Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Damien
Ibeat Blair back to Thornhurst by only fifteen minutes.
The fire in the cottage’s hearth is still coming to life, the coffee machine still spitting noisily atop the kitchen counter, when I get the notification someone has accessed the front gate.
Abandoning the email I was responding to, I pull up the security cameras on my laptop to watch as one of Porter’s chauffeurs delivers Blair and her bags onto the front steps. Leaning forward, I stare at the video feed, not relaxing until she’s made it inside and the man has left the way he came.
I wait, selfishly hoping she will reemerge and come find me, but the doors stay firmly closed.
Finally, when I can’t stand it any longer, I close my computer and rise to pour myself a cup of coffee, feeling older and wearier than I can ever remember.
Even with the current distance between Blair and me, I should be relieved.
After over an hour spent with my family members and our aunt’s attorney, it finally became clear that Araminta’s last will and testament—which was ridiculously long and accounted for every last teaspoon—did not include me.
My anonymity and the secret I’ve carried for my entire life are secure.
At what cost, though?
For so long, protecting my privacy was the most important thing in the world to me. I’d seen firsthand what my brothers went through, what it was like to grow up in view of the entire country, and the expectations which come with the Ashwell name.
I didn’t want that—I still don’t—and yet my relationship with every single person I care about has been damaged as a result.
Christ, I’ve allowed it to damage my relationship with Blair.
Blair, who has gone from being the worst part of my day to the best.
Blair, who I showed the ugliest parts of myself, yet still looks at me like I’m worth something.
Blair, whom I was so convinced I couldn’t possibly want, but now will for the rest of my life.
I’ve never told anyone the full story. Right to my core, I believed I would take my secrets to the grave, and there was nobody I could ever trust with all of it.
For whatever reason, I’m filled with the bizarre urge to laugh as I set down my mug in the sink and take my coat off the hook beside the door.
The sun is setting behind the clouds as I leave the cottage behind and make my solitary way across the snowy grounds, my eyes on the lights shining in the windows of the grand old house.
I let myself in, but bypass the sitting room and stairs, heading straight for the pool. It’s a hunch, but my instincts prove correct when I open the cellar door, and the soft lapping of water carries up to me from the chamber below.
Ignoring the painful knot which has formed in the center of my chest, I lower my foot to the first step and begin my descent into the familiar space, only stopping when the room comes into full view.
Blair is sitting on the side of the pool, her hair dripping and water spreading over the stone floor below her, as if she’s only just pulled herself out. Her eyes are downcast, but even from a distance, I see her features tighten as I enter the room.
As I look at her, it registers that losing this woman terrifies me in a way that having my identity revealed never has.
“Hi.” The single syllable echoes through the room, and Blair’s shoulders stiffen.
She doesn’t respond, doesn’t look at me, but doesn’t stop me or send me away, either. Given the circumstances, it’s the best I can hope for, and I’m encouraged as I take the last few steps down to the cellar floor.
Blair kicks aimlessly through the water, her fingers gripping the edge, as I strip off my boots, socks, and coat.
Not waiting for her invitation, I roll my pants up to the knees and cross to sit beside her, putting my feet in the water alongside hers.
I have no idea where to begin, and stare at the arched, stone ceiling above us, lost in the familiar cavern of grief and guilt, as the woman beside me waits for me to find my words.
Finally, lowering my gaze to the water, I decide on the beginning.
“My mother’s name was Nora Mallory.”
Blair stills, listening.
It’s been years since I said her name aloud, and even longer since I actually talked about her.
I didn’t expect it to hurt. My relationship to my mother feels tenuous at best, and I have never quite worked out how much of that can be attributed to my being so young when she died, or whether the significance of my father overshadowed her.
“She was working as a cocktail waitress at a private club in Wyngate when she met my father. He was older, and wealthy, and,” I scoff, “married. I believe he loved her, in his way, and they were having an affair for a year before she became pregnant. He put her up in an old property belonging to his family, one that hadn’t been used for many years, and that was where I was raised for the first part of my life.
My father continued to visit, sometimes staying for days at a time, but never longer. ”
It had confused me when I was young, why the other boys in school had fathers who they saw every day, and mine only came when he could. At least until my teacher at the village school put on a live broadcast of the King of Stelland giving a speech.
Even now, decades later, it’s all too easy to remember the rejection, betrayal, and confusion that rose inside me at that moment.
Sitting in the classroom, I’d watched my father stand behind a podium in full ceremonial garb, speaking into a microphone about duty and honor and loyalty to one’s country.
To his side stood a thin-faced woman I’d never met, and three boys who were very like me, and just about my age—the brothers I didn’t know existed.
I couldn’t reconcile that man was the same as the one who’d helped me repair my bicycle, or who brought my mother flowers and danced her around the kitchen. The man who always left and seemed to take a piece of her with him when he did.
Everything I thought I knew about my very existence was thrown to the wind on that day, and I’m not sure I ever fully recovered the pieces.
My heart lifts as, impossibly, I feel Blair lean over, resting her cheek on my shoulder. The warmth of her skin, the weight of her… It steadies me. This woman, whom I was once so determined to hate, has now become the center of my universe.
“My mother died. When I was eleven.”
A tremor wracks Blair’s body. “Oh god.” Her voice breaks, devastation evident in every syllable. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry, Damien.”
My hand finds hers in the space between us, and I squeeze it in silent reassurance. “It was a long time ago. I’ve made my peace with it. As much as anyone can, anyway.”
A part of me is steeled, bracing for the inevitable question of how it happened.
I would tell her, if there is a soul alive who deserves the truth, it’s her, but the weight of this moment is already impossibly heavy.
The next part of my story is difficult to recount for very different reasons, and gratitude expands inside me when Blair seems to sense the topic isn’t something I’m ready to discuss, and stays quiet, waiting patiently for whatever I’ll tell her.
I stretch out my leg beneath the water, hooking her foot with mine as I continue. “After that, I was sent to live with my father’s widowed sister-in-law. Araminta.”
Blair lets out a heavy, disbelieving breath. “Damien. What—” I look over, and watch as she shakes her head slightly, as though needing to dismiss her impulse to write the question off as foolish. “What was your father’s name?”
My lips twist as I stare back at her, my heart beating like a drum inside the hollow cavern of my chest. “Fabian,” I reply at last. “Fabian Ashwell.”
At last, Blair lifts her gaze from the water to look at me, her features stricken. “Fabian Ashwell. King Fabian Ashwell?”
I manage a weak smile. “Yes.”
She sits back, pushing her damp hair back from her face. “You’re… Is this real? You’re serious?”
“No one knows,” I tell her carefully. “No one outside the family, anyway.”
And now her.
A hysterical giggle bubbles from Blair’s lips. “I’m sorry. This is… this is a lot to take in.”
“I know it is.” Squeezing her hand again, I drag my thumb over the back of it. “I understand.”
“God, I thought I was losing it,” she half-laughs, wiping the corners of her eyes. “That day I saw you and Prince Leopold outside the security office. I thought…”
Of course, she was spying.
Chuckling weakly, I gaze at her, my chest full to bursting with affection. “We look alike.” I acknowledge grimly. “Less so, believe it or not, than me and Ben.”
Blair’s mouth falls open, and she gapes at me in muted disbelief. “Ben?” she splutters. “Oh my god, your brother is the king. You call King Benedict, Ben.”
“I also call him a shithead occasionally.”
“Damien!”
“He deserves far worse, trust me.”
Blair covers her face with her hands, shaking her head. “I can’t believe this. Even with the watch and everything, and then seeing you with them this morning, I couldn’t really believe… Holy shit.”
My pulse leaps. “The watch?”
Looking a little bashful now, she lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I found it and saw the engraving the day I broke into your cottage. At first, I’d wondered if you stole it, but that didn’t seem right. You wouldn’t keep it there, or wind it every day, if it wasn’t precious to you.”
By now, I would have thought I’d learned my lesson in underestimating this woman, but she has managed to shatter my expectations yet again. Dragging my thumb over the side of her hand, I stare at her profile and realize I’m smiling. “What else did you work out?”
Blair casts a wary look at me, but the unguarded devotion I’m currently experiencing must reflect in my face, because her apprehension softens.
“Alba told me that Araminta had recommended you for the job to my parents, but it seemed weird she would even know the name of a palace staffer, never mind be aware you’d resigned.
Then, after I saw you talking to Prince Leopold, I remembered the call from Leo you’d gotten when we were driving to Wyngate.
” She wrinkles her nose. “There were a lot of little things, to be honest. It hadn’t occurred to me that you were King Fabian’s son, specifically, but I wondered whether you were related to the Ashwells. ”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
At the question, her face falls, and something strains inside me as she looks away, staring back into the depths of the pool. “I guess I was afraid,” she admits softly. “That you’d tell me it doesn’t concern me.”
Doesn’t concern her?
I turn the words over in my mind and wonder how many times this woman’s genuine care has been cast aside, dismissed, or rejected? Fuck. Never again. Not from me.
“Blair?” At the sound of her name, mossy-green eyes lift to meet mine once again, apprehension shining in them. My hold on her hand tightens. “I’m your concern. If you want me to be.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “Are you—I mean,” she lets out a watery laugh, “Are you sure?”
In response, I pull her into my lap, right there on the side of the pool.
Blair is still wet from her swim, but I couldn’t care less.
I hold her against me, pressing my lips to her temple as water seeps through my clothing.
“There is more to the story, things I haven’t told you yet.
Some parts of my history…” The familiar, bitter, corrosive guilt spreads through my center, and I shake my head helplessly.
“I’m not merely a victim of circumstance, love. ”
Love.
Christ, all this time, I’ve been such an idiot. What the fuck else could it have been?
She doesn’t acknowledge my slip, but Blair’s fingers lift to play with the hair hanging over the back of my neck, resting her cheek on my shoulder. “Just to be clear, you’re telling me you’re not perfect? Damien, I used to call you Satan.”
My laugh booms unexpectedly from my chest, echoing over the water and off the vaulted ceiling. “I believe there were a few other iterations of the sentiment, too, if memory serves.”
Blair lifts five fingers and begins ticking off names. “Bringer of Darkness, Evil Incarnate—” I catch her hand in mine and drag it to my lips, kissing the translucent skin on the inside of her wrist as the insults turn to giggles.
“Yes, yes,” I scoff, not quite able to believe this conversation I never thought I could have has resulted in laughter.
Allowing her hand to fall back to her lap, I turn, pressing my lips to her forehead.
“My point is that I’ve done things I’m not proud of.
There are pieces of this that no one knows, including my brothers, and I’m not sure you would see me the same way if I told you. ”
Blair’s hand settles on the side of my neck, and it sends warmth spreading through my entire body. “Do you want to tell me?”
My response comes instantly. “No,” I croak, “I don’t. But there’s one thing I want even less, and that’s to keep secrets from you. Especially if it means you’re hurt by it.”
If there was any way around telling her this, any way at all, I would take it.
Even as the unspoken offer hangs in the silence between us, I pray she won’t accept it.
She isn’t the only one who is afraid, but I’ve done too much damage to the people I love, and I can’t shoulder the guilt of more mistakes.
Is that why I fought this so hard?
At last, Blair lifts her head from my shoulder. She gazes at me, a soft, sad smile playing on her full lips, as she smooths her thumb over the line of my jaw.
“Tell me everything.”