28. “Titanium” - David Guetta Sia
“Titanium” - David Guetta + Sia
I’m not sure what the acceptable reaction is to finding out your private secretary and friend is not only dating your ex-fiancé, but also trying to poison you, but I’d like to think that mine is normal.
I twist the tap to add more hot water to the tub. I’m on my second glass of wine, and it really does taste better when you’re submerged in a bubble bath. Normally I’d be meeting Maisie at this time of the morning, so yes, I’m day drinking. Fortunately, I’m also alone, so no one needs to know.
My phone rings from across the room, but I ignore it. Rosalind has already called me three times this morning, and I’ve declined every time. I don’t have the mental bandwidth to discuss what happens next. All I want right now is to enjoy this gigantic tub before I lose my chance.
I’m moving back. The thought should fill me with joy, but instead all I can think about is how lonely the palace will feel. Bea is going back to Cambridge, Maisie will be behind bars, and Henry—
It doesn’t matter where Henry will be, or what he’ll be doing.
We never had a real possibility of a future anyway, no matter what either of us thought at any point in the past. Timing is clearly not our strong suit, but maybe that’s just the universe’s way of showing us that it was never meant to be.
At least we won’t be parting as bitter enemies. There’s a piece of my heart that will always belong to him, no matter how angry he makes me. And I’d like to think a piece of him is mine, too.
I should start packing my things. I could even be gone by this afternoon. But for some reason, the thought has me wanting to sink to the bottom of the tub.
I don’t want to leave. I can admit it. Why I don’t want to is a different beast altogether.
My phone trills again as I’m drying off, and I roll my eyes when Rosalind’s name lights up the screen. Once it goes to voicemail, I see that the previous call was not from her but from William. I have no idea what that monster wants with me, but I’m stupid enough to find out.
“Your Majesty,” he says.
“I’m returning your call.” I squeeze the water from my hair with a towel and try not to clench my jaw.
“I need your help with something,” he says.
“What makes you think I’d ever help you?”
The line is quiet for a full thirty seconds. I’m starting to think he’s hung up when he finally speaks. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About forgiveness and all that.”
I toss the towel into the laundry hamper. “I spoke too soon. You don’t deserve forgiveness.”
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I can assure you—”
“I heard that you tried to have me killed.”
Anything he might have been about to say evaporates. I can hear his breathing through the phone. It sends chills up my spine.
“Is that what he told you?” he says.
“He said you had me thrown from that horse.”
An abrupt laugh cracks through the tension. “Let me guess—Henry fed you a story about how I was behind everything. You should know that he isn’t always the most reliable narrator. I assume you’ve discovered that for yourself by now.”
My heart kicks up a notch. What is he saying? That Henry can’t be trusted? That the story was all a fabrication?
“He was so upset by the accident, he convinced himself it was my fault, that I was out to keep the two of you apart. I’ll be the first to admit that I wasn’t a good father, but I would never try to hurt you, Celia. You have to believe me.”
I want to retort that I don’t have to do anything, but something holds me back. In all the years I’ve known William, I’ve never known him to be violent, and I’ve certainly never heard him threaten to kill someone.
“You were right, about needing to make amends.” He pauses a few more beats. “I’m ready to apologize to my son.”
Later that same day, the nausea I’m experiencing has more to do with the butterflies in my stomach than the poison slowly ebbing from my body. My phone call with William is certainly to blame for most of it.
He said it was all a big misunderstanding, that because of the things he did to Henry when he was little, Henry decided he was a monster who destroys everything.
It makes sense, I guess. I’m just tired of having to determine whether someone is telling the truth or not. When did honesty become so worthless?
The lift doors open, and William steps into the penthouse. He bows stiffly when he sees me, and I marvel again at the absurdity of our situation. Six months ago, I would have been bowing to him.
He glances around the foyer, but it’s impossible to read his expression. Given the animosity between them, I can’t imagine he’s ever been inside Henry’s home before, but stranger things have happened.
The security officer I asked Roberts to station inside the doors meets my eyes. I nod to let him know I’m good.
“Come in,” I say, hoping Henry doesn’t throw me out on my ass for playing hostess again. More than likely it would be on account of this particular guest, which is why we need a solid plan for approaching him with all of this.
“Is he here?” William asks as we make our way into the flat.
“He left,” I say, “and I don’t know how soon he’ll be back. I thought we could meet in the library, just in case.” Henry will need time to come around to the idea of talking to his father. Having him walk in on us in the great room would probably not be the best way to introduce it.
Tundra bounds around the corner at the sound of voices. He offers the duke a panting smile and a paw. William smiles and shakes it. “How you doing, big boy? You remember me?”
Tundra wags his tail and strokes William’s leg, begging for more. William straightens, pulls a foil-wrapped box from under his arm, and thrusts it at me. “Here. As a thank you for helping me.”
I take it from him. This is the second time he’s given me a gift as a token of appreciation. The man at least knows how to say thank you, even if he has trouble with “I’m sorry.”
“They’re truffles,” he says.
“Thank you.” I place them on the kitchen counter. “That was thoughtful of you.”
We enter the library, Tundra pushing his way into the room first. I hope Henry will forgive us for ganging up on him like this. William waits for me to sit before taking the seat across from me on the sofa.
Neither of us says anything for a bit. He rubs his hands together and lets them hang between his knees. “Do you think he’ll do it?” he says finally. “Hear me out?”
I study him for a moment. His face is lined, and I wonder if that’s the result of the job, if my own skin will be as wrinkled and leathery as his is thirty years from now.
“I really don’t know.”
He nods as if that’s understandable.
“He told me, you know. About when he was young,” I say.
William’s head snaps up. He watches me like a wild animal stalking its prey, deciding on the best way to attack. Then his expression clears, and he says, “I assumed as much.”
“I’m not going to pretend to have sympathy for your situation,” I say.
He rubs his hand over his closely cropped hair, so short he’s almost bald. “Didn’t expect you to.”
“I don’t understand how a person can do that to a child—any child, but especially their own.
I appreciate your kindness in giving me Tundra”—the dog’s head lifts from my lap as he looks up at me expectantly—“but I want to be clear that I’m doing this because I care about Henry, not because I want to help you. ”
William nods again, his gaze locked on the carpet. “Understood.”
“Great,” I say, smoothing my dress over my legs. “Now let’s talk about the best way to approach this.”
William and I have discussed a few ideas but have yet to land on one that I think his son will be receptive to when I hear Henry calling my name. Bloody hell. It’s too soon.
Tundra hears him too and bolts toward the door, knocking a tall vase from the coffee table in his haste. It shatters on the floor.
“Tundra!” I say, more exasperated at myself for getting myself into this situation than at my dog. William helps me pick up the biggest shards.
Tundra barks at the door as if commanding it to open. Several seconds later, it does, revealing Henry in the doorway. Tundra jumps up on him, and Henry doesn’t push him down, just places his hand on the dog’s head as he takes in the sight of William and me on the floor picking up ceramic pieces.
“What. The. Fuck. Is going on here?” he says, poison lacing his words.
“Tundra knocked over a vase,” I say. “Don’t worry. I’ll replace it.”
Henry walks over and takes my arm, hauling me to my feet. From the other side of the coffee table, William rises as well. The two men eye each other, one with venom, the other with despair.
“Henry,” I say. “Please hear him out.”
He tears his gaze from his father to look down at me. “What is he doing here?”
This wasn’t how I planned for us to do this. I was going to ask Musa to prepare a nice dinner, or we could have hired a mediator. Anything but this.
“He wants to apologize,” I say. There’s no use in pretending otherwise.
“Get out,” Henry hisses at his father. “Now.”
William holds his hands up, palms out. “She’s right. I have some things to say.”
Henry’s jaw flexes, and I squirm under his tight grip. He releases my arm. “There is nothing you could say that I want to hear.”
If William is surprised by the hatred in his son’s voice and body language, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he just looks like a sad father who has missed his only chance to make up the past to his child.
“Can’t you just listen to him?” I say.
Henry keeps his eyes locked on William but shakes his head. “The man uses words as weapons to further his own agenda. Anything he told you was a lie.”
The duke looks at me, resignation pulling his eyes down at the corners. He shrugs, and I know he’s giving up, but I’m not.
“He’s sorry for what he did,” I try again. “If you would just listen to him—”
“Out. Now.” Henry points to the door, his eyes narrowed and dangerous as they stay fixed on his father. “Or I will have you thrown from the terrace.” His tone is dead serious.
I can’t stifle the small gasp that flies out of my mouth.