by Geneva Lee
I repeated them to fill a lifetime. One final night of affirmation.
Alexander didn’t release me as he collapsed onto the bed, instead he entwined his limbs with mine until there was no beginning and no end to us. We lay in silence until I felt him swell inside me, and then we began to move again.
“I will never have my fill of you. I crave you, Clara. I crave your body, your taste. Without you…” he trailed away, his eyes flashing with pain. “I…I…”
And then he was pumping into me again, fulfilling me the only way he knew how, and I clung to him.
One final night of words unspoken.

I slipped silently from the bed, untangling myself from Alexander’s sleeping form when the alarm clock on the bedside table read six a.m. He’d only fallen asleep a few hours ago. He’d fucked me with his mouth and cock until I was near collapse, as if he knew the moment he withdrew from me I would vanish.
We’d spent yesterday in bed, only leaving to feed ourselves before returning back to each other’s bodies. But even as we laughed and lived and touched one another, I forced myself to make a thousand silent goodbyes.
Goodbye to that dirty, sexy mouth that curved so effortlessly into a smirk. Goodbye to that tangle of silky, black hair. Goodbye to his protective streak. Goodbye to the moment of deliberate hesitation before he filled me.
Goodbye to the man I loved.
I dressed quickly and found a pad of paper in the kitchen. In the end, I realized there were no words. I’d said what I needed him to hear. Anything else would just be an excuse, and I couldn’t bear to leave it that way when we both knew the truth. We both saw the wall standing between us, and we both knew we couldn’t tear it down alone.
I left the key on top of the paper. This home had been ours for one perfect, bittersweet day.
Stopping at the door, I closed my eyes and searched for the strength to walk through it.
“This it it?” His voice startled me from my concentration, and I whipped around to face him. He hadn’t bothered to dress and his body was tense, bracing for my response. I saw the torment in his eyes, and I fought the urge to comfort him.
“I’m sorry.” I held my hand up, knowing if he touched me, I couldn’t go through with it.
“Clara.” He looked at me with a sadness that twisted through me, but he didn’t come any closer. “Please.”
I closed my eyes, unable to take the sight of his beautiful face, and shook my head as my fingers closed over the doorknob. “I can’t be your secret.”
Pushing open the door, I staggered into the crisp morning air as he called after me. I ran, but I couldn’t escape the pain. I was in motion even as my world ceased to exist—even as it all collapsed around me.
Chapter One
Portobello Road hummed with early morning activity. Vendors set up cluttered tables as shopkeepers swept their steps. All around me the familiar, cozy neighborhood came to life, waking to a new day. But I was trapped in a nightmare. The world still spun, but I couldn't process the mundane, daily rituals of normal life any more than I could comprehend what had happened. My chest ached with the stabbing pressure of a shattered heart. I'd come here yesterday expecting only one thing: closure. I'd gotten it. At least, I thought I had. But with each step I took away from Alexander, it became harder to breathe. My lungs had turned to lead, unable to inhale the warm summer air. My knees went weak, barely able to support my weight.
I couldn't be Alexander's secret. I refused to be. But cutting him out of my life felt like I was carving out my own heart and leaving it behind me. Life without Alexander seemed an impossibility. Living a lie with him was too dangerous. Shouldn't I choose a clean break now rather than be systematically shattered by secrets and lies and gossip? I'd done what I had to do, but that fact was cold consolation.
And beyond that, I'd abandoned him. What he’d offered me wasn't a life—not a real one. Could he even see that? All it proved to me was that he felt as deeply for me as I did for him. Instead of showing him I loved him, I'd left. How could I do anything else when he denied me even the reassurance of words? He was expected to marry politically. He was expected to rule this country.
Neither of us had expected to fall in love.
Now we'd destroyed each other.
The realization crashed into me, and I stumbled, falling against an old brick storefront. How would I survive Alexander?
The numb ache that permeated my body shifted to powerful grief. The rawness in my throat burst into a torrent of angry tears that rolled uncontrollably down my face. I didn't bother to wipe them away even as the evidence of sadness pooled on my lashes and blurred my vision.
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
I had dared to love him despite the risk. He'd warned me. I had warned myself. I hadn't gone to his bed blindly, but I hadn't expected more than a fling. I'd been reckless, and the price had been my heart.
I had given him my body, and he had taken my soul.
And then he was there, standing before me with the same pain shining from his beautiful blue eyes. Every inch of me longed to go to him, to ease away the ache I felt in his arms. I sensed that he needed to be comforted, and I knew I was the only person who could give him peace. I held back even as my tears fell freely.
"Clara, you can't leave. Come back with me," he commanded, but uncertainty colored the demand, the question lurking in it foreign to his perfect lips. Alexander was not a tentative man. He took what he wanted without argument. Partially because he was the Crown Prince of England, but partially because he exuded a raw, almost primal, authority. He was not a man to be questioned, and he wasn't a man to question. But now he was standing before me doing the one thing I couldn't have imagined.
I blinked against the sea of tears obstructing my vision and drank him in. My breath hitched in my throat at the intensity blazing in his eyes, blue as the tip of a flame. His nearly black hair was still tousled from my fingers clutching it as he’d fucked me relentlessly hours before. Had his chiseled, full lips been on mine so recently? It felt like an eternity since I'd felt their soft, but firm touch—since they'd slipped between my legs and left kisses that promised so much more pleasure. But what had stolen my breath wasn't his godlike face or the edge of vulnerability hidden in his command.
He stood in sandals and worn jeans that hung low on his hips, but in his haste to reach me, he hadn't bothered to find a shirt. The body he had kept from me for so long—the body that I found indescribably beautiful—was on full display, including the ugly scars of his past. He had hidden out of shame until I'd pushed him to reveal himself to me in a night that had taken us both over the edge. Now he was here, demanding more from me. Despite his tone, I knew the truth. He was as unguarded as I was, bleeding out before me as he risked everything to bring me back.
I loved him even more for it. That didn't change anything. I couldn't allow it to.
"I can't, Alexander." My words were hollow, as dull on my lips as an empty promise. Each time I refused him, I broke more, my heart shattering into millions of fragments with each denial, and I couldn't imagine that it would ever heal again.
"I don't accept that." He moved toward me so quickly that my head spun. With him even closer, it became harder to think as my body betrayed me, drawn to his mere presence before I could fight my baser instincts. His arms circled tightly around my waist as he pulled me roughly against him. My nipples beaded under my shirt as they brushed against his bare chest, and my sex pulsed, still filled with him. My body submitted without a word, desperate for him to take me. Alexander was my drug, and I was powerless to deny myself. I craved him—his tireless tongue, his thick cock and more than anything the liberation of being under his control. "You're mine, Clara. You can't fight that. You belong to me."
Even as he laid his claim, and even as my thighs clenched at the knowledge of what it meant to be Alexander's, I couldn't ignore the truth. "But you don't belong to me."
"Like hell, I don't," he growled
. "You have me by the balls, Clara. All I can think about is being inside of you. It's taking every ounce of restraint that I have not to put you over my shoulder, carry you home, and fuck you until you're too sore to walk away. Fuck you until you understand that I won't let you go—not without a fight."
I shook my head, wrenching away from him. My sadness turning to white-hot rage. "Tell me that I won't be your secret. Tell me that I'm more than a good fuck, Alexander. Tell me that no matter what happens—no matter what your father thinks or what your birthright demands—that you belong to me."
Alexander shoved a hand roughly through his hair, tension rippling across his tensed jaw. "It's more complicated than that."
"It's as simple as that," I spat back, crossing my arms protectively against my chest as though to erect a barrier between us. Still I struggled to keep my body under my own command. "It's only as complicated as you make it."
"I told you the Royals were fucked up," he said, the words spoken with distaste. "And I'm the most fucked up of all."
"Choose to be your own man." My words were harsh, but I couldn't quite hide the plea in my voice. "Can't you see that you have a choice?"
He laughed, but there was no trace of amusement on his face. "Can't you see that I don't?"
I steeled myself, knowing what he needed to hear—what he needed to face—and knowing that saying those words again would hurt worse than before, especially while my wounded heart was still raw. "I love you, Alexander."
The fire in his eyes cooled and he stepped back. I'd expected the reaction, but it stung all the same. It was a lot to ask him to say it. Hell, it was a lot to ask him to return my love. I knew he did, I felt it with as much certainty as my own feelings. Watching him recoil was enough to show me that would never be enough though.
"I can't, Clara," he said. His tone wasn't sad, it was cold.
My lips trembled as sadness pricked my eyes. "You won't."
He regarded me for a long moment, a muscle twitching in his neck before he opened his mouth. "I won't."
"Then I can't come back with you." I didn't fight the fresh tears as they came. We'd both acknowledged the truth. Now there was no choice but to move on.
The thought left me numb, frozen to the spot, as though I'd been cursed. When Alexander wrapped an arm around my waist and drew me slowly to him, I didn't resist. I couldn't find it in me. The pain gave way to an emptiness that echoed inside me. It felt like that abyss would stretch across the hours into the days into the months into the years and fill my life with oblivion. I scarcely registered it as Alexander brushed a strand of loose hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear.
"Impossible to control," he murmured, and this time there was sadness in his words.
"Stop trying," I whispered.
A faint grin tugged at his lips, but it was gone in an instant. "I already miss you."
My eyes squeezed shut, the hot tears leaking through. There was no point in pretending this was okay. It was not going to be okay. My life wasn't a fairytale, and there was no happily ever after. I knew that even as his mouth captured mine.
Our mouths crushed together, betraying the urgency coursing through each of us. There was so much that would never be said, and I opened my mouth to his, allowing his tongue to take mine—allowing him to dominate me one more time. His kiss burned through my blood until I was on fire. Passion mixed with fear, and even as I clung to him the flames of desire slowly engulfed me as though I'd found myself ignited on a pyre. Gasping against him, I clutched his shoulders, my fingernails digging into his hard flesh, terrified to let go. Terrified of what waited for me on the other side of that kiss. But he didn't release me, even as our lips broke free, and we struggled for air.
We understood what would happen if we let go.
Alexander brushed a kiss across my forehead and I closed my eyes, searching for one last burst of strength to see this through. It was there, and the sad thing was, it was there because of him. Him. Us. I'd found that strength in what we shared. He'd given it to me.
He gave me the strength to pull away.
His head dropped as I stepped back and when he finally lifted it again, he only said two words.
"Goodbye, Clara."
Alexander raised his hand in the air and a second later a sleek Rolls-Royce pulled to the curb beside us. He opened the door and gestured for me to get in. I didn't question him. The fight was gone from me, the strength ebbing away.
I slid into the backseat without a word. He gave a quiet smile, so different than the cocky grin I'd fallen in love with, and shut the door.
Norris didn't speak. He understood without instructions what was expected of him, and as he pulled away, Alexander turned in the direction of the house that could have been ours. There was no hesitation. He strode toward it as though there was no other choice. He'd made it clear there was none. So I wept for my broken heart and my broken man as he walked back toward a future that we would never share—as he walked back out of my life.
The door clicked shut softly behind me. Morning light streamed through the slit where the curtains met, but I was going back to bed. The thought of facing today was too much. I needed to be unconscious, but even sleep wouldn't be an escape. Alexander would follow me into my dreams.
Something stirred on the sofa as I passed it, and a sleepy Belle sat up, rubbing her eyes. Judging from her tousled hair and yoga pants, she'd fallen asleep waiting for me to come home. She opened her mouth but shut it again when she saw my face. I didn't need a mirror to know that my eyes were rimmed with red and my nose was running.
"You went to see him." It wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact. There was no judgment in her voice. She'd made her fair share of mistakes in her love life as well, which was probably why she sprung into action without another word. Within seconds, a blanket, still warm from her body, was wrapped around my shoulders.
I sat, numb from shock, as she wrenched open and slammed kitchen cupboards. She found the coffee, took one look, and threw the bag back onto the shelf. "Screw that. We need something stronger."
It wasn't even nine o'clock in the morning, but I didn't argue with her. I didn't have the strength. She poured a glass of white wine and held it out to me. I took it and sipped absently.
I could sense Belle's barely contained curiosity. She wanted to know what happened, and if I knew my best friend, she was doing a lot to contain the questions that must be bursting out of her. That was why she was my best friend. Anyone else, my mother included, wouldn't have been able to control themselves. Belle understood what I needed: time.
Time to process what had happened. Time to get used to the idea that Alexander was no longer a part of my life—that he would never be a part of my life. Right now...right now, that seemed impossible. Right now I couldn't fathom how the world was still spinning.
Belle led me into the bathroom and began to fill the tub. I didn't protest. I kept watching until she pried my wine glass from my fingers. It slipped from my hand and a sob wrenched through me. What else would be taken from me? It was an irrational thought and I didn't care. Nothing made sense anymore. Why fight it? My life—the life that only a few weeks ago felt like it was just beginning—was over. Tomorrow I would have to start over. Tomorrow I'd have to face a reality without Alexander.
"Today, you cry," Belle said softly, as though she had read my mind.
Today I will cry, I agreed silently. I would slip into the warm bath she had run and let my tears fall into the water until I was raw and new—until I had washed away the pain. But even as I lowered myself into the tub, I knew I'd never purge Alexander from my memory. He was in my blood. His touch was branded into my skin. I belonged to him even if I could never belong with him.
"Tomorrow will be easier." Belle perched on the side of the tub. She didn't pressure me to talk to her. Instead, we sat there in silence.
Belle was wrong about tomorrow. It would never be easier. I'd had my heart broken before, but not like this. Losing Alexander
had fractured something deep inside of me—he'd broken my soul and spirit. I had never given myself to anyone like I had given myself to him. I never would again. It wasn't possible. Love as beautiful and brutal as ours didn't come twice in a lifetime. A human might be able to survive its loss once, but our survival instinct would never allow us to be that vulnerable again.
"I'm here when you're ready to talk." Belle slipped from the room, but she would be right around the corner. I had no doubt that she'd give me the space I needed to cope while sticking as close to me as possible.
For now, I was alone, and I released my grief fully, allowing myself to truly feel it. It ripped through me, splintering and shattering my heart until there was nothing left. All that remained was a hollow ache that sat in my chest and made it hard to breathe. Even at that moment, I wouldn't have changed anything. The only thing more impossible than imagining life without Alexander was imagining that he'd never been a part of my life at all. I would live on memories. I would subsist on remembrance because before he came into my life I was starving and hadn’t known it. I'd made the right decision. Any longer and I might not have lived through it when he inevitably left me. Today wasn't about what my heart wanted; it was about survival. I'd had him for a fleeting moment. Our time together had been too short, but I knew it had to be enough.
Chapter Two
I breezed past the man holding the door for me with a genuine thank you, moving quickly when I realized he wanted to chat with me. He didn't look like a reporter, but I'd learned the hard way to distrust any seemingly random interest shown by strangers. Besides that, there was no time this morning. Belle, my well-meaning but nosy best friend, had delayed me twenty minutes at the flat we shared. Now I had less than half an hour to prep for a meeting with one of our most important clients.
Peters & Clarkwell was still relatively quiet this early on a Tuesday morning, but that wouldn't last for long. Ever since we'd officially landed the Isaac Blue campaign, the atmosphere in the office had shifted from relaxed to insanely hectic—and I loved it. Whereas many of my co-workers hated the new work pace, I thrived on it. The workload distracted me from my mess of a personal life and left me little time to think about Alexander. For two and a half months, I'd practically lived here, the first one in and the last one home. I didn't stop working until my eyes refused to stay open, making my dreams the only time Alexander invaded my thoughts. I couldn't stop him from finding me there.