Chapter Fifteen
Evan
Are you okay? Tibby told me about the article. I’m so sorry.
And I’m sorry for texting, too. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk to me or not, and Maisie said she already spoke to you, but…I’m always here for you. And we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, I promise. I just wanted to make sure you know you’re not alone.
I love you. I’ll see you tonight.
—Text messages from Evangeline Bright to Christopher Abbott-Montgomery, Earl of Clarence, sent February 12, 2024, 7:48 a.m.
I text Kit three times before I hop in the shower, and by the time I step out of the hot water ten minutes later, I’m already reaching for my phone to see if he’s replied. He hasn’t—he hasn’t even read the messages—and throwing all caution to the wind, I call him.
It immediately goes to voice mail.
I wait five agonizingly long minutes before trying again. Once more, the phone doesn’t even ring, and all I get is a robotic voice instructing me to leave a message.
By the time my teeth are brushed, my hair is dry, and I’m dressed in cozy travel clothes that cost more than my entire childhood wardrobe, I’ve called him twelve times more, each with the same result.
“Did Kit change his number?” I say as I step into my bedroom, where Tibby is playing tug with the puppy and a cashmere sock.
“Is he not answering?” says Tibby without glancing up.
“And he’s not reading my texts.”
“His mobile’s probably off,” she says. “Now that the rest of the world is waking up and news of Ben’s article is spreading.”
She says this in a tone that makes it clear she overheard everything in the dining room, including the revelation about Ben and the Regal Record, and I grimace. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have, but—”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” says Tibby with a scowl. “There was no pressing need for me to know, as annoyed as I am with you for it. You can trust me, though, for the record. Should anything like this come up in the future.”
“I trust you more than I trust almost anyone else,” I point out. “It was just…”
I trail off, not knowing how to put it into words, but Tibby nods anyway. “Yes, it was. Now, if you don’t mind waiting until the plane to put your makeup on, His Majesty has requested to see you before we leave.”
“He has?” I say, surprised. He was so out of it yesterday that I wasn’t even sure he remembered the interview was happening, let alone knew what day it was.
We waste no time making our way to Alexander’s private wing, and the protection officers let me and the puppy in without a word while Tibby waits in the antechamber.
I knock on the bedroom door, not wanting to burst in and startle Alexander—or worse, accidentally catch a glimpse of a sponge bath or a catheter change—and a moment later, Jenkins opens the door.
“Oh, lovely,” he says. “His Majesty was afraid you wouldn’t make it before your flight.”
“Pretty sure the pilot isn’t going to leave without us,” I say, and while normally I’d offer Jenkins a hug, his posture is as stiff and formal as it has been since I arrived at Balmoral.
I hate the distance between us, but nothing except time and a substantial amount of groveling on my part is going to bridge it, so for now I pretend nothing is wrong and turn to face my parents.
Except it’s only Alexander today, sitting up in bed and slowly feeding himself from a breakfast tray. A nurse watches over him, ready to help if need be, but he’s doing a damn good job on his own, all things considered.
“Where’s Mom?” I say as I perch on the couch she usually occupies. Poppy curls up at my feet, happy to play with a discarded rag my mom uses for watercolors.
“I asked to speak to you alone,” says Alexander, his voice stronger than it was the day before, and he sets down his fork.
“Why?” I say, suspicious. There aren’t many things my parents keep from one another.
Alexander hesitates, then reaches for something on the corner of the tray. It’s a small black box, unmistakable in purpose, and as soon as I see it, I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
No. No.
“You said—on Christmas, you said you’d never force my mom into a role she didn’t want,” I manage, “and we both know she doesn’t want to be queen.”
“This is what we both want, Evie,” says my father gently, and he sounds so much like himself again that the tears springing to my eyes aren’t only out of frustration and fear.
“She and I’ve been talking about it for a very long time, what we would do if we had the chance, and titles, roles…
none of that matters. But being her husband…
having her as my wife…that would mean more to me than…
” He shakes his head slowly, seemingly at a loss for words.
“But—she would hate royal life,” I say, my stomach in knots. “And forcing her to live it—”
“I would never, just like I would never hurt her again. Our marriage would be between us. The kingdom and Commonwealth would have no place in it.”
“Tell that to the millions of people who have very strong opinions about our family,” I mutter. “It’ll make her a target. The media will never leave her alone—”
“Is that a reason to never give her the happily-ever-after I promised her decades ago?” says my father, and I swallow hard.
“I will protect her. She will never have to take part in any ceremony she doesn’t wish to attend.
She won’t even have to take the title of queen, if she’d rather not.
All I want is to love her with everything I have—”
“You don’t have to marry her to do that,” I protest, but he keeps going.
“—and I am done living by everyone else’s rules. My life does not belong to the people of this country, or to the government. It is mine, to live and do with what I like, and this is what I want, Evie. This is what she and I both—”
He stops suddenly and clumsily wipes his wet eyes, and guilt stabs me deep in the chest. I know how much they love each other. I’ve seen it countless times, and I’ve heard it in every story they’ve told me about their life together, both before and after I was born.
But I’ve spent my entire life trying to protect my mom from people who would make her feel less than for her mental illness, or worse, try to rip her to shreds for the things she’s done that she couldn’t always help—things that weren’t her choice—and the thought of putting her in the line of fire like this, all for a ring…
“You and Helene are still married, though,” I say in a small voice. “Separated, sure, but—”
“I’ve instructed my lawyers to begin divorce proceedings, with Helene’s blessing,” says Alexander. “Considering she and I are both eager to move on with our current relationships, I’m hopeful it will be as quick and problem-free as possible.”
I can’t imagine Helene making anything problem-free, but I don’t say that. Instead, I shift from the couch to the edge of his hospital bed, where I clasp his hand between mine.
“Dad,” I say quietly, one of the few times I’ve called him that. “Is there any other way?”
He looks me straight in the eye, his gaze more focused than it has been since he’s woken up from his coma.
“Would you be satisfied,” he says, barely louder than a whisper, “if no one took the love of your life seriously? If you’d been through so much together, fought for every small step you’ve taken side by side, and yet everyone treated you as a laughingstock because of…
of circumstances and mistakes? If it were Kit, would you be satisfied with this? ”
My heart skips a beat at the mention of Kit.
I haven’t told my parents about our so-called break—that would make it feel real in a way I couldn’t take.
But I understand what Alexander means. And if our positions were reversed, I’d be willing to fight anyone and everyone who turned the love between Kit and me into a punch line.
“No,” I admit. “Do you really need their approval, though? Or—validation?”
“Of course not. But I do need yours.”
I press my lips together and stare at that damn box.
“If you and my mom get married, then I’ll be legitimized, and everything Ben is afraid of will happen.
Which means he’ll only come after us harder.
We’ve already almost lost you once, and my mom…
” I trail off. I’m not sure if he knows about the fire at Windsor.
“I don’t—I can’t lose either of you. Okay? I can’t.”
“You won’t,” he says, and he squeezes my hand with surprising strength.
“And I won’t lose either of you. I know I made you this promise once before, but I swear on all I am, Evie, that I will protect you and your mother.
I will protect our family. After all we’ve been through…
after what happened in January…I have a second chance.
We have a second chance, and all I want to do with it is to spend the rest of my life with her.
This is how it should’ve been from the start. ”
I think about my own future laid out before me.
It glows with possibility and potential, but the moment I picture experiencing it without Kit, the shimmer of promise disappears entirely.
With him, it’s a real future, but without him, it’s nothing—just a map of maybes.
And that’s what my parents have been living all this time without each other, scraping together moments when they can, navigating the kind of shit that no two people should ever have to go through together or alone, yet somehow managing to do both at the same time.
I ache at the thought of facing that empty future without Kit, and I ache for my parents and all they’ve lost already.
I can’t do that to them again. No matter how afraid I am, no matter how much more danger we’ll be in, they deserve that glow of potential.
They deserve all the happiness in the damn world.
“Okay,” I finally say, and my father studies me, his eyes wide.
“Truly?” he says, as if he doesn’t quite believe it. “You’ll give us your blessing?”
I nod, not sure I can say it twice. “On one condition.”
“Anything,” he says, and even though he really shouldn’t be saying things like that, I’m past taking advantage of it. For the moment, at least.
I glance at the corner of the room, where Jenkins sits at a small table near the window, reading through documents. “Jenkins has to forgive me,” I say. “Really forgive me, not just say so.”
He raises an eyebrow, and I know he’s listening to every word. Alexander chuckles weakly. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says, also peering at Jenkins. “Though it may be best to give him some time.”
“As long as it’s before the wedding,” I say. “Otherwise, you’ll just have to cancel the whole thing.”
This, at least, gets the tiniest of smiles out of Jenkins, and that’s enough for now.
“Can I see the ring?” I say, and Alexander nods. When he reaches for it, however, his hand begins to shake, so I pick up the box and open it.
Inside is a beautiful emerald-cut diamond with a cluster of three smaller stones artfully arranged on either side—mint green, rose pink, and lilac, the shades my mom favors for her abstract paintings.
The design is unconventional, and definitely not something I’d ever see on Helene’s or Constance’s fingers, but it suits her perfectly.
“She’ll love it,” I say, shutting the case and setting it back on the tray. “When are you giving it to her?”
“As soon as I’m well enough to get on one knee,” he says. “Or…I suppose if that isn’t happening anytime soon, then until I can’t stand waiting any longer.”
Thirty-six minutes later, as Tibby and I sit in the back of a town car on our way to the nearest private airport, my mom sends me a text from Alexander’s mobile:
Mom
I said yes!
And the image attached shows the ring on her finger, looking every bit as beautiful as I knew it would.