Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
FRIEDRICH
All through lunch, I had to keep a tight rein on my burning need to take Aurelia in my arms and kiss her senseless or drag her to an empty room and remind her who owns that pussy. At least, who owns it for now. I hate it when my brain tries to take control where she’s concerned.
But now, in the car on the way back to my house, I get to touch her, even if it’s just resting my hand on her knee when I’m not shifting gears.
“You handled my family quite well today,” I say, giving her leg a little squeeze that makes her squeak.
She swats my hand away, and we laugh together. Her laughter always makes me feel like I could float away with it.
“I’ve never been taken home to mother before, so I don’t really have anything to compare it to.”
“Come on, you can’t tell me some guy back in America didn’t take you home to meet his parents for Sunday dinner or whatever it is you southerners do?”
She shakes her head, her lips drawing into a tight line. “Nope. There was never anyone that serious.”
“No one you wanted to meet your mother?”
“None.”
How can one girl be such an open book and so closed off at the same time? But then again, I feel a strange sense of pride that I have the honor of being the first to introduce her to my family. “And what about me? When do I get to meet your dad?”
Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Do you want to meet him today?”
It’s still only midafternoon, and my plans for the night, after I’ve had my way with this woman, involve visiting Miles at the jazz club and preparing for yet another trip in my father’s stead.
“I’d be honored.”
Aurelia directs me as I continue driving, anxiety churning a bit. Brenton and Frank follow behind in his black SUV. I’m sure I’ll get an earful for making an unplanned, unapproved stop.
“Should you call first and make sure he’s up for a visit?” I ask.
“No, it’s fine.”
For someone who has such an uneasy relationship with her father, showing up unannounced feels rather familiar. I follow her directions to the south end of the city and through a set of iron gates.
“Does your father work here?” I ask as we pass rows of headstones and artificial flowers, because surely this isn’t going the direction I think it’s going.
“No.”
That is all the explanation she offers. Shit. I swallow hard, pushing down thoughts of my own father as we wind to the back of the cemetery.
I put the car in park, bracing against the winter wind as I step around to the passenger door.
Aurelia wraps her coat tight around her waist, her other hand falling into mine like it’s something we do all the time.
My chest swells as her fingers lock with mine.
It’s not quite possessive, more like grounding.
And I need that grounding because I can’t think about the fact that she’s lost her father when I might be losing mine too. And—fucking stop it, Friedrich!
We walk along a couple rows of burial plots before coming to a stop in front of a simple grey stone.
Julian Otto Graf
12 November 1977 – 29 May 2020
Aurelia kneels before sitting on the ground, tucking her legs to the side. She pats the grass next to her.
“Friedrich, meet Dad.” She gestures to the stone as I join her. “Dad, I’m sure you already know who this is.”
My eyes dart between her and the grave. Her expression is soft, and I don’t pick up any signs of sadness. I’m struck by how at ease she is, sitting in front of the marker for her dead father, like it’s just another day at the park. I swallow hard against the lump clogging my throat.
“I arrived in the country two weeks after he died. Funny how life works.”
“I don’t know if funny is the word.” My mouth is suddenly bone dry, and my heart feels like it’s pumping against immense pressure.
Aurelia’s hand on mine makes me flinch, causing her to pull away, but not before I can catch her again and clasp her hand tightly.
She traces soothing circles along the back of my hand with her thumb and turns to face me directly.
My pulse slows in the warmth of her eyes, safe and welcoming as a walk in the summer woods.
“Friedrich, tell me what’s racing through your mind.”
My gaze returns to the gravestone in front of us. She’s showing me her dead dad, and here I am, the one on the verge of total emotional collapse.
“It’s my father.” I clear my throat to dampen the tremble that is trying to settle in my voice. “The king… He’s not well.”
I pause, my vision going a little blurry as I stare straight ahead, not daring to look over at Aurelia. She sits beside me, quiet but present, her hand squeezing mine a little tighter.
“It’s cancer,” I breathe. “Stomach. That’s why he’s so thin.
He can barely eat. He dealt with it once before, when I was a kid, but he went into remission, and the doctors were hopeful he’d be cancer-free for good.
But last year it returned with a vengeance.
He’s gone through all kinds of treatments, and the toll it’s taken is finally starting to show. ”
After a few more beats of silence, Aurelia whispers, “I didn’t know.”
I turn to face her again, letting go of shame as I see the tears threatening in her eyes as well. “No one does. Just the family and a few close staff members. Even Miles didn’t know until recently.”
“Thank you. For trusting me.”
“It feels good to share it. Especially with someone who knows what it is like to… lose someone.” I swallow again to keep from turning into a total sobbing mess.
Her arms are strong around me as she pulls me to her chest. Her embrace is safe and warm, and I let only a few tears fall. She holds me tight as if she can squeeze out all the fear and anxiety and worry and utter helplessness I have kept pent up over the last months.
She starts rubbing gentle circles on my back, and it’s just so damn comforting that everything inside me breaks loose.
“He’s giving up, Aurelia,” I sob into her shoulder before I lose all ability to form words.
She says nothing, simply holding me in her arms, still rubbing my back and humming as I shake in her embrace. I haven’t had a good cry like this in a couple of months, and I realize how much better it is to share it with someone rather than lying alone in my room.
My mind is flooded with memories of my father when he was healthy.
Of my first visit with him to the opening of parliament at eight years old.
I spent the whole day covered in mustard from a hot dog thrown at me on the walk to the chambers.
Father didn’t allow me to change; he wanted the country to see that their monarchs would always rise.
I remember the nights I would sit with him in his study and he would talk to me about politics and duty and history and the role of the monarchy in modern society.
None of it meant much to me as a young child, but now they are precepts I ruminate on daily.
I reminisce about our family vacations and the times he and I attended Portyard matches together.
It strikes me how vastly unfair it is that he may never meet his grandchildren, because he would be a doting and devoted Papa.
A chill wind blows around us, shaking the bare tree branches and whipping Aurelia’s hair around us both. I’m wrung out, but perhaps a bit lighter.
I sit up and gaze into her emerald eyes again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take that kind of turn.”
Her eyebrows draw together as she gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You don’t ever have to apologize for being vulnerable, especially not when it comes to grief. I mourned alone. You don’t have to.”
My chest swells, and all the tension begins to drain from my muscles as I relax under her soft eyes. Just her presence is a comfort I’m growing addicted to. And her touch soothes away the cares weighing on my shoulders, if only for a bit.
“You are an incredible woman, Aurelia Sumner.”
I stand, offering a hand to help her up and draw her to me.
I bow my head to rest my forehead to hers, my heart racing with each shared breath.
Her lips part slightly, and I can’t resist pressing a kiss to them.
Hard but chaste, I don’t push to deepen the kiss but just enjoy having her tucked so close to me.
Another cold breeze shakes us from the moment, but we stay face to face, eyes locked in cautious desire.
“I adore you.”
Aurelia goes still in my arms. She begins to chew on her lower lip like she always does when she worries.
I drag my thumb along her mouth, and she releases her lip but casts her eyes to the ground.
Taking her hand in mine, I place a soft kiss on her forehead before leading us back to the car.
A thought occurs to me as I drive away from the cemetery and head towards my house.
“Your last name is different.”
“Hm?” She is staring out the window and snaps her head back at my statement.
“You’re Sumner, and the stone back there said Graf.”
“Oh, yeah. My mother also changed my name to her maiden name when my father left. Out of spite.”
“Must have been a bitch to sort out your proof of citizenship when you came back to Emarvia.”
She chuckles. “Yeah, you can say that again.”
“You don’t cuss, do you?” It is less a question and more an observation. In the almost two months I’ve known her, never once has a swearword passed those gorgeous lips, at least when she’s with me.
Aurelia shrugs. “I work with children all day. It would be a difficult habit to contain around them if I swore outside of work.”
“Fair enough.” I’ve been known to let my foul mouth get the better of me in less-than-ideal situations, much to Father and Betsy’s chagrin.
I link Aurelia’s hand in mine, unable to keep myself from picturing her by my side as queen. It’s an image I’ve often found myself wandering to, no matter how impossible. And yet, the grace and humility she evokes in every aspect of her life would make her an excellent queen.
With our fingers laced together as I drive us to Rankten Cottage, I’m forced to shift with my left hand, but I can’t let her go. She feels so right. She feels like the future. Like forever.