Chapter 18 #2
“I know you didn’t. That’s what makes it refreshing.” My mother sets down her cup and studies Addison with new interest. “Where did you train, Miss Cross?”
“Formally? Rhode Island School of Design. Then a year in Florence, studying Renaissance techniques.” Addison shrugs, as if these credentials are nothing. “But most of what I know, I taught myself. Trial and error. Lots of errors.”
“Humility from an artist,” I say. “That’s rare.”
“Not humility. Honesty.” She loads her brush with a deep blue. “Anyone who tells you they knew what they were doing from the start is lying. Art is failing over and over until something works.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.” She meets my eyes and holds them a beat too long. “But when something finally works, it’s worth every failure that came before.”
The air between us feels charged. My mother is watching. I know she’s watching. But I can’t look away from Addison.
“Well,” my mother says, breaking the silence, “I think that’s enough philosophy for one afternoon. Miss Cross, shall we continue?”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Addison turns back to her canvas, the moment dissolving as quickly as it formed.
I should leave. I’ve made my appearance, participated in the conversation, and satisfied whatever test my mother was conducting.
But I don’t want to go. I want to sit here and watch Addison work, watch the way she tilts her head when she’s concentrating, watch her bite her bottom lip when something isn’t quite right.
“I should let you work,” I announce, standing. “But this has been … educational.”
“I’m glad you stopped by.” My mother’s smile is knowing. “Perhaps you’ll visit again during Miss Cross’s next session.”
“Perhaps.”
I bow to my mother, then turn to Addison. She curtsies with perfect form, her eyes downcast, every inch the professional artist.
“Your Highness,” she murmurs.
“Miss Cross.”
I walk out before I do something stupid, like touch her, or smile at her the way I want to, or say any of the thousand things running through my head.
The door closes behind me, and I exhale. That went well. Better than well. My mother likes her. Actually likes her, not only tolerates her. That has to mean something.
I head back to my office, my mind racing with possibilities. Maybe this isn’t as impossible as I thought. Maybe there’s a path forward that doesn’t require me to choose between duty and my heart.
For the next hour, I attempt to focus on the stack of documents that has been piling up all week.
Trade agreements, diplomatic correspondence, requests from the council.
I sign where I’m supposed to sign and initial where I’m supposed to, but my mind keeps drifting back to Addison.
The way she held her own with my mother.
A knock interrupts my thoughts.
“Enter,” I call, not looking up from the document in front of me.
The door opens and closes with a soft click. When I glance up, Tatiana is standing inside my office.
She’s wearing a red dress that clings to every curve, the neckline plunging almost to her navel. Her dark hair is loose around her shoulders, and her lips are painted to match the fabric. She looks like she’s dressed for a seduction, not an afternoon visit.
“Princess Tatiana.” I set down my pen, but don’t stand. Don’t offer her a seat. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting.”
“You didn’t.” She moves toward me, trailing her fingers along the edge of my desk. “I wanted to speak with you. Privately.”
“If this is about the event schedule—”
“It’s not about the schedule.” She stops in front of me, close enough that I can smell her perfume. Heavy. Cloying. “I saw your interview. The one denying the blind item.”
“And?”
“No one believed you.” She tilts her head with practiced sympathy. “You looked miserable, Louis. Trapped. It’s obvious to everyone.”
“Is there a point to this conversation?”
“The point is that I understand.” She moves closer still. “We’ve known each other since we were teenagers. I’ve always felt a connection between us.”
I almost laugh. Connection. Right.
“Tatiana—”
“Let me finish.” She holds up a manicured hand. “I know this arrangement isn’t what either of us planned. But I could make it easier. I could be good for you. You might even learn to love me, if you gave me a chance.”
Learn to love her. Like love is a skill you can practice. Like I haven’t spent years proving I was incapable of feeling it for anyone I was supposed to want.
“I appreciate the offer,” I say flatly. “But I’m not interested.”
Something flickers in her eyes. She’s not used to rejection. Women like Tatiana have been told yes their entire lives.
“You haven’t even considered it.”
“I don’t need to. I know what I want.”
“And what’s that?” She leans closer, her perfume overwhelming. “Because from where I’m standing, you don’t seem to know at all.”
Before I can respond, she moves. Fast. Her leg swings over mine as she straddles my lap in the chair, her dress riding up her thighs. I realize with disgust that she’s not wearing anything underneath.
“What are you doing?” My voice is ice.
“What does it look like?” She presses her mouth to mine.
I don’t kiss her back. I sit perfectly still, hands on the armrests, waiting for her to realize how badly this is failing.
Her lips move against mine, searching for any response.
When she doesn’t get one, she tries something else, her mouth trailing down my jaw to my neck, her hips grinding against me.
After a moment, she pulls back, confusion clouding her face. Her hand slides between us, pressing against my crotch.
“You’re not hard.” She stares at me. “Do you have a problem?”
I laugh. The audacity of this woman.
“My cock works perfectly fine when it’s intrigued.” I hold her gaze. “You’re not intriguing.”
Her cheeks go red. “I don’t understand. I’m offering you everything. I’m—”
“Nothing I want.” I keep my voice pleasant, almost bored. “You’re beautiful, Tatiana. I’m sure plenty of men would be thrilled to have you throw yourself at them. I’m not one of them.”
“Is there someone else?” Her eyes narrow. “You’re already fucking one of the other princesses?”
“My personal life is none of your concern.”
“It is if I’m going to be your wife.”
“You’re not going to be my wife.”
The words land hard. Her mask cracks, revealing wounded pride underneath. Fury.
“You don’t get to decide that.” Her voice turns venomous. “The council wants this alliance. Your parents want this alliance. You think you can—”
My office door swings open.
Addison stands in the doorway, holding a folded piece of paper.
For a moment, no one moves. Her eyes find mine first, taking in the scene. Tatiana straddling my lap, dress hiked up, lipstick smeared on my neck. Then her gaze shifts to Tatiana, traveling slowly down and back up with complete disinterest.
Her expression doesn’t change. Not a flicker.
She walks to my desk with measured steps, unhurried, her eyes holding mine the entire time. Then she glances at Tatiana once before setting the paper beside my elbow.
“Your mother asked me to deliver this.”
Her voice is steady. Professional. Like she’s witnessed nothing more interesting than paperwork.
She turns and walks out without another word.
I shove Tatiana off my lap so hard that she stumbles, catching herself on the desk. I’m on my feet before she’s regained her balance.
“Get out.”
She straightens her dress, and her face twists with humiliation. “You’re making a mistake. I’m the best option you—”
“You assaulted me.” I step toward her, and she backs away. “Entered, uninvited. Climbed on me, uninvited. Kissed me, uninvited. That’s not seduction. It’s pathetic.”
Her face goes white.
“If you ever try this again, you’ll be on a plane back to Belcova before dinner. I’ll tell your father exactly what happened. And I’ll make sure every royal family in Europe knows that Princess Tatiana throws herself at men who don’t want her.” I lean closer. “Understand?”
She nods, eyes wide.
“Get out. Don’t come back.”
She scrambles for the door, heels clicking frantically. It slams behind her, and I stand alone in silence.
I want to chase Addison and explain everything, but I can’t. Tatiana’s lipstick is still on my neck, and staff is crawling through every corridor.
Addison looked at me like I was exactly what Patterson had warned her about, like the character the tabloids had created was real.
I sink into my chair and press my palms against my eyes, but her face won’t leave me. That awful blankness is burned into my brain.
I’ve seen Addison angry, passionate, jealous, and playful, but I’ve never seen her expressionless. No reaction terrifies me more than anything because it means she’s already decided I’m not worth it.
The note sits on my desk, folded once, on my mother’s stationery. I assume it’s about tomorrow’s schedule or some change to the dinner arrangements, something official and meaningless.
I pick it up and unfold it, but it’s not my mother’s handwriting. It’s Addison’s.
Six words are written in her messy scribble that I’ve come to adore.
I’ve fallen in love with you.
The paper shakes in my hands.
She must have done this after the portrait session, asked my mother for the stationery, made up some excuse, and slipped it into her pocket to deliver later.
She put in writing and gave me the words I’d been desperate to hear.
And after what took an immense amount of courage, she walked in and found another woman on my lap.
I read it again and again and again.
She’s in love with me, which is everything I’ve dreamed of.
But there is one problem. Addison thinks I’m actually capable of destroying everything we have, like she’s disposable.