by Ember Casey
I can almost see flames burst from his eyes when I say his brother’s name. “I haven’t asked him, Victoria. I don’t generally consult with my brother on matters such as this.”
I smile. “I can’t imagine that you’ve really ever consulted anyone on matters such as this. It isn’t like it’s a typical princely activity, is it? Having a public pageant to choose a bride?”
“Leopold’s opinion means nothing to me. It never has and it never will.”
There’s something about the way he says it that is off. I can’t put my finger on it, but something isn’t right.
We’re silent for a moment before I finally speak. “Well, you’ll at least consult him about when his wedding is, right? You won’t want to ruin whatever he has planned with Elle.”
He growls and stands up, walking back over to the counter. He pours himself a half-glass of an amber liquid, downs it in a single gulp and fills it back up before he returns to sit across from me.
He almost slams the glass down on the small table separating us. “Princess Natasha can be on the list.”
“Okay.” I try to catch his gaze, but he’s staring at the floor.
He lowers his voice. “And Lady Maria. I suppose that I now don’t care that she’s fucked Leopold.”
“Oh…kay.” There’s something in his voice that is almost frightening. Something I’ve heard before, but can’t quite place. Something…wrong.
He picks the glass back up and looks down into it. His grip is so tight on the thing that it looks like it might shatter in his hand. He works his jaw for a moment. “Hopefully my mother will have thought of one or two more women since I’ve spoken with her.”
I nod, wishing I had a notepad to jot down my own thoughts on the matter. Like how this is the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever done. And how I know he’s going to regret it—I’m not sure how I know that, but I can feel it. I think we’re both going to regret every bit of this.
“Have you?”
His voice jolts me out of my thoughts and I look over at him. His face is pinched, almost pained.
My brow furrows. “Have I…what?”
“Fucked him.”
I frown, but I see now what’s going on. I shake my head slowly. “No, Andrew. I haven’t slept with your brother—”
“But you would have. And once he sees you in the palace, he’ll try to bed you. We both know that. He… He…”
I reach out and take his hand in mine, even though I know I shouldn’t. Even though I know that every time I touch him, I’m taking my own heart in my hands, knowing there will never be anything more than heartbreak if I allow things to progress any further between us.
He looks down at our hands before looking over and meeting my gaze.
We’re like that for what feels like hours before he finally speaks again. “I don’t care any more, Victoria. I don’t care if it’s Natasha or Maria or you.” He almost spits out the last word. “I need an heir. I need to marry as quickly as possible and have an heir. I cannot allow my brother to take the life that was promised to me.”
He pauses, staring into my eyes for another long moment. “I cannot and I will not allow it.”
Andrew
It’s clear to me that even now, Victoria doesn’t understand. Perhaps I was wrong to trust her—how can she tell this story effectively if she doesn’t understand why it is so important? I must make her understand.
Victoria is frowning at me. “How can you think Leo is trying to take anything from you?”
“It’s not about what I think,” I say, unable to keep the frustration from my voice. “It’s about what the world thinks. You know as well as I that the people love to make assumptions about those who live in the public eye. You must know they’ll make all manner of assumptions about why Leopold is marrying before I am. I won’t have such rumors undermining my position or my loyalty to Montovia. It’s too late to be the first to father a child, but if I have my wife pregnant within a few months, I think we can avoid most of the awkwardness, don’t you?”
“I think you’re insane,” she says.
I look down at my glass again. “Victoria—”
“You’re the crown prince. The world knows that already. They don’t care about which of you marries first.” She squeezes my hand.
I can only stare at her. “If you honestly believe that, Victoria, then I can’t believe you’ve lasted in your profession for as long as you have. The public loves to speculate—and they’re often helped by the media. Walk into any grocery in your country and read the headlines on the newsstands—one magazine will be claiming that two actresses are fighting over the same man, another will suggest that two reality television stars are in a feud over the respective sizes of their paychecks. The press loves drama and conflict—so much so that often they will create it where there is none. We must get ahead of any stories they would create about me.”
Victoria is frowning again. “That doesn’t mean this is the best way to do that.”
“Then tell me,” I say, dropping her hand. “What is a suitable alternative? How else do we give them the drama they crave?”
She just stares back at me. “This whole thing would be a heck of a lot easier if you just told me entire truth. I still don’t even know the reason you hired me in the first place.”
“I’ll tell you everything when—”
“When we reach Montovia. I know.” She turns away from me. “Then maybe we should wait to finish this conversation there.”
“Maybe that’s a good idea,” I say, reaching out and touching her arm. She starts slightly at my touch, and I step closer, right against her back, and let my fingers move down her skin. “Perhaps if we—”
“We’re not doing any of that, either,” she says, jerking away from me. “Not here and not in Montovia.”
I frown. “Then how would you recommend we spend the remainder of this flight?”
“You can do whatever you want,” she says. “I’m going to try and sleep. It’s been a long few days and I can’t imagine things are going to get easier when we get to Montovia.” She walks over to her seat and sits down again.
I start to argue with her—if she’s simply trying to end our current conversation, then there are other ways to do that. But when I look at her a little more closely, the fatigue is plain on her face. She was only checked out of the hospital a couple hours ago, I remind myself. And we’re both still recovering from the days we spent in the wilderness.
I go to the cabinet and grab a blanket and pillow for her—and a second set for myself. Victoria looks almost surprised when I hand them to her, but neither of us says a word. I take my seat next to hers and spread the blanket across my lap. The sofa in the plane’s seating area folds down into a bed, and I almost suggest that she sleep there—but given the circumstances, I suspect my words would be taken the wrong way. And judging by the way she’s fastened her seatbelt tightly across her lap again, I imagine she feels safer where she is buckled in. Fortunately, our seats are large and comfortable.
She leans her seat back and props the pillow beneath her head, her face turned away from me. I lie back as well, but I know it is futile to attempt to sleep. There is too much on my mind—and the memory of the plane crash is too fresh—to allow me to drift into slumber. Instead, I listen to her slow breathing.
After a few minutes, she shifts in her seat, trying to find a different position. A few minutes after that, she moves again. I suspect it’s more than the fact that she’s trying to sleep in an airplane seat that keeps her tossing and turning.
“Victoria,” I say softly.
Her eyes open and she looks at me.
“The armrest goes up,” I tell her. “If you want…”
She nods, and I push up the armrest between us. She loosens her seatbelt and slides toward me, and I raise my arm and put it around her, allowing her to nestle against my side. Her head rests at the crook of my shoulder, and beneath our blankets, her hand settles against my chest.
She lets out
a soft sigh, and I can feel her physically relax in my arms. I press my hand against her back and hold her close. I feel better, too, having her in my arms.
I don’t know if she sleeps, but I do not. My consciousness seems to drift in and out, but I never fully escape into dreamland—I’m too aware of where we are. And when I close my eyes, my mind flashes between images of the plane crash and images of headlines they will surely print about me if Victoria and I can’t handle this nightmare.
Somehow, though, time drifts by. Eventually, the pilot’s voice crackles over the speaker again, telling us we’re approaching Montovia.
Victoria stirs and sits up. But she remains sitting close to me as the plane descends. My fingers find hers, and we squeeze each other’s hands as we land.
The moment the plane is on solid ground again, I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Victoria seems to feel it, too—there’s color in her complexion again, and there’s a bright look in her eyes as she rises from her seat. Neither of us can seem to get off the plane fast enough.
It’s the middle of the night here in Montovia. But the palace is lit up against the night sky, shining with lights to welcome me home. I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to return. I feel as if I am safe again. As if I can breathe again.
Victoria has been here before, I know. But I still catch her looking with wonder at the brightly-lit palace before us as the carts take us from the palace’s airstrip to the door.
There’s quite an entourage waiting for us at the palace. Attendants of course, but also most of my family. My mother is here, as well as Sophia and my brother William. Leopold and Elle are also here, naturally—but the biggest surprise is probably my father, whose face remains carefully blank as my mother comes rushing forward.
“Oh, Andrew,” my mother says, throwing her arms around me and hugging me close.
I put my arms around her. She’d wanted to come meet me at the hospital in America, but it was decided it would be better to avoid the media circus that her visit would have caused.
“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she murmurs to me. “When we thought…”
“It was an unfortunate accident,” I tell her gently. “But as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
She squeezes me again and then releases me, and when she steps back, I can see tears shining in her eyes. Sophia bounds forward next, hugging me before I even have a chance to greet her.
I spend the next several minutes assuring everyone that I’m all right, that there’s no reason to make a big fuss out of my return. It’s clear they have questions for me, but fortunately, the members of my family are well trained in restraint.
Some even better than others, I think, my eyes going first to my father, and then over to my brother Leopold. My father is still wearing that impassible expression, and though my brother is smiling, he has yet to say a word to me.
“Oh, but I’m sure the two of you are exhausted,” my mother says. She clutches my hands so tightly I’m not sure she’ll ever let them go. “We’ve prepared a room for Ms. Simpson. And are you two hungry? I can have the cook send something up to your rooms.”
I glance over at Victoria. She looks a little stunned by the crowd of people around us—but the circles under her eyes are also plain to see. I suspect she got as little real sleep on our flight as I did.
“Yes, I think we should get some rest,” I say. “And have the cook send up some things.”
Victoria nods. “Thank you.”
“I’ll take Victoria to her room,” my mother says. She gives me one more hug, squeezing me far longer that propriety dictates. “Tomorrow, let’s have lunch.”
“Of course,” I say.
I glance at Victoria over my mother’s shoulder, and she’s looking back at me. Something in her eyes startles me—if I didn’t know any better, it looks almost like apprehension. Fear.
This is the first time we’ll be separated since the plane crash, I realize. Even though it’s only for a night, and even though we’re both going to be beneath the same roof, I feel my own stomach tighten at the thought. I don’t want to be parted from her, and from the look in her eyes, I wonder if she’s having a similar thought.
“If you tell me where her room is, I can take her there,” I say.
“Nonsense,” my mother replies, finally releasing me. “I think I can take over the hosting duties from here. You go get some sleep. Don’t worry—I’ll make sure she’s settled in.” She blinks again, tears still twinkling in her eyes.
My mother thinks she’s doing me a favor, I realize. And playing hostess is her way of dealing with her emotions.
“Well, if you would just tell me where her room is—” I start, then cut off abruptly when I realize how this must sound. Both Sophia and Leopold seem to be watching me very closely. “For tomorrow,” I add quickly. “She and I will have work to discuss—”
“Don’t you dare think about work just yet,” my mother says. “It would do both of you some good to spend a few days recovering first.” She slides her arm through Victoria’s. “I’ve put her on the east wing. Don’t worry—someone will point you in the right direction after you’ve both had a chance to rest.”
Well, that’s all there is to it—I cannot press for further details without incriminating myself in some way.
“Goodnight,” I tell them.
Victoria glances back over her shoulder at me but doesn’t say a word.
“I suppose I should be getting to bed, then,” I tell the others. “Don’t worry—I’ll tell everyone the whole damned story once I’ve had some sleep.” If I can even get to sleep tonight without her.
After saying my farewells, I make my way up to my chambers. It’s a relief to be back home, to have my own bed waiting for me, but as I undress, the knot in my stomach just seems to get tighter. I know it will be impossible for me to sleep tonight without Victoria in my arms—and that if I do, by some miracle, manage to drift off, that my dreams will be plagued by plane crashes.
I run my hand through my hair. What am I going to do?
You can go to the east wing. Find her room. Spend the night with her.
But I shake my head. It’s too risky. I’m not even certain she wants me to come to her in the first place. And should anyone see me, there would be no explaining my behavior.
But then what the hell am I going to do?
I feel restless. Anxious. I’m not sure quite what to do with myself. My head aches with exhaustion, but my body is tense.
I pace back and forth across my sitting room, trying to calm myself. You knew this would happen eventually, I tell myself. You knew you wouldn’t be able to spend every night in her arms from this point forward. You’re going to have to manage it somehow.
But not tonight. Not yet.
I turn and stride to the door. Maybe I’m being foolish, but honestly, I care little at the moment. I’m going to find her room.
Victoria
We barely step inside the door of the palace before Queen Penelope is called away. One of the many attendants takes over after the queen promises that we’ll all have lunch together tomorrow.
It seems like a pretty long walk to my room, but between my throbbing foot and my exhaustion, it’s hard to tell if it actually is a long distance or if it only seems that way.
I saw the way Andrew looked at me after his mother insisted she would show me to my room herself. It was a little hard to tell what it was on his face, exactly, but it looked like some combination of anger, sadness, and fear. Definitely fear.
At least Andrew has his family—almost every single one of them was out there to greet him, to reassure him. To show him they care. The past several days have gone by quickly, but it can’t really be lost on Andrew that there has been no one who has been missing me. That no one showed up at the hospital in the middle of nowhere to claim me—not even the editor of the magazine where I’ve worked for the past five years. At least Andrew has his family and people around him who care about him.
He can sleep tonight knowing he’s loved.
And how the hell am I ever supposed to sleep again? Andrew can probably find comfort in the arms of someone tonight—and even if he can’t, at least he’s at home and can sleep in his own bed. I don’t have any of those things.
The attendant—maybe he’s a valet—drops me off at the door to one of the many rooms. It might even be the same room I stayed in with Elle a few weeks ago, but it’s hard to tell since every door in this palace looks the same.
As soon as I enter, I can see it definitely is not the same room—the decorations are different and I think this one is a little smaller. There is a tiny sitting area and a doorway to the bedroom on the other side of the room.
As nice as sleeping on a real bed for the first time in days sounds, it isn’t until that moment I remember I have nothing. No clothes, no makeup, no…anything. The dress the hospital gave me is fine, but it’s nothing I would have normally chosen for myself.
I remember Andrew telling me that my every need would be met, but when I walk into the bedroom, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. There’s a bed, a large dresser, and a nightstand next to the bed. I walk over to the dresser and slide open one of the drawers—it’s empty, as are the rest of the ones I check.
I walk into the closet, hoping that maybe someone will have thought to hang up the promised clothes. But when I walk in, it’s just as empty as the dresser. There are plenty of hangers, but nothing hanging on them.
I close my eyes for a second. I should be grateful, I remind myself. I almost died. Again. Am I really going to let myself get worked up over not having any clothes to wear?
It takes me a second, but I finally open my eyes and walk out of the large closet and back into the bedroom. I walk over to the bathroom on the other side of the room to see if maybe whoever was put in charge of getting me clothes might have left them in there. But there’s nothing here, either. There are some toiletries on the counter—shampoo, lotion, a toothbrush, and toothpaste—but nothing that looks like it was set out for me.