by Amelia Wilde
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Next week. I had to rearrange one of your media appearances, but I assumed you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all. Did you have anything else on your agenda? Points of conversation that I should bring up with her?”
I finally look up from the portfolio when it occurs to me that my father has been silent for too long. He’s peering at me, his hands folded on the desk.
“Alexander.”
“What?”
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?”
I shoot him a look. “I’m meeting my obligations as crown prince. Is something wrong with what I’ve been doing?”
“No,” he says with the hint of a sigh as he slips off his reading glasses. “I’m a bit alarmed by your reaction to this conversation.”
I quickly glance back over the notes. “Why is that?”
“Alexander,” he speaks again, looking at me like I’ve lied to him about sneaking out through the basement window and he knows the truth. “You’re going to blithely accept that I’ve scheduled a date for you? Not long ago, this same kind of discussion had you fleeing the country.”
I shrug one of my shoulders. “Things have changed since then.”
“And you’re completely satisfied with that?”
“Yes.”
He puts both hands on the surface of his desk and cocks his head. “Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“If that’s the case, why are you walking around with a stone-cold face like you’ve had an overdose of Botox? Why is every word out of your mouth flat and sad unless you’re giving an interview in front of a news crew?”
I look away. I don’t want to admit my answer out loud.
“Does this have to do with Jessica?” he asks point-blank.
Whipping my head back toward my father, I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off.
“Don’t try to tell me it doesn’t, son. It’s written all over your face. One minute she’s here, the next she’s back in New York and I’m having the public relations team issue a statement that she’s gone to visit family and didn’t want to make a fuss.”
“She didn’t want to stay anymore. What was I supposed to do, lock her in her rooms?”
“I don’t believe it was that simple.”
“You can believe what you want, father,” I say, tired of this discussion already.
“Alec,” he says, and I look back into his eyes. “First—it’s only a matter of time until we need to announce that Saintland’s Sweetheart isn’t your sweetheart anymore if she’s truly not planning to return. Second—you’re not required to tell me, but I sense that something happened between you two that you feel is irreparable.” He pauses. “I saw the way she looked at you whenever you were together.”
“It is irreparable.”
“If I can offer you one piece of advice, Alexander…” He glances at the wall to his left, where a framed picture of my mother hangs among several other family photos. “I would try to repair things before it’s too late. You can’t go on like this.”
“I won’t,” I say, trying to sound confident and reassuring, but failing miserably. “Someone else will come along.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Who knows? It could even be Mariana Moretti.”
My father doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he gives me a sad smile. “I don’t believe she wanted to leave your side.”
“It’s all right,” I say, standing up to go. “She was too good for me anyway. It’s better this way.”
As I leave the council chamber, it stabs me like a knife in the heart. I felt so happy having her by my side, and I’d never been happier when I was kissing her, touching her, in bed with her.
It might have been the best thing for her when I told her to return to New York, but it’s misery for me.
43
Jessica
Though not staying in New York occurred to me while I was sitting in the lobby of Heights Marketing, as soon as I’m back out on the street, breathing in the fresh air—well, if not fresh air, at least outside air—the wheels in my mind begin to spin faster and faster, fleshing out my plan.
I can’t stay in New York.
I can move to another city, one that has definite possibilities. Seattle.
I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before now. My college roommate Jamie has wanted me to visit Seattle, where she’s lived since we graduated, ever since we were ordering our graduation gowns. She’d researched all the best spots for nightlife and had a list.
Jamie was a planner.
I’m positive she’ll let me stay with her while I find a place, although my innate determination has other ideas.
“I won’t need to stay with her,” I think. “I’ll line up my own place, and a job, before I even go.”
This time, I’m going to do this right.
I’ll even have a backup plan.
As soon as I’m off the subway, I send Jamie a message.
Sorry I’ve been MIA. Are you still down for a visit?
She texts me back before I’m even inside my building.
Yes!!! When? How long? I can’t wait to show you the city!
I smile down at my phone, feeling excited about something for the first time since I touched down in New York.
Still figuring out a few details. I’ll let you know. But SOON!
Step one is complete.
Then I remember that I walked out on the interview Carolyn set up for me. Step two: tell my roommate that not only am I planning to move, I totally blew off the interview she set up for me at the last minute.
I turn around, heading back out the revolving door at the entrance to our building. This occasion calls for wine.
Carolyn’s not thrilled to learn I didn’t go through with the interview, but in typical Carolyn fashion, she accepts my apology wine and moves on after a mere three minutes of irritation. Once I start planning my big move aloud, she joins in.
“It’s sad, though,” she says, halfway through the bottle of wine. “Even if you can be flaky, you’re a great roommate. It’ll be lonely without you.”
I wave my hand in the air. “You’ll be able to find a replacement.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Nah, I think if you go, I’ll keep the space to myself for a while.” At least there’s no guilt that Carolyn won’t be able to afford the rent. She affords most of it on her own anyway.
“I’m not sure when I’m leaving. Don’t get too excited.”
“I won’t. Want to order Chinese?”
Over the next few days, I start—as they say in the business world— “working my network.” Christian doesn’t love the idea that I’m moving to Seattle—he likes the challenge of setting me up with all his newest acquaintances, and ever since he lost his brother and did a stint in rehab, he’s been pretty protective—but he’s a good-natured guy with a gazillion contacts across the country, and he has an interview lined up for me in less than two weeks.
That’s a much faster timeline than I was expecting, but it makes planning that much more important.
I start hunting for an apartment, working with a realtor that Christian suggested who takes me on virtual tours of apartments with her iPhone. It takes two full days, but I narrow it down to three contenders.
I also start checking things off my New York bucket list—all the things I meant to do while I was here and never got around to. I take the ferry to see the Statue of Liberty and go to the Museum of Modern Art. I run my favorite loops in Central Park. Carolyn and I hit our favorite restaurants, and she takes a day off work so we can run wild around the city, eating at food carts and shopping for some eclectic stuff for my new place. She has better taste than I do. We’re picking through some items at an antique shop in the East Village when I realize how much I’m going to miss her. My eyes fill with tears.
When she sees me crying, she rubs my arm. “Don’t worry, Jess. You’ll be
able to visit all the time!” Her voice is chipper, encouraging, but the corners of her mouth turn down a little as she turns to look away.
Everywhere we go, I still can’t help but look for Alec. When we pass the Bystander one evening on the way back from dinner, Carolyn points to the door. “Want to go in for one last round? That place was always one of your favorites, wasn’t it?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head and looking across the street.
She furrows her brow. “You sure? You know, I can handle a bar that’s less upscale than the Swan.”
“It’s not that—.”
Then her expression changes, and I know she’s remembering that it’s where I first met Alec. “Oh, my God, how could I forget?” she says apologetically, then puts her hand on my elbow, picking up the pace. “Let’s go to that wine bar you like.”
“That wine bar is expensive.”
She slaps me lightly on the arm. “We both know that it’s my treat. You’re moving away soon—who else will I spoil once you’re gone?”
The days go by in a blur of packing, sorting, planning. Carolyn interrupts me in the middle of a two-hour decision marathon about my next appointment.
“Are you sure you’re into this?” she asks from the doorway to my bedroom.
“Yeah,” I say. “Why? Also, what do you think of this place? Should I go with the bigger one, or the one closer to my potential job?”
“For someone who hated the scheduling over in Saintland, you’re sure becoming a planner. Are you positive you’re not doing this instead of going back across the pond and kissing that sexy prince on the mouth one more time?”
“Yes,” I say stubbornly, jabbing a finger at the screen. “Apartments.”
But her words ring in my ears.
I shake them out. It’s too late for that now.
44
Alec
It’s another day later—maybe two—when Nate drives me back home from the date with Mariana Moretti. As the streets of Sainthall roll by outside my window, an image of Jessica, riding through these same streets—in what, a taxi? It must have been a taxi, I guess—pops into my head, accompanied by a fresh jolt of pain.
I’ve spent the last two hours sitting across from Mariana Moretti at the Diamond Circle, smiling like nothing is wrong and listening to her speak rapidly in her charming accent about a wide variety of topics ranging from Italian politics to possible vacation spots in Saintland to Black Mirror, a television show that’s apparently sweeping all of Europe up into a fan frenzy. I’ve never heard of it, but that doesn’t mean anything. I didn’t watch a lot of TV before I became crown prince—I prefer movies—but now that I have so many other things to do, I hardly have downtime for anything else, much less watching TV.
That’s not what occupied my mind all through dinner.
It was all I could do not to completely lose myself in endless comparisons between Mariana and Jessica.
They’re nothing alike. The glint of light on Mariana’s dark hair made me think of how Jessica’s auburn hair would shine in that same light. The way she laughed, high-pitched and pure, made me think of the way Jessica’s voice pitched low when she was hot for me, her panties already soaked…
I run a hand through my hair and try—for the millionth time since she left—to push her out of my mind.
“That could have gone significantly worse,” I say while we’re waiting at a stoplight.
“What could have?”
“The date with Mariana.”
“Oh?” Nate’s voice is carefully neutral. He’s waiting to hear what I think of the situation.
“I’ll talk to my father about it. It’s possible that a longer-term arrangement could be very beneficial for—.”
Nate interrupts me with a deep sigh, and I stop speaking abruptly. We’re old friends, but Nate strives for professionalism.
“Something bothering you?” I say. Did I miss something that happened in traffic? It’s not particularly heavy this evening.
“Listen to you,” Nate says, not taking his eyes from the road. “‘A longer-term arrangement?’ Alec, that’s not you.”
“Oh?” I say, bristling, letting a hint of irritation underscore the word.
“No,” Nate says, his voice calm and even. He’s not bothering to take the bait, and since I can feel my old habits slipping back, I press my lips together and wait to hear what he says. “And you know it, your highness. You’ve become your brother, and I don’t think that’s a good thing.”
“My brother was excellent at what he did.” At the mention of Marcus, my heart jerks painfully in my chest, but I swallow the pain away and resolve again not to lash out at my best friend in the entire world.
“Your brother was a deeply unhappy man,” Nate says, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, his knuckles turning white. “You must have known that. God knows everyone else did.”
“I’m doing what’s best, Nate.”
“Best for who?”
“Saintland first, obviously. What other choice do I have now that I’m crown prince?” And now that Jessica is gone, I remind myself, a lump rising in my throat.
“First off, you could choose to go get her any time. You chose to flee the country in the first place, remember?”
“I can’t do that, and you know it.”
“What good is it,” Nate says, running a hand over his hair, “of doing any of this if you’re going to be a shell of yourself?”
“I’m not—.”
He cuts me off again. “You are. And what’s more, it doesn’t have to be like this. Things got hard when your brother died, I know it. We all know it. And I get it.” Nate’s sister Natalie died when we were seventeen. “I also know that she was the one person you wanted to see at the end of every day. You didn’t have to say it. Everyone in the palace knew that you were always going to her, always wanting to be with her. It was clear as day to everybody, Alec. Everybody. And you can’t ignore the fact that you’re the one who brought her here in the first place, despite the risk, and I think you knew that it was a bigger risk than you let on.”
As Nate speaks, something bursts alive in me, somewhere deep in my core, firing an electric energy down my spine.
He’s right.
But what can I do about it now?
I’m the one who fought with her, dismissed her ideas, told her she needed to find a different man. How am I supposed to take all that back?
There is no taking it back. That’s the answer in all of it. There is no undoing what I said. There’s only replacing it with something else.
I have no idea how I’m supposed to go about doing that.
“She’s back in New York, Nate.”
I see him roll his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Again, that didn’t stop you from meeting her in the first place.”
“My schedule—.”
“Are you a crown prince or not?”
“That’s exactly why—.”
Nate pulls the car around in front of Sainthall Palace and shifts it into park before he throws an arm over the seat and turns to look back at me.
“I’m only going to bring this up one more time. Your brother—he let this job eat him alive. If you want something to change, you’ll be the one to change it. The Alec I know would never let something as small as a schedule keep him away from the love of his life.”
My heart pounds against my ribcage. I look at Nate for a long moment in silence, and then he salutes me and opens his door, coming around to open mine. Protocol.
His words thunder in my head as I walk across the terrace to the palace entrance, my mind racing, phone already in hand, plans already in the works. Getting back to her is my only choice. Because…
“The love of his life. The love of his life. The love of his life.” Nate’s words echo in my head. And in my heart.
Jessica is the love of my life.
45
Jessica
The Purple Swan is crowded, humming with energy. People have been ar
riving in a hurry this evening, trying to get inside before the thunderstorm forecasted for New York City hit. So far, it’s a gentle summer rain, but when Carolyn and I got out of the town car she hired, I heard the rumble of thunder in the distance. The storm will be here before the party is over, that’s for sure.
Christian has invited all of our friends to the Swan for a going-away party. I leave for Seattle in the morning. Despite my obsessive planning—I even have a credit union picked out, and I’ve signed up for a rewards card at the local grocery store chain that’s closest to my new apartment—the upcoming move still seems surreal. As I look around the table at my laughing, drinking, chatting friends, I realize I’m going to miss them.
It’s all right, though. I know exactly where to find them if I ever want to visit.
Aside from that, it’ll be good for me to branch out. Once Jamie and I parted ways after college, it was so much easier to fall in with Christian’s crowd—but now that I’m feeling a stronger urge to rebuild my life, I need to be around more people who aren’t millionaires or billionaires. My friends are wonderful people and generous to a fault, but it’s not the same when you’re not a millionaire or billionaire, too. Jamie’s promised that she has lots of friends in Seattle who will be thrilled to meet me. I believe her.
We’re about halfway through the dinner service—eight courses, one of the top-tier options available at the Swan—when Christian drops into the empty seat, his champagne glass in hand. The conversation swirls around us, the waiters clearing the soup bowls away in preparation for the next course, everyone deciding on their next glass—or bottle—of wine.
“Come clean,” he says with that sexy smile of his. I can appreciate his good looks even though I know, deep in my heart, that nobody’s ever going to compare to Alec. “What’s this move all about? I thought you were done with all that?”
“Things change,” I say, leaning back to let the waiter remove my dishes. “I guess it’s time for me to move on. You know me, Chris. I can never stay in the same place too long.”