?”
“What else would we do? We can hardly stay here.” I sit down in the little chair beside her bed. “If you’re worried about getting more of your things back in Los Angeles, don’t worry—you’ll be provided with anything you might need in Montovia. They’re recovering what they can from Atalanta, but you’ll need a new laptop and phone—and clothes, of course.”
She’s still frowning. “Andrew—”
“We’ll both be safer in Montovia,” I say. “The press will be after you, too, once they’ve identified you. At least in Montovia these things might be controlled.”
“That’s just it,” she says. “Maybe we should let them see us.”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it might be the easiest way of controlling the story. By giving them some of the information ourselves.” She sets down her spoon. “The entire world thought you tried to kill yourself, and now they know you’re here in this hospital—but have they seen you yet? Has anyone snapped a picture of you?”