by Laura Kenyon
Davin frowned. “Don’t do that. That isn’t fair, and it’s not what I said. Hunter interrupted us in the courtyard. I didn’t ask you to leave your children.”
“But you want me to choose, don’t you?”
He caught her hands and nestled them between his. “We can’t start getting careless. We have to think our moves through.”
Then he leaned his forehead into hers, completely ignoring her question—which was more of an accusation, anyway. But he was here, and goodness knew when he would be again. She didn’t want to argue.
They stood this way until their breaths synchronized and Dawn could actually hear their heartbeats. Her long red hair mingled with his dark curls, creating the illusion that they were safely behind a marbled curtain. He was right. As much as she wanted him to rip off her clothes and fling her to the bed and have his way … it couldn’t happen now. Maybe it couldn’t happen again. Maybe those three nights were all they were meant to have.
She pressed her palm over his blazer and rubbed her thumb along the fabric. It was smooth and fine—a far cry from the linen shirts and jeans he wore in the woods. This was Marestam’s Liam Devereaux, not her Davin.
“New outfit?”
“Yeah. Like it?” He pulled on the cuffs. A slab of gold glinted back. “Hunter wanted some photos done up for the official announcement, so …”
He trailed off as Dawn tasted a surge of acid in the back of her mouth. It was bad enough he and her husband were on a first-name basis. But now they were dressing alike? She pictured them on the phone together, heels up and chatting about what they were going to wear to the press shoot. It was nauseating.
“I’m not going to become him, Dawn.” He slid a finger under her chin and brought her eyes up to his. The gold flakes seemed smaller now, lost in the debris field of what looked like a black sun imploding. “You know me. We’re a perfect fit, remember?”
She nodded, thinking of the turquoise slabs that once belonged to the very same rock. Then she thought about the cracks of light that shone through them now … about time smoothing out the edges.
We were, she thought as he kissed her once again and slipped out the door.
* * *
When Hunter came home to change for Morning’s ballet recital, Davin was long gone but word of his visit was not.
“So I heard Devereaux stopped by this afternoon.” He flipped the fat portion of his tie through a silver loop and jerked the knot tight. “I hope he didn’t inconvenience you. Does he need me to call him?”
Dawn, half-listening, was busy sorting through a mountain of purses. Clutch? Sparkly? Black? She was almost a pro at switching off her emotions and burying her head in the minutia of royal responsibility.
“Hmm? Okay dear, that sounds fine.”
Hunter stopped primping for a moment. “What sounds fine? Call him?”
Okay, so maybe Davin’s visit had shaken her up a bit. She needed to get back in the game. ASAP.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing her temple. “He just wanted to show you an outfit. For a photo shoot. Sorry, I’m all distracted. I hate these intra-kingdom recitals. So many stuffy people and names I can never remember. It’s so tiresome. Can’t we convince her to go back to swimming?”
Hunter leaned closer to the mirror and flicked at his blond wisps. “Swimmers still have swim meets, darling. It would be the same thing, only louder and we’d leave smelling like chlorine instead of hairspray.”
Dawn’s shoulder’s rose and then fell dramatically. “I suppose. So what were you doing in Carpale? Don’t tell me Angus is trying to commandeer the merger.”
Hunter’s eyes darted to the side. “Oh, you know Kane. Wants in on every dollar that changes hands in Marestam.”
“Did you tell him to go screw himself?” Dawn tossed a silver bag to the floor and held a pink one up to her green dress.
“Easy there,” he said, pulling on his blazer and giving an “all set” nod. “You’ll never win Selladóre back from him with that attitude.”
Dawn turned to roll her eyes at him—to say Selladóre was a lost cause anyway—but he was already in the living room, helping Day with his blazer.
He looked particularly dapper tonight, she’d noticed. Actually, she’d started noticing a couple days ago, when they returned from a rare dinner out and he traded his usual finance magazine for a book on the veranda. She could almost swear his eyes had become larger recently too—and greener, as if a dozen tiny fairies set upon him in the night and shoveled out all the unwanted debris. The pair of worry lines that always dug in just over his nose seemed shallower, too. Even his hair—ordinarily shellacked back like the dolls Morning was quickly outgrowing—rolled freely atop his head like it did when she first laid eyes on him eleven years ago.
Waiting in the doorway, he hummed a few notes while holding her coat open.
“You seem happy,” she said, threading her hands through the arms. “Did you fire someone today?”
She stiffened in anticipation of the reprimand, but none came. No snarky quip or defensive aside, either. Instead, she watched in the mirror as he ran his arms back up her sleeves and looped her shoulders.
Then he rested his chin beside hers. “Those days are behind me now.”
Dawn saw his eyes follow hers as she surveyed the couple in the mirror. She didn’t remember crossing her hands up, but they were resting on his arms now, holding on to him as he held on to her. When was the last time silence between them actually felt comfortable? Had it ever?
“We should get going,” she said, feeling her face fill with the heat of embarrassment and confusion.
His eyes fell as he let her go—opening his fingers first as if releasing a dove—and slid the keys off the bureau.
* * *
The parking lot at Warren Charmé Hall had burst at the seams and was spilling out onto First Avenue when the Regian royal family arrived. Dawn’s knuckles immediately turned white as she grasped the door handle and surveyed for a close spot. Hunter was famous for losing his cool when an activity he’d wanted to avoid in the first place became a hassle.
But this time, he simply shrugged, switched on his blinker, and started cruising for a spot on the street.
“You keep an eye on the side streets and I’ll watch First Avenue,” he said, motioning with his head.
“What should I do, Dad?” Day piped up from the back seat. His headphones were in his lap for once, and he was feverishly scanning from left to right.
“You keep track of the theatre.” He winked into the rear view mirror. “You can guide us back after we park.”
Within minutes, they had squeezed into a spot between an Elladan deli and a laundromat.
“Follow me,” Day instructed as soon as the engine clicked off.
“Good thing we’ve got V.I.P. seats,” Dawn told her husband as they shuffled along. Both she and Day avoided the cracks in the sidewalk. Hunter never looked down.
“Oh, do we?” he asked. “Great. I want Morning to know we were on time.”
The wide, glass building had a huge banner dangling from one end of its roof to the other like a giant smile. “Warren Charmé Hall,” it proclaimed, over and over in every color of the rainbow. The family funneled through the rotating doors and into a giant glass hallway.
“This way,” Day directed, pointing his pudgy fingers at a construction paper sign taped to the far wall: Dalton Academy ballet recital, straight ahead
Their shoes clicked against the floor as they hustled, suddenly worried by the lack of people milling about. But as soon as they turned the last corner, it seemed all of Marestam was there. Schmoozing. Waiting. Buying T-shirts. Purveying snacks.
Dawn had the sudden inclination to whip around and leave without having to deal with all the fake smiles and judgmental looks. Instead, she pulled Day toward her and shoved her hand into Hunter’s. In her peripheral vision, she saw him bulk out his chest a bit—just in time for the first barrage.
“Hunter! Dawn!”
a nasally voice broke through the chatter. “So glad you could make it.”
“Always such a pleasure,” the woman’s companion agreed. His cheeks shined like plastic, matching his forehead.
Dawn watched Day rub his sneaker into the floor while Hunter launched into the customary introductions. Marcy and Buck Davenport, one of Tirion Enterprises’ very first investors.
They were so excited about the merger with Perdemi-Divan, but wanted to make sure this wasn’t Hunter’s way of bowing out.
“Not just yet,” he assured them.
This was the best thing for the company, wasn’t it?
“Absolutely!” he raved.
He would retain a majority stake, wouldn’t he?
“Liam Devereaux and I will have the same exact percentage,” he said.
Oh, and would Their Majesties consider joining them in their skybox for some more compelling conversation?
“I’m sorry,” Hunter said, raising one hand and squeezing Dawn’s with the other.
Here it came: the moment he blamed her for having to decline their invitation. So predictable.
“Thank you for the offer, but I’ve been looking forward to this recital all week.” Dawn’s eyes widened. “I made Morning promise to look for us in the second row, and I know she’ll worry if she sees empty seats. Perhaps another time.”
And then they were moving … past all the other brownnosers Dawn had no interest in seeing … between the line of ushers … and through the auditorium doors. Hunter’s hand took the small of her back and sent her down the aisle first. Then he patted Day on the shoulder and told him to make sure Mommy found her seat okay.
The little whirlwind raced past her and stopped proudly at the second row—arm out like a real usher.
Dawn went in first, followed by her son. She tucked her hands between her thighs and the velvet seat. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Hunter was being so strange, so mindful and cheery. So she just sat there, listening to his comments about how nice the auditorium looked, and his questions about where Day thought they should go for his sister’s celebratory dinner, and didn’t Mommy look lovely tonight?
“How about Piazza Pizza?” Day said, kicking his stubby feet back and forth beneath the seat.
“That’s not a bad choice,” Hunter hummed. “Why don’t you run it by Morning after the show?”
Day’s face became super serious (another task from his father!), then smushed up when an exorbitantly tall lady sat down in front of him. A few seconds later, the men of the family switched seats and Day buried his face in the program book.
“You smell different,” Dawn said as Hunter slid in beside her. He unbuttoned his blazer and flailed his elbows to straighten out the sleeves. “Did you forget to put on cologne?”
“Oh, I didn’t forget.” A pause. “Do you still love me?”
“What?”
The entire auditorium went mute as all of her senses shut down. All but sight, that is, which was fixated on Hunter’s mouth. It was still moving—talking, maybe—but she couldn’t hear a thing. His teeth were the perfect shade of white, and these two endearing arcs appeared above the corners of his lips every time he stretched them. Had he always had those? Why was he asking if she loved him?
“Dawn.” His hand touched her elbow and everything came rushing back. His fingers were warm. The band had stopped tuning and the many layers of chatter were beginning to die down.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“The article,” he said. “It talked about how people are attracted to each other almost entirely based on scent.”
Okay, now she heard the words, but still had no idea what he was saying. Her expression needed no explanation.
“So theoretically, you can think you’re in love with someone for years, but really it’s just that the cologne they wear causes some chemical reaction in your brain. So if one person switches scents even years down the road, all those feelings disappear and it’s bye-bye love.”
“Oh.” She gave a confused nod but had no idea what he was talking about.
“Personally, I think it’s a bunch of scientific nonsense. Cheapens the whole idea of love, don’t you think?”
Dawn rearranged herself in her seat—again. She wasn’t used to chit-chatting with Hunter. She was used to planning their schedule for the week, complaining about the weather, and reminding him that they still had such-and-such on their to-do list. Chitchatting was for other couples, younger couples who held hands across dinner tables instead of staring at their phones.
“Sounds like a bunch of 21st century nonsense,” she finally said.
He smiled and leaned in so close she could kiss his jaw line … if she’d wanted to. “Well then, any thoughts on my cologne?”
She rolled her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the heat emanating off his skin. She couldn’t smell anything in particular—at least nothing bad—but was suddenly aware of her heartbeat. She pulled away quickly and brought a hand to her chest plate. “It’s fine. It’s nice. I think I like it better than the other one.”
He gave a proud grin and leaned back. “Eau de Hunter,” he said. “Haven’t worn it in a decade or so.”
Not a moment too soon, the lights in the auditorium dimmed and a mass of orange leotards tumbled onto the stage. They might as well have been Dawn’s thoughts—rushing about in no particular direction, some completely confident in what they were doing while others just sort of wobbled around, hoping not to take a dive when it mattered most.
What was going on with her? And with him? All the smiles, the attention to his children, the legitimate conversation, brushing off his investors to make sure he didn’t miss any of Morning’s show. A year ago, she’d have had to drag him here, probably after a tear-filled fight about the importance of family over bank accounts. And even then, he’d have ducked out at intermission with some flimsy excuse about a conference call.
She thought about the night on the balcony, after Davin came over for dinner. Maybe Hunter hadn’t been exaggerating about his epiphany. Maybe he really didn’t want to be a gelled-up, work-obsessed tyrant anymore. Maybe he had been doing it for his family all along.
Maybe the theatre company should lower the heat by a few dozen degrees.
When the show ended, Morning bounced out from back stage with her face scrubbed red and her bangs stuck to her forehead. She leapt into her father’s arms and told him that since he was on time, he could have the good seat at her next tea party. He laughed and said that made today the best day ever.
As they headed out into the night, bound for Piazza Pizza, Dawn felt an unusual peace. She felt like she belonged somewhere for the first time in ages. She felt like a partner in the best business of all: family.
But then she heard chanting, and an entirely different feeling crept up her spine. It was fear.
A second later, Hunter grabbed her arm and pulled both kids close. At the base of the steps, lit by the streetlights, a throng of protestors marched in a circle holding up handmade signs that echoed the words piercing the night.
“One realm, one rule!” they shouted. “Bring down the crowns!”
Chapter Nineteen
SNOW
Unfit to be parents.
That’s what the letter from Home Sweet Home Adoptions had called Snow and Griffin.
After further review, the board has determined you do not offer the ideal situation for the Hereford boys. We are very sorry and wish you the best of luck with your search.
Snow got the news while on the rooftop of Rapunzel’s swanky penthouse. And even though Griffin offered to come and escort her back to Tantalise, she’d insisted on making the trip alone. She needed time to process, she’d told him. But more than that, she didn’t want her go-with-the-flow husband to see the veins popping out of her neck, or the way her fingers had locked into a claw. She spent the entire ferry ride winding toilet paper around her fist and then tearing it to shreds.
Now, standing in the room that
for years had served as Griffin’s office, she wanted to scream.
Despite the rampion mishap, the bad press, and the Monarch Morality nuts, they’d gone ahead with turning the room into a nursery. It was the best way to take their minds off the hatred, Griffin had said, and there was no way the agency would rescind its offer. That would upset the balance of the universe—or at least slap karma right in the face.
So they spent five days moving out furniture, painting the walls, assembling cribs, hanging pictures, affixing nature decals, and picking out the cutest little onesies they could find. The boys would be just about six months old by mid-October, meaning they might be starting to babble and would hopefully be sleeping through the night—not that Snow would have minded waking up every two hours. If they needed her, she would have gone without sleep for weeks.
“Why do you torture yourself?” Griffin asked, setting a pile of books on the changing table and pulling off his glasses. He’d been on his way to the patio when he spotted her from the hall.
“It’s the closest we ever came,” she murmured, unsure what else to say. That she still didn’t believe it? That she was trying not to let the reality in? That maybe, if she prayed hard enough to something, they’d get a miracle?
He wrapped his arms around her from behind and nuzzled into her raven black hair. He smelled like garlic and cigarettes. His way of coping. For once, she didn’t even care.
“I know they were never actually here,” she said, “but this house has never felt so empty. And huge.”
Griffin let out a half-snort. “It should feel smaller, with all my work clogging up the living room. It’s like a maze in there.”
Snow shrugged. Or at least she intended to shrug. Her brain was too depressed to send the signal.
He squeezed her tighter. “I hate to see you like this. I know this was the worst one yet, but look how close we came this time. There will be another. This one just wasn’t meant to be.”
“They hate us, Griff.”
“No they don’t. Everything happens for a reason. When one door closes, it’s because it wasn’t the right door. We can’t possibly know what’s out there. The universe—”