25. “Wake Me Up” - Avicii
“Wake Me Up” - Avicii
Ihit snooze. Again. Normally I’m up the second my alarm goes off, but lately, by the time it rings, I’ve just fallen asleep for the first time all night. Instead of looking forward to mornings, I’ve started dreading them, which is almost worse than the insomnia.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m supposed to be going back to sleep, not lying here thinking about sleeping. But as always, it’s eluding me. Maybe Henry’s right, and it’s time to consult my doctor.
It takes another forty-five minutes of scrolling my phone for natural sleep remedies before I finally break down and make the call.
“Your Majesty,” Dr. Lahoussaye barks. “Everything okay?”
My palace-appointed doctor has treated the royal family for the entirety of his career. While he looks like a grandfather with his white hair and wrinkled skin, if my grandfather had acted anything like the good doctor when I was a child, I would have cried.
“Actually, I’ve been struggling with insomnia.” I do my best to ignore the nausea plaguing me.
“Insomnia?”
“Yes. I’ve hardly been able to sleep for days.”
“I know what insomnia is,” he mutters. There’s a clatter, as if something has been knocked over. “When did it start?”
I think back over the past few weeks. “It’s hard to pinpoint the exact day—”
“Try.”
I fill my lungs with air. “I think it was soon after the shooting. Maybe a few days?”
“That’ll do it. I assume you’re wanting some pills?”
“Um”—I bite my lip—“yes?”
“I’m supposed to ask about your sleeping habits first,” he says. He doesn’t sound excited by the prospect.
“Okay,” I say. “What about them?”
“What time do you get up, go to sleep?”
“Well, like I said, I haven’t been sleeping much—”
“Are you doing the right things before bed?”
I blink at my reflection in the mirror. “I’m sorry, what are the right things?”
Dr. Lahoussaye sighs as though I’m rain during his picnic. “No screens before bed, nighttime routine, proper bed.”
“Yes, I do all of that. And I try to be in bed by eleven.” Or midnight. But only because I know I won’t be able to sleep anyway.
“Diet?”
“I’m sorry?” Is he suggesting I go on one?
“Has your diet changed recently?” he snaps.
“Maybe a bit healthier?” Thanks to the lack of eight-course state dinners.
There’s another crash, followed by a low curse. “What about your bed?”
My eyes immediately land on Henry’s king-size one in the center of the room. I’m assailed by memories of his body pressed against mine, the heat of his skin searing through me, his mouth traversing me like a map. I close my eyes against the vision and swallow. “What about it?”
“Is it comfortable?” The doctor sounds like he’s talking to a small child.
“Yes.” The word squeaks past the agonizing knot in my throat.
“What about stress?”
A maniacal laugh slips out before I can stop it. “Stress? Are you asking if I have it?”
“Obviously,” he retorts.
“I was just in a car accident. Then someone tried to shoot me. On top of that, I discovered several months ago that I am meant to be the sole monarch of this country, a role I’ve been trying to fill ever since. So what do you think?”
He’s quiet for a few moments, long enough for me to wonder if he regrets his harsh manner. That question is quickly answered when he says in the same tone as before, “A yes would have sufficed.”
I clench my teeth and ball my hands into fists. How anyone can tolerate this miserable human is beyond me.
“Relationships?” he says.
“I don’t understand the question. Are you asking if I have them?” I grab a tube of lipstick and apply it.
“Just answer the question, ma’am.”
“I don’t understand the question!” I consider my lips in the mirror. I look like a clown. I miss Daphne.
“Are your relationships causing stress?” He stops after each word, enunciating it like it’s a prized possession in his mouth.
I think about everyone I’m close to at the moment. I think about everyone I should be close to at the moment. The scales seem unrealistically unbalanced. “No,” I say. “They’re not.”
“I’m prescribing zolpidem,” he says.
Apparently the only thing he needed were the correct answers to his pop quiz. “Thank you.”
“This is a month’s supply. We’ll have to do this whole thing again if you want a refill.” His tone informs me that he would much prefer that didn’t happen.
You and me both.
I verbalize my consent and end the call. A text from Henry waits on my screen.
Henry: Tundra will be back within the hour.
My fingers fumble as I type out a response.
Me: Did they find anything?
Henry: Nothing but a sock that looked suspiciously like mine.
Relief turns my muscles to jelly.
Me: Maybe you shouldn’t leave them lying around.
I swipe my mascara wand through my lashes, then spritz perfume on my wrists and head to the kitchen. Tundra is going to be okay. I almost want to skip.
Musa hasn’t even finished preparing my yogurt parfait when Maisie arrives. The sight of her makes my stomach clench, even though she’s carrying my vanilla latte. Interacting with her every day is probably giving me an ulcer.
She curtsies as she hands over the coffee. I used to look forward to her filling me in on the latest scandal among the staff or whatever her nephew had shoved up his nose that landed him in the ER. Now I dread it, dread it enough to want to stay in bed with the covers pulled over my head.
We walk toward the dining table in silence. This is ridiculous. I’m literally making myself sick by letting a man get between us. A man I don’t even want, for god’s sake. I stop and spin around.
Maisie’s eyes are glued to her tablet, and she nearly runs into me. “I’m so sorry,” she stammers. The look on her face is the one I imagine you’d have if you were facing a serial killer in a locked room.
“No, I’m sorry,” I say, before realizing that’s a stupid intro. “What I mean is, I want to apologize for the way I’ve been freezing you out. I made some stupid demands before, and I’m sorry.”
She gapes at me. Evidently, my new reputation as Miranda Priestly has superseded any prior notion she had of me. “You’re—you’re sorry?”
I pull out one of the chairs and take a seat. “I’m ready to put it behind us if you are.”
Slowly sitting down, she reaches to push up the glasses she no longer wears. Her eyes narrow. “You don’t care if I see Beck?”
“Not at all.” Okay, that part might not be completely true, but I’m confident I can get there. “I wish you all the best.”
“Omygosh,” Maisie says, her expression illuminating like a kid’s at a carnival.
She momentarily rests her face on the table, then lifts it again.
“You have no idea what this means to me. It has put such a strain on our relationship, knowing that you didn’t approve, but the whole thing just feels so right, and I didn’t know what else to do.
” She studies me more closely. “You’re sure you’re okay with it? ”
My eyebrows flick upward, and I cough into my hand. “Positive.”
She claps her palms together. “I’m so glad. Now I can ask you what I should get him for Christmas. He already has everything, and I—”
“Maisie.” I hold up my hand. “Not happening.”
“Yep, right. Got it.”
They bring Tundra home an hour later. He’s still groggy, but that doesn’t stop me from smothering him with kisses. “My sweet boy,” I murmur in his ear. “I was so scared.” I settle him on his dog bed so he can sleep off the rest of his sedation. Hopefully I will be doing the same tonight.
I find Henry in the home gym, which has more equipment than most public ones.
He’s wearing the most useless piece of clothing I’ve ever seen.
Between the low-cut sides, the thin straps, and the low neckline, he may as well be shirtless, something I certainly wouldn’t complain about.
It gives a very nice view of his collection of tattoos.
His athletic shorts stop a good four inches above his knees, revealing more black ink.
It takes little to no imagination to remember exactly what he looks like under those clothes.
He drops from the chin-up bar in front of me, hands on his hips and panting. “Like what you see?”
My eyes snap up from his impeccable set of pectorals to meet his smirk. “Actually,” I say haughtily, “I came to share some good news.”
He grabs a towel from a nearby bench and rubs it over his glistening muscles. Muscles I have the strange inclination to lick. “I’m all ears.”
“You wanted me to make up with Maisie. Just thought you’d want to know that I did.” There’s a twinge in my stomach I now recognize as nausea building.
Henry grins and tosses the towel onto the bench.
“That’s amazing, C.” He breaks the seal on a water bottle and gulps down the whole thing, Adam’s apple bobbing, my mouth salivating.
He swipes his lips with the back of his hand and tosses the bottle into the bin.
“Was it as hard as you thought it would be?”
“Harder,” I say, even though we both know it’s a lie.
“Feel better?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe a little.” My heart feels a bit lighter, but my stomach is churning.
He smiles. “I’m proud of you.”
I don’t know what else to say and feel a little foolish for coming in here like this. I just needed to tell someone. The space between us grows thick and uncomfortable. All of a sudden, I wonder if he’s waiting for me to say I forgive him.
Chancing a glance at him, I see he’s looking at me, and I swear there’s a question lingering in those eyes.
I want to, but I can’t say it. I can’t form the words.
If I tell him that the past is forgotten, that I’m ready to move on from everything he did to me, it will be nothing short of a bald-faced lie.
I trust him to help me, but I do not trust him to handle my heart without crushing it.
I clear my throat and look down at my shoes, toeing one of the rubber mats in front of me. “You know, I think William was sincere about—”
“No.” His body has gone rigid, a hard mass of muscle in front of me.
“Henry, just think—”
He shakes his head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but there are so many things you don’t understand.”
“Then tell me.” I take another step closer. If I can just crack through his facade, I might be able to help.
“Celia, you need to stay out of it.” His brow furrows as he looks down at me. “I mean it. My father is more dangerous than you realize.”
“What if he’s changed? What if you’ve misjudged him?”
Henry leans down until our noses are nearly touching. “Not something I’m willing to take a chance on. Stay away from him, C.”
I’m in the shower when the door bursts open. I instinctively scream before my body registers that it’s Henry. I try to cover myself as best I can, but the walls of the stall are glass and visible from the door.
He stalks over and grabs a towel from the shelf. “Get out.”
“Excuse me?” I say. “Is this about earlier?”
He looks momentarily confused. “What? No.” He thrusts the towel at me again. “We need to go.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what’s going on.” Turning off the water, I accept the towel from him but don’t budge from the shower.
“There’s been a security breach.” I see now that what I mistook for anger is actually fear. He’s literally trembling with it.
“What, here? I thought the Atlantis had the best security in the country.”
“We don’t have time to discuss this. We need to move. Now.”
I allow Henry to help me out of the shower but stop in front of the mirror. “Wait. I still have conditioner in my hair.”
He glares at me in the glass. “I’ll give you thirty seconds. You can either use that time to rinse your hair or put clothes on.”
He waits outside the walk-in closet while I slip into a velour tracksuit. It’s not the cutest thing in my wardrobe, but at least it will keep me warm. I can’t seem to shake these chills.
Henry gives me a once-over when I open the door. “You’re going to need warm boots, a coat, and a hat.”
I lower my brows. “Where are we going?”
“Right now, to the roof. I’ll update you after that. Please hurry.” Stepping into the closet, he rifles through one of the drawers, then tosses me a pair of gigantic wool mittens. “Put these on too.”
Once I’m bundled up enough for his liking, we take the private lift to the roof. The helicopter is already running. “Please tell me we’re not going to the beach again,” I say as the wind whips around us and finds every tiny gap in my clothing to slip through.
Henry wraps his arm around me and steers me toward the chopper, then helps me inside. The door closes behind us, and we strap into our seats. The air is warmer than outside, but I can already tell I’m going to need every layer I’m wearing for this trip.
“Now will you tell me where we’re going?” I say.
He looks over at me, and I can see the anxiety still etched on his face. “Roberts’s mother-in-law has a hunting cabin up north. We’re going to hide out there.”
“We’re what?” I force a laugh. “For a second there, it sounded like you said hunting cabin.”
Henry’s eyes narrow a tiny bit before resuming their anxious patrolling. The chopper lifts into the air, and my stomach drops. “You heard me,” he says.
“You cannot be serious.”
He whirls toward me, the light from the instrument panel in the cockpit reflecting in his eyes. “What part of this do you think I’m joking about?”
“Why can’t we stay at the Carlton?” I hold up my hand. “And before you say anything, I’m aware I sound like a pretentious princess right now. But a hunting cabin?”
He rubs his palm against the side of his neck. “Trust me, if we had any other options, I wouldn’t be taking you there. It was the most remote place we could find on short notice.”
“Isn’t remote bad, though?” I say. “With people around, there’s less chance he’ll try anything, right?”
“It didn’t stop him at the memorial.”
Bloody hell. He’s right. “So what’s the plan then?”
“Lay low until we catch this guy.”
“I’m going to need more than that.”
Henry shrugs and glances at me. “We’re making this up as we go. I realize you don’t want to trust me, but you don’t have a choice at the moment.”