by Geneva Lee
“Of course, I won’t, I promise.” It was the least I could do. “It’s my fault he’s here. I wanted the games.” It slipped from my mouth thoughtlessly, but Rachel grabbed my hand, shaking her head vehemently.
“Don’t think that. He would’ve been racing somewhere. It’s in his blood.”
“I imagine he does take after his father. Todd was always a daredevil,” Henry said. He looked over her shoulder to answer my questioning look.
“We served together when we were younger,” Henry explained. So, like most Royals, Henry had been a member of the armed forces. “I’ve been telling Anders stories about what his dad was like before he was born.”
“Before he died,” Rachel added quietly. My heart broke all over for her. I hoped she was right and the accident wasn’t that bad. The problem was I had seen it, and it did look that bad. I would do everything in my power to make certain Anders walked out of here.
Then I would try to knock some sense into him. He had no business racing if he was the only family his mother had left. Why hadn’t Henry told me this? I’d been too preoccupied with Alexander’s misplaced jealousy to learn about Anders’ past. I made a mental note to ask Henry for details later.
A doctor walked into the room, pulling a mask from his face. He looked tired, worn down by years of delivering bad news. Instantly everyone was on their feet, crowding him.
“Just a moment. Where’s his mother? Rachel?”
She took a tentative step forward, a path clearing between her and the doctor.
He smiled reassuringly, and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. “It’s not too bad. A broken arm and a couple broken ribs. Nothing we haven’t seen before with him,” he said with a smile.
Rachel flung her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Dr. Wilson.”
All around us everyone cheered. They might’ve been through this before, but I imagined it was always a relief to get good news. I wondered for a dark moment what it would be like to get bad news. How many more times would Anders’ mother wait for Dr. Wilson to deliver it?
“He’s resting comfortably. I want to limit visitors for now. But he’s asking to see you.”
He dropped an arm around her shoulder and leaned in to whisper something. Rachel started and then turned to look directly at me. She said something to Dr. Wilson, and he nodded. I chewed on my lower lip, suddenly wishing I hadn’t come here. A nurse took Rachel through a set of double doors and she disappeared down a long corridor. Dr. Wilson rounded and scanned the room. When his eyes landed on me, he did a double take.
He came over and spoke in a low voice, “Anders asked to see Clara. His mother assumes he means, um, you.”
My head tilted, trying to puzzle out why I would be the person he wanted to see right now. “He’s probably worried about the games, but he shouldn’t be. We can talk later. Maybe he wants to talk to his team?”
“He was quite adamant he needed to speak with Clara. Is there a Clara on his team?” Dr. Wilson asked with the delicacy of a doctor delivering bad news.
“No.” My mouth felt like I’d swallowed a handful of cotton balls.
“Then would you speak to him?”
I couldn’t speak past my dry tongue so I tipped my head in quick agreement, hoping no one had seen this exchange.
“This way.” He led me through the double doors to a recovery room.
I froze at the door, my eyes falling on Anders and his mom talking. She was hovering over him, brushing hair from his eyes and shaking her head as she spoke. Anders replied and she pulled back sharply.
“Your Majesty?” Dr. Wilson prompted, his hand on the door handle.
“I’ll wait,” I choked out. I had no business here, no matter what he’d asked. This was a private family moment. Any business I had with Anders could wait. I was about to ask Dr. Wilson to relay this message when Rachel came bursting out the door.
She halted in her tracks and gave me a long, appraising look.
“He wants to talk to you,” she said flatly. She didn’t wait for a response.
“I’ll give you two some privacy,” the doctor said before disappearing after her.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself to see him. But the sight that greeted me wasn’t that bad. There were bandages and a few cuts, but Anders was sitting up and alert. His face lit up when I entered the room, but when he tried to lean forward to beckon me in, he winced. His hand went to his torso, his face twisting in pain.
“Are you okay?” I rushed to his side, my eyes checking the monitors for signs of distress.
“I’m fine.” He waved off my concern. “Broken rib or two.”
“That doesn’t sound fine.” Guilt washed over me. Those broken ribs were my fault.
“I’ve had worse. Trust me.”
“That accident. I can’t believe that you’re…”
“Alive?” A smirk carved over his face. “It takes more than bad luck to kill a Stone.”
“Was that what it was?” I asked quietly.
A muscle twitched in his jaw before he finally shook his head. “No. It wasn’t bad luck. I was distracted. This is my fault.”
“No, it isn’t,” I said fiercely. I’d been right. His fight with Alexander, the last few days of tension were to blame. “Whatever was on your mind—”
“You,” he cut me off. “You were on my mind.”
“I know that Alexander showing up made things...” I struggled for the right words, trying to ignore the implications of his. He couldn’t mean that.
“It wasn’t him I was thinking about. It was you,” he repeated. “I know so many things are cocked up right now, and this is the worst timing, but I can’t pretend—”
“Don’t,” I stopped him. “Anders, you’re confused.”
“I may have a concussion,” he said, pausing for a second to ruffle his hair. “Actually, I do have a concussion, but that isn’t the point. I’m thinking clearly, Clara. I have been since the moment I met you and you’re the only thing that’s been on my mind. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve fallen in love with you.”
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. There was no way to defuse this situation. Someone was going to get hurt. Anders was going to get hurt and I was going to lose a friend.
“I know you’re married,” he said quickly, “and it may seem like it couldn’t work, but—”
“It doesn’t seem,” I interrupted him before this got any worse, “It won’t. You and I are friends. I care about you, but I love Alexander. I am in love with Alexander.”
“You think you love him, but you’re scared of him.” His heart rate monitor jumped up. “He’s not good for you.”
I wanted to tell him he was wrong, but the problem was that in some ways he was right. I did love Alexander, but I didn’t know if he was good for me anymore. All I could do was admit the truth. “He has always scared me,” I said in a quiet voice. Anders went rigid and I went on before he got the wrong idea, “Loving him has always scared me. He’s from a different world than we are. It’s like loving the sun—dangerous, unknown—but impossible to deny.”
“And likely to burn you,” he muttered.
“I belong with him,” I said. It was a simple fact. I wasn’t certain of much anymore, but that was still true.
“He acts like you belong to him.” Anders usually bright eyes darkened with hatred.
“And he belongs to me,” I said wearily. “I need you to accept this. I am—and will always be—Alexander’s.”
“So you’ll stay with him and let him push you around?” he asked harshly.
“I’ll stay but you overestimate him. I make my own choices. I hope you can understand that.”
Anders didn’t say anything and after a few more moments of awkward silence I left him to his thoughts, wondering how we’d ever get past this.
Alexander had been right. I’d refused to see Anders’ feelings for what they were. Now I’d hurt them both. I made my way back to the waiting room.
I needed to talk to Henry. I needed to leave and sort out this mess. I needed to figure out where to start.
But when I got back, Rachel Stone intercepted me.
“Can I have a word with you?” she asked me.
Henry hesitated, his hand lightly touching my elbow. “Perhaps, it would be better if…”
“It will only be a moment.”
“It’s okay,” I reassured him. Rachel stepped away and I followed her, my pulse ratcheting up.
“Is Anders okay?” I asked as soon as we were out of earshot. “If there is anything I can do…”
“There is. You can leave Silverstone.” Her voice was cold. She was no longer a trembling, anxious mother but a lioness. She didn’t fear me or my title. I didn’t mind that, but what I couldn’t understand is why she wanted me to go.
My brain spun on her words. “I can what?”
“Anders told me that he met someone, but I cannot believe—”
“I think you have the situation confused.” I stopped her, aware we might have stepped to the side but that hardly made our conversation private. “He must have meant someone else.”
“The last time my son was in an accident, he’d been dating a local girl for months. He didn’t even call to tell her he’d been to hospital,” she said harshly. “He’s never asked for anyone but friends or me.”
“I’m his friend.” It was taking a lot of effort to remain calm with her voice so full of accusation. This was hitting too close to home after what Anders had said to me. “Nothing more. I can understand why you’re upset, but—”
“You’re married, which is only one of many good reasons for you to leave before this situation blows up in all of our faces—your husband’s included.”
“That sounds like a threat,” I said coldly.
“A threat. A warning. Call it whatever you want. Just leave.”
I took a deep breath and focused on finding the right words. She had just faced her worst nightmare, it was understandable she was lashing out. That didn’t mean I had to just take it. I could, however, be understanding. “Let me talk to Henry. My family can—”
“Your family has done enough,” she spit out. “We were happy. Anders was happy before you came into our life with Albert’s self-indulgent games.”
I could guess why she’d left the household. Her opinion of my late father-in-law didn’t appear to be very high. “Your son chose to participate.”
“Anders makes his own choices.” She crossed her arms over her chest as if daring me to contradict her.
“So do I,” I said defiantly.
She stopped and studied me for a moment. We stood there, weighing each other. Would either of us win this battle of wills? Probably not. Because we weren’t fighting over what we wanted. I wanted to forget what Anders had told me and move forward. She wanted her son to forget me. But Anders was part of the games now and I doubted that either of us could convince him to quit. We were at an impasse. We were fighting different battles.
“Then make the right one,” she said softly, lifting her fierce demeanor to reveal a vulnerability that made my heart ache. “Leave here before you break his heart.”
Maybe she saw I was tired of being commanded. Maybe she saw I’d never wanted any of this to happen. It wasn’t a demand anymore. It was a plea—mother to mother.
“I’ve seen the papers. Anders has said some things on the phone,” she spoke hesitantly, waiting to see how I reacted. When I didn’t bite her head off, she continued, “Your husband needs you. You should go to him. Go to your family. Leave me mine.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ALEXANDER
Clara wasn’t answering her phone. The only information I’d received since the accident had routed through my people on the ground to my people here. At first I couldn’t bring myself to watch the footage. Car crashes triggered me too severely. One accident had changed my life forever, another had shown me what was important. That was a lesson I’d clearly forgotten, because my brother had nearly died tonight without ever knowing the truth. I didn’t know how to feel about that until I forced myself to watch the footage from Silverstone. Seeing it filled me with a white-hot rage that only Scotch could drown.
I was pouring myself another when Norris entered. He took in the glass without comment as he moved to the chair opposite mine. We sat for a moment, the only sound in the room the comforting crackle of the fire in the hearth. For some reason, despite its heat, I still felt cold.
“I assume you have something to tell me,” I said when I grew tired of the silence, no matter how companionable it was. I swirled the amber liquid in the bottom of the glass, wondering if I would have a third.
“Have you spoken with her?” he asked.
“I’m drinking. What do you think?” I downed the remains of my drink and reached for the bottle.
“Will that help you cope with her absence?” Norris didn’t move to stop me, although he probably should have. It didn’t matter which one of us was the so-called ruler. Only one of us was being responsible at the moment.
“I’m not coping,” I corrected him, continuing to pour. “I’m surviving.”
“You might want to survive on one.”
“This is my third.” There was no point hiding it from him.
He frowned. “Stop at two then. Your wife is on her way home.”
“Why didn’t you lead with that?” I abandoned the Scotch and switched into crisis mode. The last time I saw Clara I’d been drinking. I didn’t want her to come back and find me in the same state. Even though we’d been apart, I had actually been attending meetings and to business.
“I thought I’d give you the opportunity to do the right thing for the right reasons.” He shrugged. Norris hadn’t pretended to approve of my choice when we’d left Silverstone, nor had he been happy to learn I still hadn’t told my wife about my connection to Anderson Stone.
That was about to change.
“How long before she arrives?”
He considered for a moment, as if adding time and distance together. “Another hour or so.”
“Call Edward and ask him to be here in two.” I’d been delaying the inevitable. I couldn’t risk avoiding the truth about Anderson any longer.
Norris’s eyebrow curved into a question mark.
“It’s time.” I didn’t need to say more. I would take an hour with my wife before I told her the truth. One hour to win her back before I risked losing her forever.
* * *
Her knock was tentative, so unlike her that I paused and studied the door that separated us. One slab of wood that stood between me and my whole life—me and my future. But it was more than a physical barrier, it was a choice. Once I opened that door I was committed to this path, and it wasn’t going to be an easy one.
I turned the knob and made my decision.
Clara had turned but she stopped when the door opened, her back still to me. Her dark, glossy hair was piled messily on top of her head, as if she’d been in a hurry. She was wearing a t-shirt and loose, grey pants. As she glanced over her shoulder, her face was pale and tired, but, Christ, was she beautiful. Her full lips trembled as if stuck on what to say. This wasn’t the Queen of England. This was Clara Bishop. For a second, I saw her standing lost in a hallway on the day we met. She was in a club dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, looking irresistible as she said no to me. She was crying as I asked her to marry me. My life flashed before me in glimpses of her. She was the girl I’d fallen in love with despite swearing I’d never do so. She was the girl who’d stumbled into my life and changed everything. She was my beginning, my end, and every breath in between.
“Poppet,” I murmured. I didn’t care where we’d left things. She was here and that was all that mattered. I crossed to her, hesitating only a moment before I caught her hand and pulled her into me. She belonged to me—with me. But somehow that fact felt more fragile than before, as though one wrong word could shatter the bond between us.
She didn’t resis
t but rather crumpled in my arms. Her body shook with silent sobs and I held her. It was torture having her so close, but resisting the urge to kiss her—to carry her away. I buried my face in her hair, breathing in her scent and reminded myself that she wouldn’t walk away. We’d been through worse. We’d lived through it. We’d fought through it. Now it was time to fight again, not with each other, but for each other.
“X, I fucked up.” She pulled back, her confession trembling from her, and my heart stilled. Regret shadowed her grey eyes like storm clouds, and something dark twisted inside me. She belonged to me. She always would no matter what she’d done.
I thought I’d known what I had to lose, but seeing her now, I realized that I’d pushed her away—forced her to defy me and led her to another man. I hadn’t lost her. I’d taken her for granted. Maybe I didn’t deserve her at all.
“I’m s-s-sorry.” She turned into me and clutched my shirt, hiding her tears, but I felt them. I heard them, even as she tried to stifle her anguish. It jolted me to the present. I had taken her for granted, but I could stop. I only had to make the choice.
I hooked my index finger under her chin and directed her face to mine. “You don’t apologize to me.”
“But I—” she began.
“Don’t apologize for my mistakes. What has happened was because of my choices. My mistakes aren’t your burdens. ”
“Everything you are, I am,” she breathed. Despite the tears swimming in her eyes, they were full of fire. We were a marriage of opposites. One gave meaning to the other. “Your mistakes, your sins, your secrets…”
My breath hitched as she spoke. I had secrets—we both knew it. But there was no demand in her words now, only an offer. Or rather, a reminder. The secrets I carried with me were no longer mine. They were ours.
“I know,” I promised her. How could I not? “You are my life. Always.”
“I don’t—” She shook her head, her fingers sinking into my chest as if trying to hang onto me.