by Sophia Gray
Mano says, “Just go take care of her, amigo. We don't mind. We know you've had a tough time of it today. Just tell us, what happened to Killian?”
Matt shakes his head. “He didn't make it. The tides have taken him.”
Chapter 40
The motorcycle club is, thankfully, willing to let the duo go without too many questions. Matt loads Victoria up onto his motorcycle, and they rip away from the beach. Before long, he pulls over at gas station to refill his tank and get a floral print sarong for Victoria to wear underneath the leather jacket.
After the stop, they head out again. The beach is almost five hours away from Matt's apartment. It's a long drive, but he doesn't dare stop, lest an issue arise with Victoria's hardly decent form.
She sits behind him, forehead pressed against Matt's shoulder. Her fingers keep a tight grip on his leather vest, which has been dried by the whipping winds. It's still a strange thing, having the motorcycle between her thighs and Matt so close to her again.
Strange but not bad.
Victoria has to shout to be heard. “I'm so tired!”
“I know, sweet cheeks. Just a little bit longer,” shouts Matt, when he finally rips onto his road. Unlike the high-end buildings near the suite and the crowded boardwalk near the beach, this part of town is rundown and worn out.
The parking lot by the apartment building is empty. It's an old thing, with cracked windows and push doors at the front. Matt makes sure to keep an arm on Victoria as they head up the stairs because this apartment isn't the nicest part of town, and Victoria is a truly beautiful woman.
His apartment is on the third floor. It's messy. Matt laughs when he pushes open the door. “Sorry, sweet cheeks. I haven't been home in a while. Unlike you, I don't have any housekeepers to make sure the place looks nice when we get back here.”
“I love it,” says Victoria. “I told you that before, Matt, and I still stand by it. This apartment is so much better than anywhere else that I've ever stayed.”
“I don't believe that for a moment,” says Matt, making sure to lock the door behind them. He kicks off his boots and shrugs out of his leather vest. It gets tossed in the general direction as the dirty laundry pile, which is on the borderline between living area and kitchen.
The house is dirty, and it smells sort of stale. Matt pushes open the lone window in the apartment. It leads out into the alleyway. There's a dog rooting around in the garbage cans.
“But I appreciate the comment,” says Matt. He turns around, and the smile on his face feels easy.
There's nothing good about the apartment, but it looks a little brighter with Victoria standing inside those chipping walls. She brushes a stray lock of hair behind one ear. “Thank you for coming for me.”
“Of course I came for you! Did you really think I wouldn't?”
“I didn't think you knew I was leaving,” admits Victoria. “I didn't think anyone did.”
“I didn't,” says Matt, “not until I stopped by your suite. But then, you were already gone. I went off to the airport, but you weren't there either. They said you had missed your flight.”
“I never made it to the airport. They grabbed me outside of the suite.” Victoria sits down on Matt's ripped-up couch. “It was horrible, Matt. I thought I was a goner! Worse than that, I didn't think anyone would care.”
Matt sits down next to Victoria and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Of course people would care!”
“Who? My parents don't. They don't even care that I haven't landed in Vertsea! And the people—they've turned their backs on me.”
“I care!”
Victoria shakes her head. “I know you said wonderful things, Matt. But I also know you were saying them because that's the sort of person you are. No matter how tough you try to act, you're a good person. You stepped up because that's what I needed you to do. I know you never really wanted a wife or a child. That's not the sort of person you are.”
Her words astonish Matt.
“You're a free spirit. You're not meant to be tied down by anything or anyone, Matt. That's just not who you are. I understand,” says Victoria. “I've spent my entire life hooked down, held in place by the rulings of my parents and my people. It's hard, having responsibilities, having to live up to so many expectations.”
Matt demands, “Are you saying I'm not good enough for that?”
“Heavens, no! I'm just saying…” Victoria pauses, wiping at her face with her palms. By now, the entire left side of her face is a vivid mess of black, purple, gray, and blue. Traces of yellow streak up towards her nose. “It's different. It's a different sort of life than what you're used to. It's a different sort of life than anything that you've ever had before or ever wanted.”
“Victoria,” says Matt. “I might not have wanted a life like this in the past but truly, you're the most important thing to me now. I love you, and I love our child.”
It's been a very long day. There isn't a soul around that could begrudge Victoria bursting into tears, turning, and draping herself over the biker that sits beside her. She sobs and shakes and be moans the truth, saying, “I love you too,” over and over again.
Eventually, the young princess cries herself to sleep.
Eventually, Matt is the only one awake in his dark and dreary apartment.
# # #
When Victoria does wake up, she finds herself alone on the couch. A blanket has been draped over her. It smells like nicotine and cheap dollar store detergent. She pulls it up around her chin, humming happily as she settles back down under it.
Matt can hear her moving around. He leans over the back of the couch and asks, “Are you finally up?”
“Maybe,” answers Victoria, rolling onto her back so she can stare up at him. “What time is it?”
“No clue,” admits Matt. “My clocks haven't worked in years, and I turned the phone off so it didn't wake you.”
“You turned it off because you didn't want to talk to anyone.”
“That might be true. But I also didn't want it to wake you.”
“At least you're honest,” says Victoria. She yawns, tongue sticking out and curling up towards her upper lip. “It could be worse.”
“You're always looking on the upside, huh?”
“It's the only place left to go, somedays.”
“For a princess, you're pretty smart. I guess the royal life isn't much like the books, is it?”
Victoria closes her eyes. She can still picture the notes that her mother left for her.
Victoria rolls over, pressing her face against the back of the couch. “No, it's not. It's nothing like the movies or the books. But then, is any form of life as good as the movies? Nothing plays out like the books. It's just...it's all hard, Matt. It's a mess of concierge meetings, rules, tutoring, and dignitaries. There's no end to how you have to act and never a break from having to hold yourself up straight.”
The people are cruel, always. And so Victoria always looks up to the bright side—the next step, the next day, the next moment. She has always hoped for ever after but never dared to dream of happily getting there.
These past few weeks, they've just proven to her that things really aren't what they seem. Nothing is like the books. Victoria draws in a deep breath.
Matt walks around the side of the couch. He sits down on the arm of the couch, pressing a hand to the side of Victoria's head. “Do you think it's still going to be a hard life?”
“I don't know,” admits Victoria. “I hope not, but I'm just not certain. We still have to figure out what we're going to do.”
“We're going to get married,” says Matt. “Isn't that obvious?”
Startled, Victoria sits up. “Do you mean that?”
Matt catches the young princess in a deep and passionate kiss. When they part, he says, “Of course I do! Just rest today. Tomorrow, I'll tell you all about my plans.”
Chapter 41
Matt's plan turns out to be this: catch a flight to Vertsea, take a taxi to t
he royal manor, and speak with the Queen and King.
The ride there is stressful, to say the least. The neighborhood is a quiet one, the sort that might be seen in an old-fashioned movie. It's filled with houses that come from old money, three-story buildings with painted white fences and magnolia trees blooming in the front yards. Everything's kept in perfect shape, just like always.
Victoria is thrilled to be home again. She's missed the smell of this place from winter roses blooming along the sidewalks and citronella candles hanging from the front porches. The ride ran longer than it should have, and many of the candles have already been lit.
This is not, of course, the royal palace. It's more of a home away from home than anything else, a manor in the mountains of Vertsea where the royal family can escape from the ruckus of the capitol house.
Everything here is tasteful, with just the right amount of red ribbons hanging on the fences and fairy lights strung up around the windows. Handmade wreaths hang from the front doors, with fresh holly and boughs of pine.
She cracks the passenger-side window and lets the cold air rush over her. Even with her pink and purple plaid jacket on, it's cold. “Are you sure about this?”
Matt squeezes Victoria's knee. “Of course I am.”
“It's not going to be fun.”
“When is life fun?”
“I don't think you really understand how my parents are.”
“I heard that note,” says Matt lightly. “I've seen the headlines. They aren't speaking out against you, but they aren't standing up for you either. I know they aren't good people.”
Victoria protests, “They aren't bad people!”
“Yes they are,” says Matt firmly. “And I'm great at dealing with bad people.”
The taxi turns onto the last street. It has to park at the end of the curb because of the guards. They linger outside for a few minutes after that, just standing in the falling snow and looking around. It's a beautiful yard, the sort clearly tended by someone other than the owner. Every tree has just recently been trimmed, and a pile of firewood has been stacked up under a nearby overhang.
The manor is large, almost ridiculously so. Ivy wraps up the sides of the walls and dances over the windows. Heavy burgundy curtains hang over the glass, stopping anyone from looking inside. A winding cobblestone path starts just inside of a black wrought iron gate, which depicts the visage of a boar, the national animal of Vertsea.
Two guards stand on either side of the gate. Victoria smooths down the skirt of her dress. She's showing now, and the baby bump pushes against the fabric. Lace hangs over her blouse to add a bit of texture and design.
Each guard wears the same blue uniform, the national outfit of the Vertsean Army. They are a small force, but like the boars, they are strong. Both men nod at the approaching duo. Neither raises their arms.
That, at least, is still something that would be unacceptable in regards to a princess. Victoria hooks an arm around Matt's, making it clear that they're here together. She doesn't want any issues with the guards. She doesn't want any issues before she even makes it into her former house.
“Hello,” says Victoria with a cordial nod of her head. “If you could open the gate, I would appreciate it.”
“Of course,” says the guard on the right.
The guard on the left gives her a strange look. “We weren't informed that you would be visiting today, Princess Victoria.”
Victoria does her best to stand up a little bit straighter. “Must I report my movements to the guards of the gate now?”
“No,” says the guard on the right. “Of course not!”
He pulls out a remote from his pocket and hits the center button. The black gates part with a low creak. The guard on the left shakes his head. “We just don't want to cause trouble. Our jobs—”
“Your jobs are to listen to my orders,” says Victoria, “and to listen to the orders of my family. So long as you follow those rules, there will be no repercussions for this.”
The two guards trade uneasy looks, but they don't hinder the progress of Matt or Victoria after that. She leads her fiancé into the gated yard, which is so perfect it hurts. The manor house looks like it belongs in a storybook or on the front of a puzzle box. Victoria has always loved it. This place looks more like home than anywhere that Victoria had stayed growing up, but now, much to her surprise and disappointment, there is no feeling of comfort.
Compared to Matt's apartment, where she has been staying, it seems stifling and fake. The woodworking is built on lies, and the stones are crafted from implausible situations. The path up to the manor is long and winding. Pale flowers grow along the path, and the air smells like winter roses.
“I used to love coming out here,” says Victoria softly. “When I was a little girl, I would play with my nanny out here, and we would pretend the rose bushes were the homes of faeries.”
“You used to look for faeries?”
“When I was little!”
“That's cute,” says Matt. He presses a kiss to the side of her head. Her curls are soft. Her hair reflects the light of the midday sun.
Victoria huffs. “You're not winning me any favors. I still blame you for making me come out here.”
Matt says, “I didn't make you do anything.”
“Of course you didn't,” grouses Victoria. “It's not like this is your idea or anything.”
There's another guard standing outside of the dark wood doors for the manor. This one doesn't even say hello before opening the door, bowing as Victoria and Matt walk inside.
The foyer is a marble room with bright lights and pale pink tinting. There are oil portraits and hand woven tapestries hung up on every wall. It looks like someone built this as a museum rather than a home—a strange thought, and one that's never crossed Victoria's mind before.
Matt whistles. “This place is pretty fancy. I can't imagine a grubby-handed kid running around here.”
“There were no grubby-handed kids in here,” says Victoria lightly, “only ballet slippers and dignity.”
Dignity is something Victoria was raised with. As a princess, she was brought up to listen to orders, never make a fuss, and behave at all costs. Even in the safety of the palace walls or the manor house, there was no guarantee that she was completely protected from prying eyes or loose lips.
As such, Victoria was always on her best behavior. These lessons and rules followed her through the teenage years and well into her early adulthood. Now, as she stands outside of the sitting chambers for the King and Queen of Vertsea, she finds herself falling back on those rules.
The dress she's wearing is modest, but it's far from the formal gowns she's used to wearing. It doesn't resemble the handmade skirts and blouses the Queen wore during her pregnancy, either, of which Victoria has seen many a picture. It makes her feel less, for she knows the grandeur that lays behind this door.
It makes her feel less, too, when she looks over at Matt. At Victoria's request, the usual t-shirt and jeans have been replaced with a pair of ill-fitting slacks and a simple black, button-up shirt. His hair has been brushed out but still looks messy, much like her own hair, which has been pulled back into a ponytail.
Matt wraps an arm around Victoria's waist. He asks, “Are you ready for this?”
Victoria gives a tittering, nervous laugh. “Do I have a choice?”
“Always,” says Matt. “Always.”
Chapter 42
Victoria does have a choice.
She could leave. She could go home and never come back.
She could go back to the States with Matt and just ignore the rest of the world.
But she doesn't.
This means a lot to Matt. Deep down, it means a lot to Victoria, too. Her parents are never going to just give her a hand; they are never going to accept this.
But she opens up the door anyway and says, in as firm a voice as she can, “Mother, Father, I've come to speak with you.”
The Queen looks up, startled. Her kni
tting needles clack together. She's working on a blanket, pale pink and blue.
The King looks far less surprised. “Victoria! What are you doing here?”
“I've come to speak with you,” says Victoria. “I've come to tell you things are changing. That they already have changed.”