EPILOGUE – HATTIE
“Can I ask you a qwestion?”
I look down at the little girl, no more than six, tugging on my skirt, and crouch down in front of her. “Of course you can.”
She blinks at me with big, blue eyes that beam with innocence. “Are you weally a pwincess?”
I nod. “I am.”
She looks around, then leans in. “Do you weally get to wear ballgowns? Like Cindywella?”
“Let me tell you a secret.” I cup my hand around her ear and whisper, “I dance in them in my bedroom all the time!”
She presses her hand to her mouth and giggles, running back to the hospital bed. She clambers up on top of it with the help of her teenage sister, and she whispers something in her ear dramatically. Her sister gasps appropriately, then looks over at me with a beaming smile and mouths, “Thank you.”
I wink, making her blush, and hold my hand up in a gentle wave as I’m ushered out of her room.
“Your Royal Highness,” a woman says, hovering uncertainly to the side.
I turn to her with a warm smile. “Good afternoon,” I say, holding out my hand.
She hesitates, then takes it. “I just wanted to say thank you,” she says quickly. “When you spoke about your panic attacks, you made a huge difference to my daughter. She used to fear them terribly, but when you shared how you manage them, her whole viewpoint changed. You changed her life.”
I swallow back a lump in my throat. “I’m so sorry she has to deal with that, but I’m so happy she found comfort in knowing she isn’t alone.”
Another woman steps up next to her and nods. “My son has struggled with them as part of his bipolar diagnosis. Someone as high-profile as yourself speaking so openly has made more of a difference than you know.”
My stomach twists.
Ah.
“Thank you so much. It’s very difficult, but it gives me strength knowing it helps. Are they both here today?”
They answer in the affirmative, and I have my schedule adjusted to make sure I’m visiting them.
I spend the next two hours popping in and out of rooms and bays, meeting children and teenagers suffering with their mental health.
I speak to parents and siblings and nurses and doctors.
I hear stories of worry and hope. I hear laughter and wipe tears, and by the time I collapse into the car at the end of the day, I’m exhausted.
It’s something I’ve been slowly getting used to. I’ve had one engagement almost every week since the wedding, and sometimes, it’s all a bit much. They’re so strict and rigid, and there are so many people every single time.
I briefly meet Sophia’s gaze in the rearview mirror before I close my eyes. We travel back to the palace in silence, and when we arrive, I’m just as exhausted as I was before.
When we’re safely inside, I greet the police officers I see almost daily and enter the palace, then bid goodbye to the security team. I make my way up to the apartment Finn and I share, and the moment I enter, I kick off my shoes and head for the bathroom.
Engagements with kids are the hardest, especially visits like today.
Thank God today’s hospital was in St Peters.
I run a bath and climb in when it’s only half full. It’s more than enough to keep me warm, and I draw my thighs up to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs. I rest my cheek on the top of my knees and close my eyes.
Ah.
Peace.
“Hattie, are you back?”
I groan at Finn’s voice as it filters through the apartment. So much for my peace and quiet. “Yeah,” I call back. “In the bath.”
There’s a brief pause, then he shouts, “Do you want me to leave you alone?”
“That depends on whether you have food!”
There’s a rustle, and I open my eyes to see him holding a paper bag through the doorway.
“You can come in,” I say.
He laughs and shuffles into the bathroom. He pulls the chair over from the corner and sits down, then lays out various snacks from the paper bag. “Hold on.” He briefly disappears and returns with a stemless wine glass filled halfway with my favourite red. “Okay, now you’re good.”
I grin at him. “What’s all this about?”
“You had a long day. Can’t a man treat his wife?”
“He can, but it makes his wife suspicious.”
He chuckles, but it peters out quickly enough that I know there’s something behind it.
“All right, fine. I thought you should know that Jasmine left for the U.K. this morning. Alone. William and Rosalyn aren’t allowed to leave the country until their investigation is concluded, but Jasmine paid the fines. ”
“Hmm.” I reach over to turn off the taps. “Do you think she’ll ever come back?”
Finn shakes his head. “Everyone here knows what she did. If she’s in the U.K., she can have a fresh start for the most part. I heard she’s considering moving to Edinburgh.”
“Not London?”
“No. It seems the whole situation reached there.”
“Maybe a fresh start is for the best for her.” I lie back in the tub and wriggle my toes. “Especially alone. Without her parents there to enable her every move, she might learn a thing or two.”
“I don’t disagree. I’ll never forgive her for what she tried to do to you, but she was a victim, too.”
Slowly, I nod. He’s right. That’s something I’ve come to learn over the past few months in my sessions with Dr Carter.
Jasmine was a victim in her own way.
She didn’t ask to be born of an affair. She didn’t ask to replace me.
The adults who put a child in that position hold the blame. They created who she is today. They exposed her to situations and enabled bad behaviours, and all it’s resulted in is a nightmare.
For everyone.
In the end, nobody really won.
William Sinclair didn’t win. Rosalyn didn’t win. Jasmine didn’t win.
Even I, in a way, didn’t win.
I may have gotten everything I really wanted, but it came at the expense of the one thing I’d always wanted: a relationship with my father.
It was unlikely as it was, but until the day we both signed the documentation officially estranging me from the Sinclairs, I harboured the slightest, childish hope that he might come around.
That he might even apologise.
Him walking away without a word was the closure I needed, though.
“Is it weird if I say that I hope she finds happiness?” I ask, rolling my head to the side and meeting his gaze. “I’ll never forgive her, but I don’t think I hate her. I don’t feel anything towards her. But she deserves to find peace.”
“No, it’s not weird.” He scoots the chair over and reaches out to push some hair from my eyes. “You’re just a good person.”
“That’s a little heavy-handed considering I wrecked an entire family and their business just a few months ago.”
“I recall you apologising for it.”
“Sarcastically.”
He grins, cupping my chin. “A sarcastic apology is still an apology.”
“I will bite you.” I snap at his hand, and he pulls back with a laugh.
“How was your engagement today?”
“Humbling. A lot of people spent a lot of time thanking me for being so open about my own struggles with my mental health. I’m still not used to it.” I pause. “Will I ever get used to it?”
Finn shakes his head. “That’s one of the weird things about what we do. We can inspire people just by existing.”
It is weird.
I’m glad he knows that.
“By the way, that fashion Instagram account you like had your outfit identified in less than ten minutes this morning.”
“Really? Damn.” I shake my head. “These internet sleuths really are terrifying.”
“You didn’t mind when they were digging up stuff on Jasmine.”
“Oh no, they were terrifying then, too.” I reach for my wine. “I’ll have to try harder with my skirt next time.”
“You might have to resort to hand-sewing it yourself to stump her.”
“Don’t tempt me, Finn. I’ll do it. I will.”
He laughs and leans in, pressing a warm kiss to my forehead. “I don’t doubt it. I think you can do just about anything.”
“Stop flirting with me.”
“Can’t a man compliment his wife?”
“Oh, is that what you were doing? In that case, please, carry on.”
Another rich, warm laugh escapes him, and this time, he kisses my lips. I return it, and he curls his hand around the back of my neck, deepening it. Tingles shoot down to my toes, and for a moment, I lose myself in the magic of us.
“I’ll leave you to enjoy your bath,” he murmurs, pecking me once more.
“Okay.” I pause as he stands. “What’s for dinner?”
He eyes the bath tray full of my snacks. “I brought you food.”
“Yes, but that’s snacks. Not dinner. Speaking to people makes me hungry.”
He swings his gaze from the snacks to meet mine. “What do you want to eat?”
“I don’t know. I’m too tired to figure it out. Be a good husband and decide for me.”
“Feels like a trick,” he mutters, heading for the door. “All right, I’ll sort it.”
I tilt my head back and with a grin, say, “Good boy.”
He stops.
Turns.
Strips.
Then pushes back the tray and climbs into the bath, nestling his thighs between my legs.
He grips the edges of the tub and leans forward, his mouth hovering over my grinning one, and whispers, “Good choice.”