Glass Castle Prince

by Nicole Williams

  “The same as them,” I answered. “As well as can be expected.”

  “I’m sorry this happened. I wanted to protect you from this life—my life—but I should have known better than to think I could keep you a secret.”

  The word made my stomach hurt. “Why was keeping me a secret so important?”

  His finger moved between him and me. “To protect you from exactly what happened. The media. An opportunist. Public scrutiny. Upheaval. Everything you’ve experienced today.” His eyes lost focus. “I live in a glass castle where everyone and anyone throws stones based on hearsay and half-truths. I didn’t want the same for you.”

  My footsteps echoed in the pool house when I moved closer. “Let them throw their stones. I don’t shatter so easily.”

  “No. You certainly don’t.” One corner of his mouth pulled. “You’re my Iron Princess, Charlotte Everly.”

  I held out my arms, giving myself a cursory check, playing off the way my heart was fluttering from his compliment. “I don’t know about iron, but I’m a hardy resin for sure.”

  His back moved with silent laughter as he reached for me. “Just come here, would you?”

  As soon as I settled on his lap, Edward’s arm wove around me, tucking me close. Relaxing my head onto his chest, I watched the snow with him, my fingers brushing along the peaks of his knuckles.

  “This is nice,” I said, finally feeling like I could lower my guard and relax.

  “I agree. Let’s stay right here, like this, until I have to leave in the morning.”

  A few minutes went by in quiet, but my mind was not as silent. “What are we, Edward?”

  His chest rose and fell below me a couple of times. “What do you think?”

  There were countless terms one could attribute to a relationship, yet none felt right as I skimmed through them. What are we? Everything had seemed to go so slow until this morning. Everything had seemed relatively simple compared to now.

  “I think . . . I’m still trying to figure it out,” I said at last, the most honest answer I could give.

  The media had their opinions, the palace would be making its own statement, the public undoubtedly would come to a dozen different conclusions, but the only ones who could define the nature of Edward’s and my relationship were Edward and me.

  He’d said last night he loved me.

  But he hadn’t said it again since.

  I thought I’d felt something similar, but I was too afraid to test that feeling out here.

  Time would reveal the unknown. It always did. Until then, I could be content with knowing I felt something for him and he felt something for me.

  “Me too,” he said, melting into the chair a little more. “Until we figure it out, I’m content with this.”

  And that was how we spent our second night together. In each other’s arms, not sharing a wink of sleep between us, though we remained fully clothed. It was as intimate as the first night we’d shared.

  Chapter 18

  This morning marked the halfway point of when he’d be coming back. Time hadn’t passed quickly, so I’d countered by making sure I kept busy. A typical day at Stratford consisted of a full day spent observing Dr. Fleming, followed by a couple hours of hard swimming, so when my head hit the pillow at night, I fell right to sleep.

  Last night though, I’d had a hard time sleeping, despite the eight thousand yards I’d grinded out in the pool. My back had hurt from a long day and my mind had been busy. That was why I was clutching a larger than normal cup of coffee this morning as I waited outside Dr. Fleming’s office.

  He usually arrive promptly a few minutes before eight, but it was fifteen past and the doctor was nowhere in sight. Though the office wasn’t locked, I didn’t feel right letting myself in, despite his invitation that I was welcome whenever.

  Rubbing my lower back, which was still sore this morning, I made a mental note to be more diligent about stretching both before and after my swim sessions.

  When Dr. Fleming appeared at the end of the hall, I straightened, smiling, but he didn’t seem to notice me. He looked too distracted by his own thoughts.

  “It’s going to be one of those days, isn’t it?” I greeted when he was almost to the door and had yet to acknowledge my presence.

  When his gray eyes did draw my way, I didn’t miss the heavy contemplation teeming inside. He flicked the rim of his brown felt derby, forming a smile. “I believe it will be.”

  I opened the door when he went to juggle his briefcase and physician bag. “I’ve got it, Dr. Fleming.”

  He gave the kind of sigh only a doting grandfather could master, then waved me inside. “Only my patients call me Dr. Fleming.”

  “It seems fitting your apprentice should as well. Especially since my nosey presence was all but forced upon you.” I made my way around the room, flipping on lights, while Dr. Fleming headed into his office.

  It wasn’t a large space—a small reception area, Dr. Fleming’s personal office, and a couple of exam rooms—so it hadn’t taken me long to feel comfortable making my way around. Of course I knew this was a unique situation for a doctor, being assigned solely to the royal family and staff that worked within the palace walls, but in the couple of weeks I’d been here, I’d witnessed Dr. Fleming perform a handful of near miracles in the midst of countless exams.

  “If you were getting in my way or I didn’t think you had the stomach, brain, or heart to be a physician, you wouldn’t still be here. Believe me.” Dr. Fleming’s voice trailed from his office, the click of his medical case opening.

  “Anything exciting happen this morning?” I asked as I performed my daily ritual of wiping down every surface I could reach. It was cold season, and I went through an entire roll of antibacterial wipes every day, keeping things sterile in the office.

  “I was checking in on King Henry, that’s all.”

  “He didn’t catch that cold going around, did he?” I asked, feigning ignorance of anything more serious where King Henry’s health was concerned.

  “Nothing like that,” Dr. Fleming replied from his office.

  “Can I ask why no one besides you can be present when you examine the king?” I stilled after wiping down the door handles.

  “The health and well-being of the king has and always will be kept in utmost confidentiality. Can you imagine how the media would spin it if they discovered that his cholesterol was high, or something of the sort? Five hundred years ago, King Luther was nearly overthrown because people discovered he suffered from occasional bouts of fainting, which was perceived as weakness. Today, we’d likely diagnose it as hyperglycemia, but back then, it nearly cost him the kingdom.”

  “I never thought of it that way.” My forehead lined. I hadn’t seen much of the king since arriving at the castle, but I’d promised I’d let Edward know if any serious complications pertaining to his father’s health cropped up. “But King Henry’s okay?”

  “Of course he is.” Dr. Fleming wandered out of his office, his stethoscope around his neck. “But that would be my answer to anyone, at any time, until his heart beat its last.”

  Instead of rattling off any of the number of questions I had as a follow-up, I went to the coffee maker to make the first of what would likely be several pots. Dr. Fleming had assured me I already drank the proper amount of coffee to have my MD.

  Once the patients started showing up for their appointments, the day whizzed by.

  “How did you know you wanted to be a doctor?” I asked Dr. Fleming after the last patient left for the day.

  He didn’t pause to search for his answer. “I didn’t know for certain I did. I think it’s rare to know anything for certain in our lives, but I took a chance and here I am, forty years later, still doing the same thing.”

  “Weren’t all of those years of medical school a big gamble to take on something you weren’t totally sure of?” I asked.

  “The time’s going to pass no matter what. We might as well spend it as intentionally as we
can.” Dr. Fleming fired a wink my direction as I continued making notes in some of the patient files.

  “What did you do before you became the royal physician?” I asked as he helped himself to the last drudges of coffee left in the pot.

  “I was a military physician. I traveled with the troops to the front lines. I visited every continent save for the Arctic, and I still have plans of getting there before I meet my maker.”

  “Going from putting soldiers back together to giving yearly exams is a big change,” I said.

  “It is. But it’s nice getting to crawl into bed with my wife every night and see my grandkids every weekend.” He leaned into the wall, sipping the last of his coffee as his eyes got that far-off look. “There are times I find myself missing that job, the adrenaline the only thing keeping me awake after forty-eight hours of nonstop triage.” The office phone interrupted his distant thoughts. As I reached for the phone, his eyes drifted my way. “You don’t become a physician because you want to help people. You become one because you can.”

  My fingers drummed across the phone handle as it rang again. “And . . . do you think I can?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think.” Dr. Fleming set down his empty cup and slid into his overcoat hanging beside the door. “What matters is what you think.” He tipped his hat at me and pulled open the door. “Have a good night, Charlotte.”

  “You too,” I called after him before answering the phone.

  “Hello, Miss Everly?”

  “This is she,” I replied.

  “This is Rebecca. I work in the kitchen. Mrs. Hutchinson wanted me to call you. I’m sorry, we tried your cell phone first but we couldn’t get through.”

  “Yeah, I turn my phone off when I’m working with Dr. Fleming. What did Mrs. Hutchinson want you to call me for?” I held my breath.

  After Edward’s and my photo had been released, Mrs. Hutchinson had been avoiding me at all costs. Since I’d come to Stratford, she always used a third party to deliver a message, as though speaking to me personally would spell certain doom.

  “Your parents have just arrived, and they’re getting settled in their room and will be down for dinner to see you,” Rebecca continued, sounding like she was in the middle of dinner preparation from the sound of plates and dishes clashing in the background.

  My eyes cut to the clock above the door. It was almost seven. The last time I’d checked the clock had been lunchtime, and I’d been under the impression it was now closer to five. “Thanks for letting me know, Rebecca. I’ll be at dinner.”

  As soon as I hung up, I grabbed my things and flew out of the office. My room was on the opposite end on the top floor, so I ran. I hadn’t forgotten my parents were coming this weekend, having accepted the king and queen’s open invitation to visit me whenever they liked, but I’d conveniently set the reality aside.

  I’d planned to have an hour to change and get ready for dinner, but I did my best with the ten minutes I had once I finally made it to my room. Changing out of my trusty overalls, I slid into a simple black dress, shimmied into some tights, and spritzed on some perfume to mask the scent of antiseptic I picked up while working in the doctor’s clinic every day.

  Mouthwash, hair brush, and lip gloss were all I had time for before flying out the door. My stomach was in my throat as I made the return trip to the first floor, bearing toward the dining room. I’d talked with my parents a couple of times after that initial call the day I’d arrived at the palace after my side-boob had been revealed to the world.

  Our conversations had been stilted and awkward. I hoped seeing them in person would help cut through the layer of tension, but first, we had to make it through dinner with the king and queen. No big deal. Insert sarcasm here.

  My hand went to my stomach as it gave another protest. I was so worked up over this dinner with the parents, I’d succeeded in making myself sick. Yay for me.

  When I entered the dining room, I found my parents chatting with the king and queen as though they were old acquaintances. The queen’s expression wasn’t the slightest bit severe, as it was whenever her attention was directed at me. The king and my father were talking about something of interest, using their hands and facial expressions to tell the story. My head tipped as I observed, contemplating if I’d wandered into an alternate reality.

  They were all so busy talking, no one noticed I’d joined them and I was good with that. It gave me a minute to catch my breath and compose myself after ripping through the castle in heels and pantyhose.

  “You must be Charlotte.” Someone floated up beside me unexpectedly. “I recognize you from your pic—“ The young woman’s voice cut off abruptly, a faint pink showing on her porcelain skin.

  I wasn’t sure who she was—the palace had dozens of visitors every day—but I felt some itch to ease her embarrassment. It was a nice break to witness someone else experiencing it instead of myself.

  “You’re good,” I said, turning toward her. “Most people don’t recognize me fully clothed.”

  She caught herself right before laughing. “I’m Josephine Winslow. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you too. Are you joining us for dinner?”

  After smoothing at her ivory sheath dress, she clasped her hands in front of her. “I will. I’m in town for a few days, and the queen insisted I stop in for a dinner.” Josephine’s clear green eyes diverted to where the four were still busily chatting at the other end of the dining room. “I understand this is the same evening your parents are here dining. I’m sorry if my presence is a distraction.”

  “This is the first time my parents are meeting his parents. And you obviously know about the picture, so yeah, I will take any distraction I can get tonight.” My throat moved when my mom noticed me.

  Here we go, Charlotte. Game face.

  There weren’t any articles about how to survive a dinner when his parents meet your parents and his parents are the rulers of your country, and both parents found out about their respective kid’s relationship by seeing the black-and-white photo of them getting it on that had been recirculated so many times, some hermit hiding in the Alps had probably seen it.

  “Hey, Mom.” I smiled as my parents approached, neither of their expressions hinting that they harbored any kind of extreme disappointment.

  Like me, Mom didn’t do tears. At least not often or in the presence of others. Dad was another story. His eyes were glassy from ten yards back, his hand swiping at them before he wound his arms around me. They hugged me at the same time, and with it, some of my tension melted away.

  When I glanced at the king and queen, I found the king smiling to himself, the queen having to work to keep a stern expression.

  “I missed you both too,” I said.

  “If everyone would like to be seated for dinner.” The queen’s request gave me an excuse to pry out of their arms.

  Once we were all seated, waiters filed out and prepared the service. Dad and King Henry seemed to have picked back up their conversation about their tall fishing tales at Lake Genovese, while the queen introduced Josephine to my mom.

  “Josephine’s family and ours go way back,” Queen Helen explained to my mom, beaming at Josephine as though she were her own daughter. “You might know her better as the Duchess of Suffhold. She’s also a skilled equestrian, pianist, and is getting her doctorate in early childhood psychology.”

  The queen’s praise appeared to make Josephine uncomfortable, although she handled it well by explaining that she was blessed to have been born into a good family. Then she returned the favor by mentioning how much more skilled the queen was in both the piano and equestrian endeavors.

  “Charlotte grew up at Valmont, as Mr. Everly was the groundskeeper,” the queen explained to Josephine. “More recently, Charlotte was employed to tend to Valmont while we were away, in case you didn’t read that in the papers.” Her shoulders squared, as they often did when she referred to the media.

  “So you all have known ea
ch other for a while too.” Josephine smiled between the queen and my mother.

  “This is the first time we’ve met.” The queen reached for her water glass.

  “Charlotte played the guitar from first through third grade. Her music teacher said he’d never taught someone with such raw talent,” Mom piped up, beaming at me much the way the queen had at Josephine when singing her praises.

  Queen Helen folded her napkin into her lap, giving an attempt at appearing interested. “The acoustic guitar?”

  Mom patted my leg. “The electric.”

  The queen reached for her glass of water. “Did you ever play any other instruments, Miss Everly?”

  She still wouldn’t call me by my first name, as if doing so was too personal. I guessed the queen had her own agenda for wanting to keep our relationship as formal as possible.

  “I played the trumpet for a bit in middle school. The cello at the start of high school. Then I decided to try my hand at sports.”

  “Gymnastics? Ballet?” The queen declined the offer of wine when the sommelier made his rounds.

  My foot tapped the floor. “I mainly stuck to soccer, swimming, and softball.”

  Queen Helen’s eyes went a bit wider. “You must have been quite busy keeping up with all of your extracurricular activities.”

  Mom interjected. “She only tried each for a season before moving on.” She turned to me. “I seem to remember you giving volleyball, basketball, and field hockey a try too.”

  Josephine declined the wine as well. “How adventurous you must be to try so many new things.”

  “Or uncertain,” the queen added, holding just enough of a smile one couldn’t determine if she was stating a thought or issuing an insult.

  “Well, she stuck with swimming. That’s the one thing Charlotte never got tired of,” Mom said.

  “Did you compete on a team?” Queen Helen asked.

  “Only for half a season.”

  “Half a season?” The queen glanced at the king, but he was still immersed in his conversation with Dad.