by Amelia Wilde
I narrow my eyes at him and the vein in my neck starts to bulge in anger. “She wasn’t a member of the royal family at my brother’s funeral, either,” I say through clenched teeth.
Phillip takes a deep breath. I don’t envy him his job. “No, your highness, she was not, but the protocols for this ceremony are actually written into Saintland law. The event planners adhered strictly to the written edict when they arranged the seating.
“Your father approved it,” he added.
Swallowing my irritation, I give Phillip a curt nod. In my new role, I can’t be having outbursts, no matter how badly something pisses me off. At any rate, Jessica won’t have minded. She understands the way things need to be and realizes there are a lot of pomp and circumstance surrounding royal expectations and rules.
As I make my way through to the Great Hall leading the post-ceremony processional, I can’t stop thinking about it, though. I wanted Jessica to be right there, and she couldn’t be. She’s a square peg in the round hole of Saintland politics, even though she’s managed to navigate most of the things I’ve asked of her with surprising grace.
Marcus had the right idea about giving everything to his duties.
The thought swims around in my mind before I can cut it off at the pass, and I instantly hate myself for thinking it. My brother, I’m sure, never had feelings for a woman in the same way that I do for Jessica.
Especially in bed with Jessica, a place where I haven’t been holding up my end of the bargain.
While I’m self-loathing, a seed of truth plants itself in the back of my mind.
Marcus may not have been happy, but his decisions did make his life as crown prince easier.
Another woman could do that for me.
I spot Jessica waiting in the Great Hall. She’s standing off to the side near a long table brimming with food for the reception, talking with an ambassador from Germany. Even though the terse set of her face tells me something is bothering her, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s the only woman I want to wake up to every morning and go to sleep beside at night for the rest of my life.
Something else occurs to me and stops me in my tracks. Even with her grace, beauty, and poise, she’s simply not in a position to help me steer Saintland in a positive direction.
If she was to become queen, the position would be largely ceremonial and dictated by tradition, but another woman with more political pull could do more than make small talk with ambassadors.
Hot shame pierces my chest. With a start, I realize I’ve been considering her from across the room as if she were just another political asset, and a deficient one at that.
What the fuck am I thinking?
She’s the only woman to ever inspire this kind of connection in me, to ever make my time with another human being so electric and almost unbearably perfect.
How can I possibly reduce her to a political asset?
How can I possibly replace her for that reason?
“Because this is your life now,” the voice in my head rationalizes.
I can’t stop the thoughts, can’t undo it.
This is my life now.
This is what my life is going to be like until I die. I have to put my kingdom first. I have to consider what would be best for Saintland before I consider my own happiness.
Just like Marcus did.
The realities are closing in on me. There is little if any room to improvise, to push back against the status quo, especially if Saintland is going to survive another century.
I shake my head violently, trying to deflect the thoughts racing through my head, but everything I’ve been thinking is true.
How am I going to reconcile my love for Jessica with my duty to Saintland? Ten days ago, it would have been an easy choice, but since my brother died and I’m destined to fill his shoes, it seems infinitely more complicated.
In the meantime, I tell myself, there’s no need to make a scene.
I cross the room, introduce myself to the German ambassador, and put my arm around Jessica’s waist.
“You look wonderful,” I whisper into her ear. She leans into me slightly, just enough for it to serve as a wordless answer without being inappropriate.
But before she does, I feel her body tense. I sense her withdrawing, as if she heard my unspoken doubts.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jessica
Something has changed between Alec and I, and I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is.
He still rushes from his morning meetings to eat lunch with me, still kisses me deeply and passionately before he leaves for his afternoon obligations, and still promises every time I see him that he will be less busy soon and can spend more time with me.
It’s like he could hear me doubting him the other night.
What was I thinking, anyway? That I would be happier with a man who had no future, no ambition? Sure, it would be nice to be with someone who could be spontaneous, able to take off on a last-minute vacation without having to coordinate his plans with the entire State Department, but then that someone wouldn’t be Alec.
I don’t want to give him up.
I’m not willing to give him up.
I’m not going to give him up.
That’s what I keep telling myself. Apprehension curdles in my stomach as I spend hour after hour attending briefings and etiquette classes and outings with Claire.
Not once have I accompanied Alec at an appearance.
But Claire carts me all over the tiny country of Saintland, and I take in historical sights, local eateries, and monuments while the staff photographer from Sainthall Palace and other members of the media snap hundreds of pictures and call out questions to me.
I’m Saintland’s Sweetheart. I only wish I was Alec’s sweetheart and not just flaunted as the country’s sweetheart on the cover of the daily newspaper.
Now that my name has been released to the public, they can’t seem to get enough of me. The tabloids are stuffed with stories about Alec and me falling in love, but none of them are true. I laugh with Claire when she reads the most humorous tidbits to me, but with every moment that passes, I feel more disconnected from Alec. I question whether coming to Saintland to be with him was the right choice, and I’m desperate to have freedom and privacy to do what I want, even to wander around Sainthall without being followed by photographers. Even to uproot everything again and start over somewhere new. Yet it’s becoming clear to me now that each time I’ve picked up and moved on, I’ve been running from something—Michael, boredom, something—and not toward something else. I think I’m reaching the point in my life when I want to take a stand.
Is now the right time to do that?
I want to talk about it with Alec. A few times I manage to hint at my unease, but it never seems like the right time for a full-blown, serious discussion.
One day, when he’s almost out the door, I catch hold of his elbow and draw him to me.
He leans down for a kiss, and the feel of his lips against mine reminds me why I’m here in the first place. That unearthly connection we have is still there.
“I need to tell you something,” I say breathlessly, before I lose my nerve.
“What is it?” He looks physically exhausted and worn-out, and there’s an expression clouding his eyes that I can’t decipher.
I want to tell him, “You haven’t been here for me.”
I want to say, “I’m afraid I made the wrong choice.”
I want to ask, “Is there room for me in your life?”
Instead, I say, “I just…I’ve been feeling out of place here.”
“How so?” Alec says, taking my hand in his and clasping it tightly.
“I just wonder if there’s ever going to be…anything I can do… for you or …in Saintland,” I say, trying to choose the right words.
Alec gives me an indulgent smile. “You’re doing so much, Jessica. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“But I never see you,
and what I’m doing doesn’t make my heart sing.”
“I just want to be sure that I’m right for you. That what we’re doing is right for you.” I bite my lip, my eyes downcast.
Alec smiles warmly and leans down to kiss me, softly, lightly, on my lips. He takes a few too many seconds to answer my question, and my heart wrenches in my chest. “Of course you’re right for me. I’m just a little pressed for time. I promise you, as soon as this all lets up, I’ll be in your rooms all the time. You won’t be able to get rid of me.”
He kisses my knuckles and turns away, already lost in thought.
I couldn’t help but notice the pause before he answered.
I couldn’t help but notice the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
I couldn’t help but notice that, in his hurry to get back to his duties, he forgot to tell me he loved me.
Attending yet another reception that evening, my mood is overshadowed by a dark cloud hanging over me, insistent and heavy. I don’t feel like we’ve reached a resolution, and though there’s an ache in my heart from the powerful love I feel for Alec, I’m not sure that it will be enough anymore.
That I will be enough for him.
That he can be enough for me.
So, even though my hair has been meticulously coifed and my outfit is elegant, thanks to Claire, my mind is a mess.
Which is exactly why, for the first time in my life, I cause an international incident.
The reception is being held in honor of an ambassador from Spain. Claire explained to me that he is notorious for nitpicking etiquette and protocol, so although I will be attending as a guest of the king and crown prince, I must follow every royal code to the letter.
I’m hungry and pissed off at Alec when I arrive, and the doubt is taking over my mind and growing like a cancer in my gut.
Alec introduces me to the ambassador, but as soon as I can safely extricate myself from the conversation, I make a beeline for the refreshment table.
I’m nobody when it comes down to it, and in Saintland, I will always be nobody. I’m just a pretty woman attached to the crown prince’s arm.
He doesn’t seem to care anymore, either.
My stomach growls as I start filling a plate, heaping it high with food. If I’m going to be scheduled within an inch of my life and expected to spend my free time waiting for my boyfriend to find a spare moment for me, I’m at least going to enjoy all the perks that living in Sainthall Palace offers.
It’s not until I reach the end of the table and turn around, a bite of food already in my mouth, that I realize everyone is staring at me.
“Shit,” I say, softly, but the word still seems to echo throughout the room. The Spanish ambassador is glaring at me.
He was supposed to be the first person to go through the food line.
There will be a formal dinner in a few hours, but these events always begin with heavy appetizers. The several-course meals last for at least two hours, going late into the night. I didn’t feel like waiting.
I should have thought it through before I started stuffing my face.
The silence is suffocating.
I have no choice.
I turn and set my plate on the back edge of the table, and a member of the wait staff glides by and whisks it away.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth to the ambassador, my face on fire with embarrassment.
Slowly, the conversation starts up again, but my shoulders tense and fingers of mortification streak down my spine.
I stand rooted to the spot for a full thirty seconds before I find the courage to move to sit down among a row of seats next to the wall. After a minute, Alec joins me. I smile up at him. Never in my life have I been more desperate for someone to tell me that it was just a silly mistake, that my faux pas didn’t matter.
But his eyes are dark with anger.
“Jessica,” he hisses, keeping his face neutral, yet his anger is obvious. “Unbelievable!”
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, standing up to face him but my eyes downcast in embarrassment. “I…I wasn’t thinking. I’ve been under some stress, and I got—.”
Alec scoffs. “You’ve been under stress? Give me a break.”
I jerk back at the sound of his tone. It almost feels like he’s slapped me in the face. “There’s no need to speak to me that way,” I respond, trying to retain my composure.
“I’ll speak to you however I want,” he spits, his face turning a deep red. “You’re in my kingdom now. If you’re not going to fall in line—.”
“Fall in line?” I gasp in shock, my voice coming out a little too loud and tears starting to burn in the corner of my eyes. I quickly lower it, but heads are turning to watch us. “Fall in line? I’ve been falling in line. I’ve done everything you’ve asked, and I’ve never once complained about—.”
This is useless. I might love Alec more than I have ever loved anyone, but he’s been sucked too far in to his princely role. He can’t see where I’m coming from. I straighten my back and look him directly in the eye, tilting my head in the smallest recognition of his status that I can manage. “You’ll have to excuse me, your highness,” I say sharply. “I’m not feeling well.”
I turn on my heel and stride as confidently as I can muster toward the exit, leaving Alec standing alone by the chairs.
I don’t look back.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Alec
Goddamn it.
As I watch Jessica’s back retreating into the crowd toward the exit, guilt swells up so painfully in my chest that, for a moment, I think I might combust in anguish.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Jessica has stood loyally by my side through all of this, and for no other reason than because of her selfless love for me.
A wild, inexplicable love, but love nonetheless.
Why else would she have uprooted her life and followed me across the ocean without question after receiving an invitation from a man she barely knew?
She might not know me now.
I might not know me now.
I’ve been dismissive to women before—Emmaline comes to mind—but no matter how hot-headed I was with my father and brother, no matter how careless I was when it came to considering other people, I have never treated anyone as badly as I just treated Jessica.
In front of the royal household, my father, the staff and international guests, no less.
I should have paid more attention to her over the last ten days. Moving into the palace and being thrown into the royal routine the way she was would have been an adjustment for anyone. Things never went this far with any of Marcus’s girlfriends, but then again, the circumstances were entirely different, too. There was never a powder keg of aggression waiting to be lit aflame when Marcus had been involved in a public relationship with a high-ranking woman.
Fuck.
There were times during my childhood and early adulthood when I thought it would have been much easier to be Marcus. He had all the things I wanted—praise from my father, the title of crown prince, and an easy confidence about him, always seeming to know what he was supposed to be doing and what was expected from him at any given time. It never seemed that he and my father were at odds. I never saw him let his anger get the better of him.
Except when the two of us went at it.
What have I done?
I should go after Jessica right now.
As I start to follow after her, I catch my father’s eyes watching me. His expression is neutral, and he doesn’t break off from the conversation he’s having, but I know he’s waiting to see what I’ll do.
He’s waiting to see where my true loyalties lie.
He might like Jessica—he’s said as much to me—but his main concern is keeping Saintland thriving for several more generations.
I can’t let my reaction to Jessica’s social blunder derail this event, or allow my reactions to affect any other event. That is, not if I’m going to remain on even footing with my father, w
hich is essential if I’m going to succeed in this goddamn role.
I change direction midstride, take a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, and join my father in his discussion with the Spanish ambassador. When I approach the pair, they’re discussing Jessica.
“That woman—Ms. Reeves, did you say?—is she a member of the royal household or an invited guest?”
“She is our guest at the moment,” my father says, no emotion coloring his voice.
The ambassador sneers. “You don’t think she’s a little…out of control for important events such as this? She seems to have no interest in observing proper protocol.”
My father shrugs his head in an indifferent sort of gesture that could be interpreted as anything. He is a master at reacting without revealing whether he agrees or disagrees—at least in public. I’m goddamn certain that my skin has turned to an angry color of red in reaction to the man’s words. Who the hell does he think he is?
Taking a deep, discreet breath and letting it out, I sip on the champagne. Then, instead of defending Jessica and explaining that the ambassador is out of line for passing judgments about guests of the House of Caldwell, I do the opposite.
“You’ll have to excuse her,” I say, giving the man a winning smile. “She wasn’t feeling very well and let it get the best of her.”
The Spanish ambassador rolls his eyes. In a low voice, he gets in one final crack. “Some women.”
My blood boils in my veins, but I just give him a shrug and laugh.
After that conversation, I don’t linger long at the event.
“I have some things to finish up before I turn in,” I tell my father, then make my way to the exit, stopping every few feet to say more goodbyes to the guests.
As soon as I’m outside the doors of the Great Hall, I’m rushing toward the elevator, my heart pounding against my chest, my hands shaking with dread and shame. At the reception, I swallowed it all back so I could accept condolences about my brother and shake hands with a neutral expression and pretend to pay attention to what everyone said.