by Scott, S. L.
I laugh. I don’t even know if she’s trying to be funny, but she speaks the truth. My body is heavy; my mind fuzzy from the craziness during the last week. “We’re supposed to stay up and get on East Coast time. We failed.”
“Sleeping felt too good, so I’m good with our choice,” she says, rolling over to face me. “I did get up long enough to call and refill my pills since I left them in Brudenbourg.” Stroking my cheek, she smiles. “You packed some extra bags since we’ve arrived.”
“Ha. The bags under my eyes are carry-ons from the lack of sleep. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”
“Let’s do it. Stay in bed with me all week. We can order in and make love. We can be each other’s world for just a little while. Sounds amazing, right?”
I kiss her softly on the lips. “Amazing.”
Her arms come around me, and she gets as close as she can, one of her knees wedging between mine. “I missed you.”
“I was gone longer than I wanted to be, but I don’t want you getting sick of me.” I wink and run my hand over her hip.
“Never. I never have enough time with you, so I won’t be sick of you anytime soon.” She winks right back. The spitfire. “Will you be working every day while I’m here?”
“We should talk about your stay here.”
That sets off alarms, and she starts to push up. “If it’s a burden, I can stay at a hotel.”
As I’m holding her too tight to let her escape, she relents and stays put. “You’re not a burden. You’re . . .” I look at her mouth, her nose, her neck, and her shoulders. I look everywhere, anywhere but in her eyes. We’ve told each other we love each other, so the rest should come easy, but with her life in transition, hopefully transitioning into mine, I wonder if my confession is too much, too real to say right now.
“What am I?” she whispers.
When I hear my anxiousness reflected in her question, I’m quick to ease her concern. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever come home to. You’re the reason I came home. So you’re not a burden to me. You’re welcome here as long as you want to stay.”
She snuggles against me again; her breath warm against my neck, and her heart beating steady against mine. “Good. I have no money, so you’re kind of stuck with me for the time being anyway.”
“Have you thought about what happened yesterday?”
“It’s all I could think about. It’s why I finally gave in to the jet lag. I needed to shut off my mind.”
“And?”
“I’m okay.” Lying on her back, she glances outside the window before staring at the ceiling. Rubbing her eyes, she yawns. “A part of me wonders if my father meant what he said.”
I roll onto my back, keeping my arm along the length of hers, liking the contact. She knows her father better than me, but what he said didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded like a decree. I’ve kept my mouth shut since my opinion won’t change a thing, but her mind is going to station itself in the worst of outcomes soon enough. When she looks at me for an answer, I take hold of her hand and hold it on my chest. “You said ‘for just a little while’ and ‘for the time being’ like this is temporary, like we are. I don’t want to push you in any way, but what are you thinking?”
“I never meant—”
“I know you don’t want to hurt me—”
“Never. But I also never meant to insinuate we’re temporary, Hutton. You’re not to me. We’ve been on the verge of this conversation so many times but have managed to avoid it. Living in the moment. Not wanting to risk the good we were having. Whatever the reason was, the situation has changed, and we need to talk about it. About us.”
“Do you want to talk over dinner?”
“I’m starving,” she says, climbing out of bed, bare-ass beautiful, “but I’m not getting dressed.”
Grabbing the remote from the nightstand, I flick the button to close the blinds. That sweet little ass is only mine for the lookin’. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
She twirls twice—hands in the air, up on her tiptoes, smile on her face, hair swinging around her shoulders—as she heads for the bathroom. Walking backward, she says, “That goes for you too, sweet cheeks.”
“Sweet cheeks?”
She shrugs as she spins again and disappears behind a closed door.
I’ve never felt luckier in my life than I do right now, but how do I hold on to the magic she brings into my life when it can be so easily ripped away?
I get out of bed, hoping we can find a way to be together because right now, we’ve lost the sun through the clouds. I’m willing to do whatever she needs from me, to be who she needs, but will that be enough if she’s not the queen?
* * *
With a blanket covering her, Ally’s cuddled up on the couch and staring at the screen. “What happens if the quarterback falls?”
“Falls? Quarterbacks don’t fall.”
Pointing at the large screen, she says, “He falls if the guy in green takes him down.”
“You mean if he’s tackled? That’s a quarterback sack if he’s behind the line of scrimmage and can’t deliver the ball down the field.”
“TMI.” She leans her head on the back cushion while I chuckle. “American football is very slow.” I recognize the football frustration. I’ve experienced it many times. She points at the screen, and says, “They’ve only gone a few feet in the past ten minutes. Why are there so many commercials and delays?” She seems to stop to ponder while wiggling her toes. “Let’s get to the action. Come on, Texans.”
I reach over and rub her leg. “The game’s recorded from earlier this week. We can fast forward.”
“What? Why have you been holding out on me? I can’t handle any more of those macho men pill commercials that air during every break.”
Tempted to make a joke about her handling things, I know I shouldn’t. Like she said earlier, we’ve become masters of avoidance when it comes to certain topics. I click off the TV. “We can watch that later. I’d like to come back to our earlier conversation.”
Angling my direction, she keeps her body covered with the blanket as she rearranges. This is the first time I feel like our relationship isn’t teetering on the next thing I say, and we have space to air our thoughts without any interruptions. That’s a good start.
Sitting forward, I hold her ankles and run my hands up and over her calves and back down. “Let’s talk about you being queen. I think decisions can be made based on that answer.”
“What’s the question?”
“If you have the choice, I can only assume you’ll take the throne.” I try to be careful on the next part, but I think being direct with her is best. “Whatever you decide, we’ll handle it together. You’re my future, Ally. I love you.” She smiles and nods, but I’m not truly sure what is going on in her mind yet. She hasn’t denied us for the first time, so, should I feel relief? “What if you don’t become queen?”
As if the idea has never occurred to her, her brow furrows. “I don’t understand what you mean. It’s my born right to claim the crown.”
“Unless—”
“Unless nothing, Hutton.” She sits up, the blanket slipping down. Gripping it as if she finds security in the fibers, she says, “I will be queen, even if I have to fight for it.”
“Your father said—”
“My father called me a whore. They’d have to prove I’ve broken the law to keep me from the crown.”
Feisty has always been one of my favorite qualities of hers, but when it comes to this sensitive topic, I worry that she’s hiding behind it instead of dealing with the possible repercussions. “Can they do that?”
“Do what? Prove that I’m a whore? That I’m not a virgin?” Even saying it makes her eyes change, amusement filling them.
“No.” I move closer and take her hand between mine. “We both know you’re not a whore. What the fuck? Who even thinks like that about women? Says a lot about your dad.”
“Father. Anyway,” she replies
, seeming to shrug it off, “I guess they could if they wanted. One visit to the doctor could confirm their suspicion.”
“Would they do that?”
She pulls her hand back. “I doubt it. The throne is mine, Hut. Why are we talking about this? We can watch more of the football game? Or . . .” Getting up, she crooks a finger for me to follow. “We can have fun in the bedroom.” She spins on her bare heels and heads down the hall, the blanket trailing like a train behind her.
I follow because yeah, I would go anywhere when it comes to her. The thought makes me pause. In the space between the living room and the master bedroom, I stand and ask myself the question I didn’t realize was a real possibility until now. Would I?
Would I follow Ally anywhere? Give up my life in the US to live out hers?
I blow out a push of air. Somehow in the past few days, my life hasn’t just flipped upside down, but it has also jumped the rails. I start walking again because these questions seem to come secondary to the ones I’m asking of her.
I open a drawer and pull out a pair of underwear and a shirt, slipping them both on. I hand her a T-shirt as well and then move farther into the room, clicking the blinds open again and standing in front of the windows looking out at the nightscape. Not knowing how much room I should give her, I let her decide by staying put. “It’s important for you to take a minute to look at your options.”
Turning toward the middle of the room, she pulls on the shirt that hangs mid-thigh, and asks, “What are you talking about?” I have a feeling she knows what I’m talking about, but as usual, she’s pushing the fear away instead of facing it.
“I understand this is a tricky and touchy subject, but it needs to be discussed. We both need a plan in place.”
“There’s only one plan for me.”
“Then what about me?”
“Are you going somewhere?”
“No, but when your life leaves the station, I don’t want to be left on the platform.”
Her shoulders fall with her expression. “I wouldn’t leave you behind like that. It’s confusing. We’re making life decisions as if we’ve dated for years. I shouldn’t have hidden who I was from you once we started seeing each other exclusively, but do you understand why I did? Why I had to?”
“I do understand, but I didn’t like it. I still don’t. That last night we had in Austin, you should have told me. You were leaving. Your heart was already gone, so you could have spared mine.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s the reason when I see you, I can’t stay away. I don’t just see you. I feel you inside me.” Even now, she struggles to maintain the five feet of distance that divides us, but then she comes to me, winning her own battle. With her hands on my chest, she asks, “Do you feel the heart that beats inside you? That’s mine. That’s mine because I left it with you in that hotel room.”
I cover her hands with mine. “If I would have known, I would have taken better care.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve taken the best care. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Hutton, but what if . . . what if I’m never crowned queen?”
Reality starts to sink in, and I hate that I was the messenger, even if she did need to consider all possibilities. Bringing one of her hands up, I kiss the tips of her fingers. “Then you’ll be the same person. You’ll be Ally.”
The room seems bigger with her in it. Her frame appears smaller in her sadness as if she’s shrinking away. “Ally was only supposed to be temporary.”
“I think you’re more Ally than you ever were Arabelle.”
Backing away, I hate it, but I’ll let her go if she needs the space to think. She balls the hem of the shirt in her hands. “Because you don’t know that side of me, but that’s who I am.”
“I only know who you were with me. I like to believe you gave me the real you. Did you?”
“You know I did,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “But that’s not who I want to be forever. I would choose Arabelle any day over being plain ole Ally.”
The insult burns. “How can you hate what I love so much?” I strike back. My words cause her to jerk her neck back in response.
“Hate? I don’t hate being Ally. Ally is quite freeing from my daily pressures, but I was born to be—”
“I know what you were born to be. I get it. But you were Ally of your own accord. Choice. That’s the difference here. Deep down, I believe Ally is who you really want to be, but because all your life you’ve been groomed to be queen, you’ve never thought any other option was a possibility. And I get that too. But what if you now have a choice?” Her mouth hangs open, but I keep going because it needs to be said. “What’s this bad reputation everyone keeps talking about? What did you do that got you exiled the first time?”
Standing in defiance, she gasps. “I’ve never been exiled. I went to school in England because my horizons needed to be broadened. I went to Texas to further my studies to help my country.”
“Help your country or spare your parents the embarrassment?”
She turns toward the bathroom but stops and drops her head. When she looks back at me, conflict is warring in her eyes. “I thought you were different.”
“I am. That’s why you haven’t run away.” Coming closer, I say, “I’m team Ally. I’m team Arabelle. I’m team you. Whoever you want to be, I’m rooting for you.”
“Then why are you arguing with me?”
I like that she’s been bold, standing her ground, standing up to me when it’s something she believes in. But I also like that she’s not running from me or hiding. “I’m not. I’m trying to make you see that no matter what you say to me, I’m still not your enemy. So when you mistakenly think I’m here like every other person in your life, looking to gain from you or to judge you, you’ll be wrong. You can trust me.”
“I know.”
“Don’t you see, Ally? I’m the one with everything to lose.”
She does trust me, and I can still hear the softness of her tone when she asks, “What do you have to lose, Hutton?”
“You.”
25
Ally
Me.
With the mess I’ve caused him and the loss of a billion-dollar deal, how does Hutton Everest still only care about me? “You mean that?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” In business, I imagine the man before me is a force to be reckoned with, but to me, he’s always so endearing. I don’t know what it is about this moment—maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me or because I know I can trust him—but I spill the only other secret I’ve been keeping from him. “I need to tell you something.”
While he sits on a bench under the window, I move to the edge of the bed. “You’ve heard about the press trying to ruin me in Brudenbourg through bits of conversations that shouldn’t have been spoken in front of you.”
“But you could’ve, and I wouldn’t have told anyone.”
“I know, but I didn’t want Jakob or anyone else saying anything because I didn’t want you to think less of me, but being with me means certain things won’t remain secret. Being with me, you should know what you’re getting into—”
“I’m already in too deep to turn back now, princess.”
“I love your spunk.”
He suddenly looks traumatized. “What?”
“What?” I volley back unsure why he’s reacting that way.
“You love my spunk?”
“Yes. What am I missing?”
His handsome features relax, and he starts chuckling. Rubbing his hands over his face, he replies, “I thought . . . Never mind. My thoughts are in the gutter. Sorry.”
Why do I feel like I’ve missed something big here? I make a mental note to research spunk later.
Getting us back on track, he asks, “Why did the press make up lies about you?”
“They didn’t. I never said the press was wrong. I said they tried to ruin me. I was so good, always keeping up appearance
s, but on the inside, I was unsettled. I liked to challenge my parents, as they call it. But I wasn’t challenging them. I was challenging the world I lived in. No kissing. No dates. No boys. Dress a certain way. Wear my hair pulled back. No jeans. No shorts. Don’t show my legs. God, it was a nightmare. And when I say that, I realize I sound spoiled, and that some people have real-world problems. But as a teenager, with my hormones out of whack, everything is emotionally bigger than it really is. So I rebelled.”
“Against?”
“The system. The laws. My parents. My country’s traditions. I snuck out to go on dates. I kissed boys until my lips were swollen and hickeys had to be hidden by turtlenecks in summer. I would go to the beach and wear a bikini and hang out with my friends. I’d drink and party, but you know what I never did that was thrown into their gossip column without regard to how it might affect me?”
“What?”
“The ex that I caught with Sabine Rosalie finally got his revenge after I broke up with him for cheating on me.”
Hutton takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, then he flexes his fingers and stands, bracing his arms to his sides. My injured heart hurts him. That’s how much he loves me. With every fiber of his being.
“He told everyone I had sex with him,” I say, and then shrug like it didn’t affect me when, in reality, it destroyed my reputation . . . and me. “Doesn’t seem like a big thing, but in my country, we have a law—”
“The chastity law.” Closing the distance between us, he rubs my upper arms. “And then your father called you a name.”
“Whore. That was part of the headline. Princess Whorabelle. It’s quite clever, don’t you think?” I try to lighten the mood, though I feel the same pain as the day I read it.
“No. It’s cruel.” His eyes don’t leave me, and although I want to put on a brave face, when I raise my chin, it quivers, so I lower it again, sucking in a stifling breath.
“They sold the story worldwide, but I was soon forgotten when a European royal stepped out of line, but it still hurt.”