by Nell Stark
“I love you.”
He remained motionless for several seconds before patting her awkwardly on the back. She wondered what he was thinking—whether he, too, wished she could have taken Arthur’s place. Gathering herself, she stepped back.
“He’s going to be all right.”
“Yes.” He nodded once.
“What more do you know? Anything?” As she asked the question, Ashleigh stepped up beside her and linked their arms together.
“No. But hopefully these tests will be able to give us a much clearer sense of his…prognosis.”
“Have they let you see him?”
He shook his head.
“And Lizzie? She’s on her way?”
He glanced at his watch. “She should be here within the hour.”
“Very well.” She surveyed the room, taking it in for the first time. Two chairs and a sofa were arranged around a small glass table. Two vending machines hummed quietly in the far corner. The place positively reeked of fear, and she had to swallow hard before she trusted her voice again.
“I’m going to try the hot chocolate that machine is advertising. Would either of you like something to eat or drink?”
“No, thank you.” Her father turned back to his contemplation of the window.
“I’ll come with you,” Ashleigh said, still clutching her arm.
Sasha got them each a cocoa and they sat on the sofa, sipping the watery drinks, knees touching. They didn’t speak. She thought of Arthur, somewhere nearby, lying still and unresponsive as the doctors hovered over him. The image made her shiver, and she mentally reached out for a memory of Kerry. The broad smile that was the hallmark of her enthusiasm, the cadence of her rich alto voice as she read aloud, the fierce tenderness in her eyes as she touched Sasha with possessive reverence.
Miraculously, Sasha felt her anxiety ease a little. Thinking to send Kerry a text, she removed her phone from her purse. But as she looked down at the blinking cursor, she couldn’t think of the right thing to say. Before Ashleigh’s call, they had been poised at a pivotal moment. Kerry wanted their relationship to be open—at least, eventually. While she certainly wouldn’t be pushing for that now given Arthur’s accident, her desire wouldn’t simply fade away, never to return. If Sasha had no intention of ever granting Kerry’s request, she had no right to lead her on now. It all came down to the fundamental question. Was she willing to come out?
“Do I dare disturb the universe?” she murmured, thinking of how Kerry’s face had lit up while she was explaining the significance of the poem.
“What was that?” asked Ashleigh.
The door opened and a doctor, dressed in a white lab coat over pale green scrubs, entered. Sasha jumped to her feet, Ashleigh one beat behind her. Her father turned, hope and fear warring plainly on his face.
“Your Majesty.” The doctor inclined his head, then turned to Sasha. “Your Royal Highness. Ms. Dunning. My name is Philip Herren, and I am the neurologist in charge of Prince Arthur’s case. The prince is currently in critical, but stable, condition.” He gestured to the chairs. “If you would be so kind as to sit, I will explain some of the details.”
Sasha sank back into her chair. Critical, but stable. The phrase raced through her brain like a dog chasing its tail, going nowhere. Ashleigh found her hand and clutched it tightly.
“By all accounts, Prince Arthur endured a serious blow to the head. He also suffered several contusions and a broken right wrist, which we have already set. In cases such as his, the primary danger is swelling of the brain, which can lead to permanent damage. We’ve inserted an intraventricular catheter into his brain in order to monitor the pressure. If necessary, we’ll remove a small section of his skull to accommodate any brain swelling.”
Silence fell. Her father looked as though he wanted to speak, but couldn’t. Ashleigh looked as though she might burst into tears.
“What are his chances of waking up without any lasting damage?” A tiny part of Sasha felt absurdly proud that her voice remained steady.
“He is young, healthy, and strong,” Dr. Herren said. “He has a very good chance, provided we can keep the swelling under control. Even in the best-case scenario, however, it may be days or weeks before he wakes. These next twenty-four hours will be especially critical. We’ll know more tomorrow.”
“May we see him tonight?” Ashleigh asked.
“Briefly, yes. I can take you to him now, if you wish.”
Sasha rose quickly, but her father held up one hand. “Doctor, before we go, is there anything…” He paused, wrestling with a surge of emotion. “Is there anything you require that you don’t currently have? Anything at all…”
Dr. Herren’s fingers twitched, and for a moment it looked as though his innate compassion might compel him to touch the King. But then, remembering himself, he slipped his hands into his pockets.
“Your Majesty, right now I have full confidence that this is the best facility in the world for Prince Arthur’s present needs. If I ever believe otherwise, you will be the first to know.”
“Thank you.” The King cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Take us to him, please.”
As they left the room, Sasha slipped her left hand into her father’s right. When she squeezed tightly, he returned the pressure. Chin raised high, she prepared herself for what she was about to see. No matter what, she would remain strong. For Arthur.
*
It was nearly four o’clock in the morning by the time she left the hospital, and then only because her father insisted they all return home to get some rest. Arthur’s condition hadn’t changed in the intervening hours. Thankfully, Lizzie had arrived just in time to spend a few minutes with him before Dr. Herren had cited the risk of infection and shepherded them back to the private waiting room.
Sasha wrapped her arm around Lizzie’s waist as they walked through the nearly deserted corridors behind Ian. Like her, Lizzie had a suite of rooms in Clarence House, and they would take a car back together. She didn’t speak. There was nothing to say. When Lizzie stumbled once, Sasha pulled her even closer. She was exhausted. They all were. And they hadn’t even made it through the first twenty-four hours yet.
Ian spoke quietly into his wrist mic and then turned toward them. “There is still a substantial crowd outside the hospital. You’ll be given a police escort to the car.”
“Thank you.” Sasha turned to Lizzie and tucked a loose strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Are you ready?”
When Lizzie nodded, Ian led them around the corner. Waiting in front of the double doors stood a group of policemen. As they closed ranks around the two of them, Sasha caught sight of the crowd. It had tripled since her arrival. At least.
“My God,” Lizzie breathed. “Look at them all.”
“The princesses!” someone called as they walked out into the night. The cry was taken up and spread throughout the people, followed by a cheer that resolved into their brother’s name, chanted over and over and over.
Sasha felt the tears running down her cheeks, but for once she didn’t care what she looked like to the waiting cameras.
“Thank you,” she said, as they made their way slowly through the masses. And louder, “thank you.” She glimpsed men and women and even some children, many still drenched from the earlier downpour. Her people. Gathered here for her brother. She reached out one hand and felt their fingers against hers—slender fingers, callused fingers, tiny fingers. Her people.
And then, as the crowd began to thin, she saw Kerry. She stood near the edge of the throng, wearing a raincoat that matched the color of her eyes. Those eyes were brimming with tears, and one had even escaped to trickle down the gentle slope of her cheek. Sasha wanted to chase its path with one finger and then brush it away.
“Kerry,” Sasha whispered.
She hadn’t gone back to Oxford. She had come to the hospital. To keep the vigil for Arthur. To be close. As their eyes met, Kerry kissed the tips of her fingers and raised her hand.
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“Sasha?” Having felt her trail behind, Lizzie was looking at her in confusion.
She hurried forward, then glanced once over her shoulder. Kerry had been swallowed by the crowd, but she could still feel the pull of her gaze and the memory of their last, tender kiss.
Chapter Seventeen
Kerry rose from the kneeler, crossed herself, and turned into the side aisle. As she had entered the chapel at Magdalen College, she’d felt a little silly. Now, after lighting a candle and offering up a prayer for Arthur, that feeling had dissipated. She might not know exactly what she believed in anymore, but she believed in something. Some power, some force, some being—something benevolent and creative and compassionate. In her prayer, she had asked for healing for Arthur, guidance for his doctors, and comfort for his family. Especially Sasha.
She had received only one message from Sasha—a text, shortly after they had seen each other at the hospital. Thank you, was all it said. Kerry had replied, Please let me help. Whatever I can do. Anything. But she had heard nothing back.
Nearly three days had passed since Arthur’s accident, and the prince’s condition had cast a pall not only over all of the United Kingdom, but also the world. But as most of the global community rallied behind the royal family, some media outlets used the tragedy as a way to stir up drama. When the monarchy announced late Sunday morning that it had been necessary for Arthur’s physicians to drain some cerebrospinal fluid in order to relieve the pressure on his brain, several of the more sensationalist reporters had questioned what would happen if Arthur died of his injuries, pronouncing Sasha a “brainless socialite” who was unfit to rule. Just thinking about their ignorant criticisms set her teeth on edge. She wanted to protect Sasha from every last word, and she couldn’t.
“Being with me would just make it worse,” she murmured as she stepped out into the dark. The rain, which had lasted on and off for days, had finally given way to a clear, wintry night. Shivering, she jammed her hands into her pockets and began to walk quickly up the hill.
And then her phone vibrated.
Heart suddenly racing, she fumbled to pull the phone out of her pocket, reminding herself all the while that it was probably Harris checking in on her.
But it wasn’t.
I’m nearly at Oxford. I need to see you. I’ve booked a room at the Old Bank. They’re expecting you. As Kerry looked down at Sasha’s message, utterly incredulous, another came in. Please.
She didn’t think. She ran. The Old Bank Hotel was on High Street in the center of town. She could be there in less than ten minutes. As she ran, thoughts flooded her head. Ultimately, they all boiled down to two: Why was Sasha here? Had something worse happened to Arthur?
A few blocks away, she slowed to a walk. It wouldn’t do to enter one of the finest Oxford hotels at a dead sprint. By the time she reached the revolving doors, her breathing had evened out. As she moved toward the desk, she flipped open her wallet and held out her identification.
“Ms. Donovan,” the clerk said smoothly. “Of course.” He handed her a keycard. “Room six nineteen.”
Too impatient to wait for the elevator, Kerry took the stairs two at a time. The suite was empty. She turned on the lamp near the bed and then moved to each window, lowering and closing the blinds of each in turn. And then she sat on the bed, eyes trained on the door, beyond all coherent thought. Only moments later, the door opened and Sasha slipped inside, closing it quickly behind her. Her face was unhealthily pale, and the skin beneath her eyes was dark with fatigue, but she was still the most beautiful woman Kerry had ever seen.
“Sasha?” Two syllables contained the thousand questions Kerry couldn’t seem to articulate.
“Thank you.” Her gaze dropped to the floor. “For being here. I just—”
“Sasha.” Once Kerry had her attention again, she managed a lopsided smile. “Please come here and let me hold you while we talk.”
Looking as though she might cry, Sasha walked forcefully across the room and into Kerry’s arms. Kerry let the momentum draw her down to the bed and rolled them over until they lay side-by-side. A tremble in her hand betrayed her emotion as she reached out to touch Sasha’s face.
“How is he?”
Sasha’s sigh caressed her wrist. “No change.”
“And you?”
“I’m holding up.” She edged closer, sliding one foot between both of Kerry’s. “Thank you for being at the hospital, that first night.”
“I missed you so much.” Gently, she traced her fingers along Sasha’s jawline. “I wanted to show my respect for your brother, but mostly, I wanted to be close to you.”
When Sasha reached for her hand and drew it over her waist to rest in the small of her back, Kerry moved forward until their bodies were touching.
“It should have been me.”
Sasha’s voice was muffled against Kerry’s shirt, but the words were clear enough to break her heart. She kissed the top of Sasha’s head. “It was an accident, sweetheart. It shouldn’t have been anyone.”
“But if it had to be someone, it should have been me!” She pulled back slightly, eyes feverish and sparkling. “Arthur is so good. So smart and selfless and kind and generous. The world needs him.”
“Yes, it does. But the world also needs you. Think of the charities you sponsor. Of all the children’s lives you’ve changed and the people you’ve inspired.” Kerry cupped Sasha’s face, desperate for her to understand just how precious she was. “Please don’t talk this way. I need you. I love you.”
And then she froze. Before the confession had slipped her lips, she hadn’t fully realized just how deep her feelings for Sasha ran. But it was the truth. She could feel it in every cell of her body, just as she’d felt that visceral connection to her native Ireland.
“I love you,” she whispered as Sasha blinked in surprise. “I do. And right now, I don’t want you to say or do anything. I just want you to let me hold you. Please.”
After a moment, Sasha nodded. Closing her eyes, she burrowed closer. Kerry breathed in the scent of lilacs and gently rubbed the small of Sasha’s back, stroking her hair with her other hand.
“What if everyone’s right?” Sasha murmured, the words almost too soft for Kerry to catch.
“About what?”
“That I’m unfit to rule. If I have to.”
Kerry’s arms tightened around her. “Not everyone is saying that. And the ones who are, are wrong. You would make a wonderful queen.”
Sasha pulled back just enough for their eyes to meet. “A dyslexic, lesbian queen.”
Kerry tamped down her surprise at the way Sasha had identified herself. “Your dyslexia doesn’t define you. Neither does your sexuality. You would be a warm, compassionate, empathetic queen. And if you ever did decide to champion issues like gay rights or learning disabilities, well, just think of how powerful a spokesperson you would be.”
Sasha made no reply. Instead, she closed her eyes and returned her head to Kerry’s shoulder. Not wanting to push, Kerry resumed her rhythmic strokes, wanting only to make Sasha feel comforted and secure. After a long time, Sasha’s body grew heavy and her breathing deepened. Only then did Kerry let herself drift into a light doze. Every time Sasha stirred or murmured in the thrall of some dream, she was there to coax her back into sleep with a soothing touch.
It was just past five in the morning when Sasha suddenly sat up, wide awake and clearly in search of something. She relaxed when she saw the time. Kerry, who had struggled into a sitting position next to her, tucked a loose strand of hair behind Sasha’s ear.
“Time to go?”
“Yes, I should get back. I’d like to be at the hospital when the morning shift begins.” Sasha lightly stroked Kerry’s thigh and pressed a kiss to one corner of her mouth. “How do I begin to thank you?”
“You don’t have to.” Kerry slid off the bed and extended her hand. “I’m so glad you came here last night.”
“Even though I’m not giving you what you wa
nt?”
The question puzzled Kerry until she realized Sasha was alluding to their conversation back in London, on the night of Arthur’s accident. Her heart clenched at the realization that Sasha had been preoccupied with such a thing on top of all the fallout from her brother’s condition. She took hold of Sasha’s shoulders.
“I don’t want you to think about that,” she said. “Promise me you won’t. I just want you to take care of yourself, and to let me help whenever you’d like. I can come to you next time. Any time.”
Sasha actually smiled. She reached for Kerry’s hand and tugged. “Will you walk me to the car?”
“Gladly.” Kerry opened the door a crack, then more widely to scan the hall in both directions. The only other person in the corridor was Ian, who rose from an armchair near the bank of elevators as they emerged. The ride downstairs was brief, and the lobby was deserted save for one man behind the desk. The large bay windows revealed a predawn world bathed in ethereal gray tones.
“I know you could easily go home,” Sasha murmured as they moved across the room, “but I want you to crawl back into that bed. I’d like to think about you sleeping there, on my way back to London.”
“I can do that.” When she halted just before the revolving door, Sasha looked over in confusion. “I’ll stay inside, just to be safe.”
At first it seemed as though Sasha might protest, but then she evidently thought the better of it. “Very well.” She glanced over toward the front desk, and Kerry followed her gaze. The employee on duty was staring down intently—probably at his phone—and quite suddenly, Kerry found herself in Sasha’s embrace. Twining her arms around Kerry’s neck, she merged their mouths in a kiss that was at once soothing and passionate. Giving herself up to it—to them—Kerry groaned softly as the tide of emotion washed over her.