“Will that be all? She’s been through a lot. She’s tired.”
Stephen’s voice was firm. His question wasn’t really a question at all; it was a statement that the interview was over. Detective Daniel, however, made it clear that it would be over when he said it was over. He stepped closer to them, his eyes glinting firmly as he gazed at the two of them sharply.
“We’re just trying to do a thorough job, Mr. James. We have to understand everyone’s motives so that we can find out who did this.” Detective Daniels’ steel blue eyes stared at Sydney, his voice no longer perfunctory; instead it was cold and penetrating.
“Why would someone with the world on a string choose to get disinherited for a surprise pregnancy? You just graduated high school and are not married. Not even in a relationship. It would seem to me that the easiest thing to do would have been to get rid of it and go on with your life. Unless you wanted something.” He continued to stare at her, unflinching.
“What exactly are you insinuating? I thought you were trying to find out who tried to kill Sydney. But it seems as though she is on trial here. Why is that?” Stephen’s voice was hard and his eyes sparked as they locked with the iron gaze of the detective.
Sydney stared at him in shock. This hard, assertiveness was not a side of Stephen that she had seen. It didn’t match with his easy-going personality, but she found that it didn’t trouble her. It actually had just the opposite effect. She felt protected. For the first time in her life, someone was standing up for her.
“We’re just doing our job. We have to understand the dynamics of this situation so that we can figure out who did it and why. For instance, we need to know if Ms. Ross was trying to get money from the Prices’ so that she could run away with you.”
Even though he was speaking to Stephen, Detective Daniels’ gaze was locked on Sydney to gauge her reaction as her eyes flew to him.
“This has nothing to do with Stephen! We only casually knew each other when this whole thing happened. He was nice enough to take me in when my parents kicked me out. Instead of trying to smear me, why aren’t you more focused on finding out who did this? I’m the victim here, not the Prices’.” Sydney was frustrated now and her fragile emotional state shone through loud and clear.
“I don’t believe this! Somebody ran me down and killed my baby and you are treating me like a criminal! I didn’t do anything wrong!” Her hands started shaking as she spoke, shock lodging deeply in her chest at the turn of events in this interrogation.
“We’re sorry for upsetting you, Sydney. We just have to know everything so that we can figure out who did this. We’ll let you know what we find out and if we need to speak with you again.”
Stephen stared at him. “Do that. And maybe next time you can be a little kinder. This girl has just lost her baby.”
He didn’t even bother looking at them again as he turned his attention back to Sydney. He had never seen anyone look so vulnerable. Her wide eyes were full of bleak loneliness and she seemed lost…like she had been somewhere that he could never, ever go. Stephen felt protective urges twinge inside of him that he’d never felt before. She seemed so small as she lay wrapped in tubes and tape.
Both detectives turned their backs without another word and walked out, taking their blatant discourse with them and closing the door behind them. Sydney looked at Stephen in confusion.
“What is going on?” Her jeweled eyes glistened as though she was going to burst into tears at any moment.
“Don’t worry about it, Syd. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m a big believer that truth always comes out, so they’ll figure it out. Eventually.”
“But why were they treating me like a criminal?”
Her soft voice wavered. He brushed the hair out of her face and then rubbed her arm comfortingly.
“Because they already spoke with the Prices’ and your parents. I’m sure it was the impression that they received from them. Don’t waste your time thinking about it. You just focus on getting some rest, okay?”
She shook her head. It was going to be hard to rest with all of the thoughts that were swirling around in her head. The turn of events was unbelievable. She had gone from being a victim of a hit and run, to finding out that it was probably a planned attack to being interrogated like a criminal. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t be sleeping for awhile.
She was asleep five minutes later.
Stephen stayed with her as she slept; watching her sleep, reading magazines, pacing the floor. He sat by her bed like a sentinel, guarding her as she slept, although no one came back to bother her except for the nurses who took her vital signs every hour. She slept like the dead.
He kept his bedside vigil as the hours turned into days. He barely left her side to shower or eat, although she frequently encouraged him to go home and get some rest. He refused. He was used to erratic schedules. And he was her sole visitor. There was no way he was going to leave her alone in the sterile hospital room with only the scent of Lysol and overworked nurses to keep her company.
Finally, six days later, she was discharged from the hospital with orders to rest at home and a prescription for birth control pills. As they rolled down the road in Stephen’s black vintage T-Bird, he laid her cell phone in her lap. She was surprised to realize that she hadn’t even missed it for the week that she was in the hospital.
She opened it now to check her messages. There was only one. Holding her breath, she opened her phone to find that the text was from Christian, not her parents.
She exhaled slowly, letting her warm breath escape in a thin rush over her lips. She had no idea why she had thought that they might show concern now or why she allowed herself to feel disappointment that they didn’t. It shouldn’t be a surprise. They had left her in the hospital without seeing her. They had to know that she was going to be devastated.
I’m sorry.
The two stark words screamed at her from the small screen.
Christian had spent two seconds typing a two-word message. Their baby had died and he was sorry. But he wasn’t really, she knew that. He was relieved. He wasn’t going to have a kid running around that he would never even know. But the fact that he couldn’t even bring himself to ask how she was doing echoed over and over in her head. She couldn’t believe that she had wasted her virginity on him.
Stephen reached over and wrapped his arm around her shoulders as he drove and she dropped her head onto his broad shoulder. As she stared absently at the scenery blurring past, she decided that the best thing to do was to try and file away her pain like a memory. Tucking it away in the farthest recesses of her mind- hiding it from herself- seemed like the smartest thing to do.
The ride home passed in peaceful silence. When they pulled up to the house, Stephen unloaded her bag from the trunk and helped her walk inside. She suddenly felt like a cripple as she hunched over her injuries and hobbled into the house. As he grasped her elbow, she turned to him with a smile.
“I’m not an invalid, Stephen. I’m feeling much better. My ribs are barely even sore now. Just don’t make me laugh.”
She smiled again convincingly and followed Stephen as he walked toward her bedroom. As they walked down the short hall, she gasped. A freshly painted door was hanging in her doorway. He barely even glanced at it as he opened it nonchalantly and waited for her to enter first. She gasped again.
Her room had a fresh coat of Robin’s Egg blue paint on the walls, her favorite color. The bed in the center of the back wall had a new white eyelet bedspread, turned down at the top, topped with plump new pillows. She could see fresh new linens poking out from underneath. A lacy white throw was folded at the foot. She turned to Stephen, shock apparent on her face.
“What?” he asked innocently, as he set her bag beside her refurbished bed. A small, self-satisfied smile tilted the corners of his lips.
She looked around again in dumbfounded amazement.
“How did you…?” She couldn’t seem to form a cohesive sentence.
>
This act of kindness had taken her completely off-guard. It was ironic to her that once upon a time, she had the bedroom of a princess and hadn’t thought twice about it. The thoughtfulness behind this tiny, simple redecorated room touched her more deeply than her old king-sized bedroom suite ever had.
“I thought it might make you smile.” It was his turn to shrug lightly.
“But how did you find time? You were with me almost every minute!” Her eyes were wide as she stared at him.
“I do what every un-married male does when he needs help. I called my mom.”
He grinned widely as she continued to examine her new surroundings. Her clothing was folded neatly on a stack of new dark wicker shelves in the corner. There were even a couple of framed still-life prints hanging above the bed and crisp white eyelet curtains to match the bedspread. The crudded-over window had been washed and sparkled in the sun.
The room had definitely felt a woman’s touch. Sydney felt a surge of gratitude for the distant relative that she had never even met. Stephen’s mother had clearly spent hours redecorating this space for her.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t think of it before. I’m a guy. I just don’t think of things like that. But I called my mom to ask her what might cheer you up and she took over. Do you like it? Is it okay?” He eyed her anxiously, not sure if she would be upset that he had invaded her personal space.
She rushed to him and hugged him as tightly as her wounded ribs would allow.
“Stephen, this is literally the sweetest thing that anyone has ever done for me. Ever.”
She hugged him again, ignoring the protesting twinges that came from her ribs.
“Thank you so much! This is the most thoughtful birthday present anyone has ever given me!” Her eyes shone and he stared at her in shock.
“Your birthday?”
Color flooded his cheeks as he spoke. She nodded in response.
“Sydney, I’m so sorry- I had no idea!”
Sydney studied him curiously for the source of his embarrassment. He had no way of knowing that the first thought that sprung into her mind this morning was the fact that she was another year older now. She was 18. And that being attracted to Stephen didn’t feel quite so criminal.
“It’s alright,” she murmured gently. “How could you know? I didn’t tell you. But this is perfect. You couldn’t have done better even if you had known.” She sat gingerly on the bed, enjoying the lush softness of her new down comforter.
“Syd, you’re moving pretty slow. I know you’re hurting worse than you’re letting on. Let’s get you settled into bed. The doctor said you needed to rest, so that’s what you’re going to do. Are you hungry? I’m going to get you settled in here and then I’ll make you something to eat.” He hadn’t even waited for her answer before he moved her bag out of the way and started turning down her bedding.
“Sydney?” He looked at her questioningly.
“Um, I’d be a lot more comfortable in my nightgown, but it hurts to raise my arms over my head.” At his concerned look, she quickly added, “But that’s really the only thing that hurts. Everything else is just an ache. No big deal.”
“Right. Broken ribs are no big deal.”
He stared at her in amusement. She knew that she was stubborn in her efforts to pretend that she was fine, but she was also well aware that it was in Stephen’s nature to worry. She’d given him enough to worry about lately and hurried to reassure him again.
“They really aren’t a big deal. They healed up quickly. They must be healed- the doctor took the tape off of them yesterday. They only ache when I move wrong.” He couldn’t say anything to that and she knew it.
He sighed in resignation. “What do you want me to do?”
“Well, it would be great if you could help me maneuver my nightgown so that I can slip into it.” She looked at him hopefully.
“Um, sure. I can do that.”
He stared at her hesitantly, his thoughts unreadable. If she didn’t know better, she would think that he didn’t want her to take her shirt off. And she had to admit… being in such cramped quarters with him while she was taking off her clothes wasn’t going to help put a damper on the attraction that she was trying hard to ignore.
She sifted through the clothing in her hospital bag and found the thin gown that she was hunting for. She held it out to him, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the slight tremor in her hand.
He took it from her and stepped closer.
“So… How do you want me to go about this?” He looked from the gown to her in such consternation that she burst out laughing- and then had to hold her ribs.
“Ow, ow.” She gasped, still laughing. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“I didn’t mean to.” He gazed at her in such droll amusement that she had to laugh again.
“Oh, God. Stop. It hurts.” She wrapped her arms around her body and tried to still the quakes of amusement that threatened to erupt into laughter. Every time she looked at him, the humor bubbled up again. She couldn’t help it. He looked so helpless holding her nightgown in his long masculine fingers.
“Okay.” She took a deep breath, quelling the remnants of laughter. “If you can help me slide my shirt off and then help me ease my nightgown on over my head, it would be extremely helpful. I can show you how the nurse and I did it this morning.”
He held her nightgown out helplessly and she burst into laughter again.
“At this rate, I’m going to need more pain pills,” she sighed after the laughing fit had subsided. “Okay, let’s try this again.” He remained silent, afraid that anything he said would make her laugh and cause her pain again.
She began to shrug her arms out of her shirt and he lunged forward to help. He grabbed the back of her collar and tugged it up over her head as she bent over to make it easier to slide it off. As gentle as he tried to be, it still hurt. A second later, she stood in front of him in only her lacy white bra and he stood with her shirt hanging limply in his hands.
She dared a glance into the mirror hanging over the battered dresser, flinching as she came face-to-face with her unpregnant body. She had become accustomed to her swelling belly and the absence of it was a shock, causing her to gulp hard. Large yellowish-blue bruises adorned most of her torso like an abstract painting. She was a walking bruise.
She was also surprised by her silhouette. She had thought that she would be plumper than she was… but she hadn’t been hungry lately and it had clearly taken a toll on her. The twenty pounds in baby weight appeared to be gone and through the mottled bruising, she could clearly see her ribs.
“God, Sydney.” Stephen stared at her in sympathy, his eyes taking in her battered appearance. “You need to rest.” Sydney noted that to his complete credit, his eyes didn’t even flicker down to her chest and to the way the top of her breasts were peeking out from her bra. He was a complete gentleman, through and through. She was too tired to worry that he just wasn’t interested in looking.
As carefully as he could, he helped her ease into her nightgown, pulling it over her head and tugging it down to cover the rest of her bruised body. She sank gently onto the bed and carefully leaned back onto the pillows, closing her eyes.
“I didn’t realize how tired I actually am,” she sighed.
Stephen slipped from the room to grab a 7-Up for her from the kitchen. He knew that she didn’t have the stomach flu, but it just seemed like a logical thing to do. He poured it into a glass and stuck a straw in it before he carried it back to her room.
She was already asleep. He gazed at her for a moment longer before he backed quietly out, closing the newly hung door softly behind him.
CHAPTER FIVE
A year or two ago, a biographer had approached her father, wanting to document his rise to power, wanting to put to paper the years leading up to the Randall Ross that the world knew now. He had declined. Graciously, of course, because it wouldn’t do to give the impression that they weren’t grateful for public interest an
d support, but it was still a decline, nonetheless. He had privately told Sydney and her mother that he wanted to wait until he had become president. Yes, he was just that ambitious and confident.
Sydney rifled through photos in the small box that she had brought with her when she moved. It had been carefully sealed with gray utility tape until today, marked ‘Sentimental Items’ with a thick black marker. She had always been the kind of girl who kept flowers from dances, love notes from old boyfriends and ticket stubs from great movies.
She used to stick them in little ornamental jeweled boxes that her father would bring home from business trips or the big heavy ornate chest that she had gotten as a gift from the Ambassador to India. When she had left that day five months ago, she had hurriedly taken a few handfuls of these memories and shoved them in a plain cardboard box. They were all she had now.
Everything from her prior life was documented with pictures. She used to insist on it. Her life was a fairy tale, right? There was no reason to not want to freeze each moment in time so that she could look upon it later and smile.
In the ones scattered in her lap, her parents smiled the same picture-perfect fake smiles, a beautiful blonde Barbie and a charismatic dark-haired Ken. Barbie always had her head turned a certain way, in what she knew was her most flattering pose. Ken had silver at his temples, but was still a handsome, elegant man with power radiating from his ultra-white politician’s smile and sincere brown eyes.
Looking at her parents caused Sydney to cringe. It was hard for her to remember her previous life. For the past months since she had left them behind, she had felt like a ghost… someone who had died and no one, especially not her parents, could see. And now, for the two weeks since she had left the hospital, she had been living in a tattered, dinged up corner of her consciousness… the place least damaged from her loss, from her life, from her reality.
Princess (The American Princess Series) Page 6