18. “Rise” - Katy Perry
“Rise” - Katy Perry
Ispent last night tossing and turning. Sleep was a mix of hyperrealistic dreams and that liminal state it’s hard to wake from.
Bea had had her baby, and she kept saying things like “Isn’t she beautiful?
” But when I looked at the tiny bundle in her arms, all I could see was Axel’s face. Henry’s face.
I knock on my sister’s suite before heading to my office. I can’t let this go without trying once more to change her mind. She’s too young to be a mother, especially a single one.
Her lady’s maid, Christa, opens the door, stepping aside so I can come in.
“Who is it?” Bea calls.
“Just me, but I can come back later,” I say. It’s not like I can risk the staff overhearing this particular conversation.
“You’re fine. Come in.”
When I enter, she’s sitting at her dressing table, a large and ornate piece from King William I’s reign. The dark wood gleams against the mauve walls. She meets my eyes in the mirror as Christa resumes her position behind her, curling Bea’s glossy strands into loose waves.
“To what do I owe the honor?” Bea says, toying with a fat makeup brush.
“I was just”—my eyes shoot to Christa—“checking up on you. It’s been forever since we’ve talked.”
Bea cocks a brow in the mirror. “You were just here last week. You interrupted my nap, remember?”
“There was that one thing you were dealing with, and I wasn’t sure how—”
“For god’s sake, Celia. She already knows.”
“Knows what?”
Bea rolls her eyes and turns on her stool, tugging her hair from Christa’s hands. The maid gasps and fumbles to keep hold of the curling iron without singeing Bea’s curls off.
“Christa,” Bea says. “She knows I’m pregnant, so you can stop tiptoeing around like the palace will explode if a single soul finds out.”
My eyes flicker to Christa, who, to her credit, appears completely immersed in salvaging Bea’s hair and oblivious to our conversation. I’m not stupid, however.
“Can we talk somewhere . . . privately?” I say.
Bea whirls back around to face the mirror, sending Christa into yet another tailspin. “This is private. And I already told you, Christa knows I’m pregnant. Who do you think bought the test for me?”
I don’t miss the way Christa’s eyes flit to mine, then immediately back to her work.
“Bea, are you sure that’s wise? No offense, Christa, but if you’re telling staff members, Bea—”
“Everyone’s going to find out eventually,” she says.
“They don’t need to,” I tell her.
“Why are you so determined to hide this?” She tosses the makeup brush onto the table, where it lands with a loud clatter.
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection. Babies are wonderful things.” Is she aware of the way her hand floats to her stomach? A few gestures like that in public, and this whole thing blows up in our faces. “Miracles.”
I step closer to the dressing table and rest my hand on Bea’s shoulder, careful to stay out of Christa’s way. “I know that. But think about what you’ll be giving up if you go through with this.”
“Parties. Drinking. Work.” She rolls her eyes again. “I don’t like those things anyway.”
“Men,” I add, raising my brows.
She shrugs my hand away. “I’m tired of them too. Besides, the right guy will love me and my baby.”
“Then think about what this will do to our family’s image.”
A harsh sound flies from her mouth. I think it’s meant to be a laugh, but it sounds more like a cackle. “You mean your image.”
“All of ours,” I say. “What one of us does affects the others.”
Bea smiles so sweetly in the mirror, it hurts my teeth to look at. “Then your good deeds can make up for the rest of our naughty behaviors.”
It’s getting harder to breathe. There’s a tightness in my chest that wasn’t there when I came in. I need to get out of here, to get back to a place where I’m still holding the reins on what now feels like a team of wild horses, stampeding toward the edge of a cliff.
Just before I turn on my heel and march toward the door, I remember that I hold a trump card of sorts. I take a deep breath, keeping my eyes trained on Bea’s face in the mirror.
“Does Mum know?”
My sister visibly jolts, her eyes flying up to meet mine.
We stayed locked there for several seconds, then she drops her gaze back to the earrings she’s scooting around the table.
“I’m planning to tell her,” she says, her voice as quiet as the strokes of the brush Christa is dragging through her hair.
“And how do you think she’ll take the news?”
It’s no secret that Rosalind is not only traditional in her views, but as old-fashioned as they come. I have yet to convince her that “Alexa” is simply the voice activation prompt for our smart devices and not the name of a woman on the other end listening to all of her conversations.
“I think she’ll be excited about a grandchild.” Bea lifts her chin.
It’s a farce, and we both know it. The only grandchild our mum will be excited about is the one who will someday be sitting on the throne of Wesbourne.
Before I can reply, my phone rings from inside my bag. I fish it out and check the screen. It’s Preston. I glance at Bea once more, but she is adamantly ignoring my gaze. I move toward the door. “I need to take this. But we are not done talking about this.”
“Or we could be,” she says.
I click to accept the call and close the suite door behind me.
“Good morning,” Preston says. “Sleep well?”
“I did, thank you. What’s going on?” He never calls me unless it’s a serious. “Please don’t tell me they did another story on Elizabeth.”
He chuckles. “No, nothing like that. The coverage from the other day was splendid, though. The press is raving about you.”
“That’s good to hear.” Maybe it will help buffer the news of Bea’s pregnancy.
“I’m calling to relay a message from the private investigator you asked me to hire.”
My eyes dart up and down the corridor to make sure no one is around. “Shh!” I hiss. “I hope you’re alone.”
“Relax,” he says in an amused tone. “I’m alone. Are you?”
I scan the corridor once more. “For now. What is the message?”
“One sec.” Papers rustle on the other end. “He wants to know how far you’re willing to go for information.”
I pause. Is it like a sliding scale, or . . . ? “What are my options?”
“He didn’t give options per se.”
“I’m not willing to kill someone, if that’s what he means.”
A hoot of laughter erupts, and I hold the phone away from my ear. “He’s a PI, not a mob boss, Celia. He’s not going to threaten anyone with murder.”
“I don’t know how these things work,” I say in a loud whisper.
“He said he’s struggling to find anything on Ms. Gable. He wants to know if you’re okay with him approaching the little boy.”
“Axel? Why would he do that?”
“Probably to see if he can get the kid to confess to something.”
“He’s three years old,” I say. “It’s not like he’s out committing crimes.”
“No,” Preston says slowly, “but he might be able to tell us if he has a daddy somewhere. One who doesn’t reside at the palace.”
“Right. Okay.” My head is spinning. It does make sense to talk to Axel, if he’ll ever take that thumb out of his mouth long enough to say anything. “I don’t know how he’ll get the chance to talk to him alone. Elizabeth’s pretty protective.”
“That’s what we’re paying him to figure out. He’ll find a way, don’t worry.”
“Okay,” I say quietly.
I take a deep breath. The ethics of this are questionable at best, but I need to know what her end game is and find a way to stop her. If cornering her son is the only way to do that, then I don’t have another choice.
“Tell him to go ahead,” I say.
I’m sticking my things back into my handbag at the end of the day when the door to my office flies open. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to find my husband standing there—after all, he’s the only one with the propensity for flinging doors open like he’s God Himself.
“Hello to you too.” I slide my phone into an exterior pocket. I cannot wait to take a long, hot shower and fall into bed. This day has been a rollercoaster I can’t wait to disembark from.
Henry stalks over to my desk and places his palms on the glossy surface. The heat from his body pulses between us, but I don’t look up. Whatever he’s upset about now will have to wait.
“I’m extremely tired.” I sling my purse over my shoulder. “Maybe we can talk tomorrow?”
He doesn’t budge or give any indication that he’s heard me. I stupidly dart a quick look at him. Deep divots line the space between his brows, and a scowl pulls the corners of his mouth down. Desire pulses through my belly.
“We’ll talk now,” he says. His voice is as hard as steel. “Does terrorizing children wear you out? Is that why you’re so tired?”
I return my eyes to his face in confusion. “What?” I was invited to watch thirty minutes of preteens doing gymnastics this afternoon, but no one seemed terrorized by my presence.
“Did you hire someone to talk to Axel?”
Fuck. I completely forgot about the phone call with Preston this morning. I search my brain for a way out of this. How can Henry possibly know about that? Was Preston telling people? I’m going to kill him if he was.
“Answer the question, C.”
“Technically, I didn’t hire him for that—”
“Damn it, Celia! What the hell were you thinking?”
“You left me no choice.” I toss my bag back onto the desk.
Henry flinches as though I’ve slapped him. “What are you talking about?”
“You and Elizabeth! I am trying to save our family, our marriage, this whole damn country, while this woman is doing everything she can to get her claws into you and tear the whole thing apart.”
He blinks several times. “She’s not trying to destroy anything. She just wants Axel to have a father.”
“Then why did she wait three years to tell you?”
“Because she was scared.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.
“Scared of what?”
It takes a long time for his eyes to lift from the floor. They slowly climb the length of my body until they finally reach my face. The heat soaking into me has more to do with anger than lust, but I won’t deny there’s a little bit of that too. When he finally looks at me, he says quietly, “You.”
I can’t stop my mouth from falling open. “Why would she be scared of me?”
Animation leaks back into his features. “Because she was afraid you would do something like this.”
“Something like what? Protect my family?”
“Like stalk Axel at school to get information from him. He was terrified, C.”
Regret pangs in my chest. I never meant for Axel to get hurt, and if I’d thought there was even the slightest possibility of that, I would’ve told Preston no. “How did you even find out?”
“Elizabeth called me, demanding I get my wife to back off.”
This stings, but I keep my face from flinching the way it desperately wants to. “Why does she have your number?”
“I gave it to her.” Henry paces over to the window and looks out, as though it’s an ordinary evening and he isn’t tearing my heart to shreds.
A slow bleeding has started in my chest. “You’re the bloody prince consort. You can’t give out your numbers to random women.” You’re my husband.
He slowly turns to face me. “She’s the mother of my child, Celia.”
The room is quiet, his words floating around and bouncing against the walls. What is there to say after that proclamation? He doesn’t see how this information is going to tear our family and our country apart. Or maybe he does see it and just doesn’t care.
There’s a brisk knock on the door, followed by Maisie sticking her head inside. We need to work on her waiting-for-an-answer-before-entering thing.
“Oh good, you’re still here. I got your—” She takes a few steps into the room before spotting Henry. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were alone.” She glances down at the small package in her hand and carefully lowers it to her side. I recognize the blue-and-white bag.
“You can just stick it in my purse.” I nod at it on the desk and turn back to Henry. “I’m going to take a shower and head to bed. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
By the time I turn around, Maisie has left the room. I grab my handbag and leave Henry still staring out the window.