Chapter 6 #2
As a prince, he knew all too well that choice was sometimes a privilege. He’d seen his father do so many things he hadn’t wanted to, simply because he was forced to. He’d certainly done plenty of those himself, and was in for a lifetime of more.
It suddenly occurred to him that whomever he married would be living that life too, moving from a life of some freedom to a more restricted one. Perhaps that was why Genevieve didn’t like him and had no interest in him.
And why did that thought make him so fucking sad?
He shook his head, then walked over to the closet door. He didn’t knock in case her mother were nearby and heard it, so instead he whispered, “Genevieve? Are you well?”
It was a stupid question; of course, she wasn’t well.
When she didn’t answer, he continued. “May I bring you anything? Help in some way?”
He heard sniffling behind the door, then coughing again. He glanced at her bedside table but the glass of water was almost empty. He’d scoped the house out a bit before coming to her room, so he knew where the bathroom was. Should he risk it to bring her more water?
Immediately, he thought yes. But thinking on the consequences some more gave him pause.
If he was caught, there would be a scandal.
Her mother wasn’t the type to let things go, and she wouldn’t stop until they were forced to become engaged.
His father, meanwhile, could push against the match and force him to deny any involvement with Genevieve, which meant that she’d be labeled as someone who had schemed for the throne (even though it wouldn’t be true) and that would ruin Genevieve’s life in the process.
Yet, as he listened to her in pain behind that door, he couldn’t help but think he should help her in any way he could.
So he grabbed the glass and listened at the door to her bedroom.
Hearing nothing in the hall, he opened it slightly and heard a television on downstairs and sensed no movement upstairs.
He quickly made his way next door to the bathroom, wincing as the floor creaked under his weight, filled the glass, and made it back to her bedroom without incident.
At the closet door, he whispered again. “Would you like some water? I refilled your glass for you in case you were thirsty.”
A moment later, he rushed back as the door flew open, some of the water spilling over the side onto his hand.
Her face was furious, one cheek redder than the other, and her voice was whispered yelling. “What were you thinking? What if my mother had seen you?”
She’d seemed defeated after the visit from her mother, but now he felt relief at her anger. He realized he liked her fighting, even if it was with him.
“I was thinking I could help you. Here.” He held out the glass to her.
For a moment he thought she wouldn’t accept it, as she walked around him to grab something from her dresser, but she returned with a handkerchief, handing it to him as she took the glass with her other hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered before she gulped down half the glass before pressing it to her redder cheek.
He dried his hands then, for a reason he couldn’t fathom, he slipped her handkerchief into his pocket. He had his own, of course, so he didn’t need hers at all, but this was the first thing she’d given him and he didn’t want to let it go.
In the blink of an eye, he’d become a thief. He hoped she didn’t notice.
She sighed as she removed the cool glass from her skin.
He stepped forward, making his intentions clear as he slowly raised his hand to cup her face, his thumb brushing gently over her cheek. “Does she often get violent with you?”
“Does it matter?”
He locked eyes with her. “It does to me.”
She merely shrugged.
“She was cruel to you.”
She snorted. When he raised an eyebrow at her reaction, she shook her head, dislodging his hand. “That was normal for my mother. I’m only sorry you had to see it, or hear it rather.”
When she blushed, he realized she was embarrassed. “I’ve seen worse.”
She gazed up at him, curious. “Do people hit in your family too?”
“No,” he said honestly, though he wasn’t sure she believed him.
He led her to the bed and they both sat down, side-by-side.
She’d revealed a lot about herself and her family, he could share a little as well.
“My father’s version of discipline isn’t physical, but more emotional manipulation.
It’s different for me as the heir, you know.
But I’ve kept mostly in line, and have been…
selectively rebellious, I’ll say. Some of my siblings, though, are much more rebellious than me, and taking tangible things away, like money, works better to punish them and keep them in line. ”
She rubbed her lips together, while her fingers toyed with the glass still in her hands. He liked that they were sitting close—their legs touching each other, their arms brushing against each other—and she hadn’t moved away or put more distance between them.
“Do your parents like you?” She wasn’t looking at him when she asked, her eyes still fixated on the glass.
Given what he’d seen and heard so far tonight, maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised by the question but he was. “Er, yes, they do. They do love us, though my mother is more likely to say the words than my father.”
She nodded but stayed silent.
“What about you? Your father, did he…?”
She nodded again. “Things were so different before he died. Better.” She sighed and settled a little more against him.
“What do you miss most about him?”
“The laughter. He was always laughing about something, or making us laugh. Henrietta doesn’t even remember him, which is a shame. Maybe she’d be different if she did.”
He carefully moved his arm and put it around her shoulders, and she leaned over and put her head on his shoulder. He gently rubbed her arm while they sat there in the quiet, the only sounds the odd car outside or something indicating her mother’s movements around the house.
Eventually, he turned his head towards hers, and caught the scent of her floral shampoo. He couldn’t resist rubbing his cheek on her soft hair and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her. It wasn’t the right moment, was it? Or could he?
“Genevieve…”
She looked up at him, her dark brown eyes piercing him.
They leaned closer and closer and closer and…
WHAM!
The window to her bedroom was pushed open and a young lady fell inside.
“Diana!” Genevieve whispered, anger clear in her voice. “What are you doing?”
Diana stood and brushed herself off. “I was clearly sneaking in so mother…well, who do we have here?”
GENEVIEVE
Diana gave Gabriel a bright smile, then walked over and took a seat beside him so he was sandwiched between the two sisters. “How do I know you?”
“You don’t,” Gen answered and started pushing her sister towards the door. “Get out and forget you saw him.”
Diana held her ground near the door for a few moments, but then awareness dawned on Diana’s face.
Damn.
“You’re-Gennie!” Diana whirled on her. “What is he doing here? Does mother know?”
Gen shook her head and sighed, which turned into a cough, and Gabriel handed her the glass of water again.
“Stop coughing this instant!” their mother yelled from somewhere in the house.
For fuck’s sake. Can’t a woman even cough in peace?
She was tired. So fucking exhausted by life and her family and this annoying prince who wouldn’t leave her alone.
“Get out. Everyone,” she added with a pointed glance at him. Then, without waiting for a response, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her head, sealing the world out.
She could hear whispers but didn’t acknowledge them.
Didn’t care anymore what the prince was doing.
Didn’t care anymore what Diana was telling him.
She just didn’t have it in her to care anymore. Not now, not this second, when no one was caring for her in return.
When she heard her door click, she was tempted to look but didn’t. Eventually, someone sat on the bed and she could tell from the weight it was Gabriel. Had Diana left?
A hand went to her back and gently rubbed it. Even though his hand was above the covers, she could still feel the warmth of it. She wanted to curl into it, into him, and that was a dangerous thought to have.
She couldn’t depend on him, on anyone but herself.
He whispered softly, his hand stilling low on her back. “Genevieve?”
She shook her head, the covers shifting slightly, so she wasn’t sure he saw it.
“Genevieve, I’m…well, I like you. Truly.”
That forced her to peek out from beneath the covers. She had to know if he was being sincere or just trying to get a reaction from her.
When she glanced at his face, he wasn’t smiling or joking. He had a serious, maybe even resigned, expression.
He reached up and brushed a loose lock of her hair back, his hand caressing her head in the process.
That felt nice too. Really nice.
As he pulled his hand away, he took a deep breath. “I really like you, Genevieve. Perhaps you don’t want me to, perhaps it’s a bad idea, but I can’t help wanting you.”
She lowered the covers and shifted to sitting. “I don’t know what you’d like me to say to that. I don’t even know what I want to say to that.”
“I understand. Truly I do.” He gestured around the room.
“You’re in a sort of cage here, aren’t you?
Stuck with a cruel mother and at least one apathetic sister.
I’ve got a cage of my own, but marriage won’t allow me to escape it.
I can’t escape it and, it may be surprising to hear, but I actually don’t want to, not anymore.
I want someone who will step into that cage with me, and build a life and country to be proud of. ”
She pressed her lips together. She’d never thought she and Gabriel would have anything in common, but she could see now they did.