14. “Mr. Brightside” - The Killers
“Mr. Brightside” - The Killers
Until Beatrice said the words, the thought never crossed my mind. What makes you think Henry will agree to marry you at all?
Why didn’t I take his calls? If he isn’t willing to go ahead with this whole arrangement, I’ve destroyed my own future without cause. Beck will never take me back if he thinks Henry rejecting me is the only reason for my return, and I can’t blame him.
After my conversation with my sister, I manage to get a few hours of sleep, and the next morning I call Henry. Parliament is expecting our decision first thing tomorrow. We make plans to meet at the palace tonight, because there’s no way I’m having this conversation over the phone.
The day leaks by, and I mark the passing of each hour with a spoonful of cookie dough from the tub Rosalind thought she’d hid in the back of the refrigerator.
I’ve managed to avoid any real conversation with her about my decision, but that’s probably because she assumes my despondency can only mean one thing.
Eventually, the time comes. I should have demanded that Henry clear his schedule and meet me earlier, but I’m putting off seeing him for as long as possible. The last place I want to be is at his mercy—which is exactly where I’m going to find myself in a matter of minutes.
Is it possible to taste dread? Because the sour flavor in my mouth won’t go away, no matter how many times I brush my teeth.
A footman ushers me through a series of furniture-stuffed chambers, each winding further into the heart of the palace.
I’m going to need a map of this place, or I’ll meet my demise by getting lost and starving to death in a room that hasn’t been touched in the last decade.
It’s been ages since I’ve played hide-and-seek here, and the further we walk, the more confused I become.
I glance up at the sound of voices and giggling above me. Henry is escorting two women down the staircase to my left, both wearing dresses that should be considered underwear. My high-waisted trousers and navy sweater are a nun’s habit in comparison.
When they reach the bottom, Henry spots me and has the decency to flush. “Celia.” He attempts to disentangle himself from his companions. “I’ll be just a minute.”
The women give me mocking smiles and toss their hair over their shoulders as he leads them away.
I silently call him every foul name I can conjure, including a few I’ve never used before and am surprised come to me with such rapidity.
I follow the footman into a small drawing room and accept the drink he offers me.
It’s dim in here, the handful of lamps giving off only a tepid light, leaving the corners shrouded in shadow.
I ignore the stiff-as-a-board leather sofa in the center of the space and cross to the single window, then shove aside the heavy velvet drapes that smother the view of the night sky.
My fingers find the bracelet at my wrist and twist the charm round. The whiskey scorches a blissful path down my throat, and my shivering abates. The awful taste in my mouth remains, though.
A few minutes later, Henry walks in and closes the door softly. I can smell him without turning around. Amber, pine, vanilla—and the gagging hint of floral perfume. I take another gulp from my glass.
“I didn’t know you drank,” he says. The slosh of liquid being poured is the only other sound in the room.
“I don’t.” I take another sip. I’m still facing the window, and his gaze on my back is like the tip of a knife blade. I rub at the goose bumps that have risen on my arm in spite of the sweater I’m wearing.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Not in the slightest.” The remainder of my whiskey slides down my throat like hot lava.
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Whatever gives you that idea?”
The sound of a match being struck pulls my attention across the room. Henry is kneeling before the fireplace, where logs are stacked and ready for burning. “Just a hunch,” he says.
I walk over to the bar and top up my glass. “I don’t know why the bloody hell I’m here.”
“Surely it has nothing to do with the fact that Parliament is expecting our answer tomorrow.”
I glare at him. “It’s certainly not for the company.”
“I’m assuming you talked with your fiancé?”
“Yep.”
“What happened?”
“What do you think?” I hold up my naked left hand.
A frown creases his brow. “He let you go? Just like that?”
“What was he supposed to do after I told him I was considering marrying someone else?”
“I sure as hell would have fought harder than that for the woman I love.”
“I wasn’t aware you’ve ever loved anyone besides yourself,” I say.
“Would you know if I had?”
“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that a guy who sleeps with a different woman every night doesn’t know what it’s like to truly love someone.”
“Unless, of course, he does.”
The look on his face begs me to feel guilty, so I move to refill my tumbler instead. Again. Why has it taken me so long to enjoy hard liquor? This buzzy warmth is really quite nice.
“Maybe you should slow down,” Henry says.
“Maybe you should mind your own business.”
“C, we have a lot to discuss. I just think you should have a clear head for it.”
I slam the glass down on the bar. “Don’t you dare tell me how to conduct myself. Not when you’re a disgusting, drunk manwhore yourself.”
He chuckles mildly, like he can’t believe I just said that. I can’t either, come to think of it. “At least come sit down.” He gestures to the sofa.
“I’ll stand, thanks.”
Sighing, he shoves a hand into his hair. “The sooner we talk about this, the sooner you can leave.”
“Then just stop!”
“Stop what?”
“Stop being a pain in the ass. Stop making it impossible for me to feel normal around you.”
He moves toward the bar, and I take several steps backward until the wall prevents me from going any further. Soon, he’s within inches of me.
“What are you doing?” I ask. It sounds more breathless than it should.
Damn that whiskey. He’s taking up every inch of space, and I can’t draw a breath that doesn’t contain him.
“Making it impossible for you to feel normal.” His voice brushes my skin like a silky-soft feather. He props his hands against the wall on either side of my face. “I want you to feel alive, on fire. Passionate. Excited. Animated.” He shakes his head. “Anything but normal.”
I’m not sure the last time I saw Henry this closely. His eyes are burning through me like a forest fire looking for something—anything—to consume. His irises look nearly black, the color of a lush velvet night, with tiny specks of gold flecked throughout.
“Why do you care how I feel?”
“Because when you’re on fire, you bring people to life. You bring me to life.” He smirks, and that familiar glint comes back into his eyes, obliterating the glow that was there just moments ago. “And because I’m a pain in the ass.”
I shove him away and escape his suffocating presence, which, combined with the whiskey, is doing weird things to my head. “I can’t do this.” What the hell was I thinking in even considering it?
The door seems a long way off, but I do my best to walk toward it without stumbling or veering too far off track. My fingers close around the knob at the same time Henry’s clasp my wrist.
“C, wait, please. I’m sorry.”
“I can’t, Henry. Let go of me.”
He does, his fingers slipping from my skin. “Don’t go.”
I hesitate, still turned away from him. If I leave, I will lose everything. Beck is already gone. My pride, my dignity, and Wesbourne will soon follow. If I stay and we go through with this, I’ll lose my home, and most likely my sanity, but I’ll have a chance at saving my country.
“Don’t throw this away just because you’re mad at me,” he adds.
“Sounds like a terrific reason to me.”
“You’ll never forgive yourself.” He’s right, so I don’t say anything. “We could do this, you know. Make this work.”
“Sawing off my arm sounds more appealing.”
“God, liquor sharpens your tongue.” He lets out an amused exhale. “Let’s sit down. Your swaying is making me nervous. Plus, you’ll be warmer by the fire.”
I’m still shivering, so I let him lead me over to the sofa. “You actually think we should do this?” I say once he’s seated at the other end.
“It doesn’t really matter what I think.”
“Why not?”
“You have a lot more to lose than I do. I’m unattached, and I’ve known my whole life that I’ll be king someday.
I’ll have to get married at some point. This moves up the timeline, but I always saw it playing out something like this.
” He leans his forearms on his knees and clasps his hands. “Minus the bride who hates my guts.”
“I don’t hate your guts,” I tell him. “Although sometimes I fantasize about carving them out and feeding them to the fish.”
This makes him laugh, and his laugh makes me smile. Just a tiny little flick of the mouth, gone before he has a chance to notice. “I’ll be sure to lock my door,” he says.
I hold up my finger. “I have some conditions.”
“I’d be shocked if you didn’t.”
“Before I agree to anything, I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”
His left brow inches upward. “Do elaborate.”
“This marriage will be on paper only. Obviously.”
He stares at me, faint creases appearing near his eyes. I’m amusing him. For the first time in my life, I actually wish he would say something. But like always, he does the opposite of what I want.
“I just meant—I mean, I— Nothing is going to happen. Between us. Nothing changes.” I wait for his agreement.
There’s nothing but the slightest twitch of one nostril.
“You do understand what I’m saying, right?
We’re not— It’s not going to— This is not—” I can’t get the right words to line up and march out of my mouth.
“As much as I’m enjoying watching you bodge this up,” he finally says, “I feel the need to put you out of your misery.” He doesn’t even attempt to hide his smile. Asshole. “If you’re afraid I’ll try to force myself on you, rest assured. I only sleep with women who want me.”
“Don’t forget the ones who are drugged.”
The creases around his eyes deepen for just a second. “Would it be the worst thing in the world to be loved by me?” he says quietly.
“We’re not talking about love. We’re talking about sex—something that for you is just an entertaining diversion, but that’s important for me.” The list of people I want to be having this conversation with is short, but my mother, the prime minister, and an orangutan all rank above Henry.
“Lots of people have sex without being in love.”
“I am not ‘lots of people.’”
“Thank god for small mercies,” he says. “Any other demands? Designated corridor space? Hazmat suits? Shared custody of the dog?”
“When did you get a dog?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is that your only condition? You’re ready to go ahead with this?”
“I am the opposite of ready. But since my self-induced food coma did nothing to get me out of this mess, I don’t see what other choice I have.” I pause. “Unless you have some ice cream?”
Henry stands and pulls me to my feet, and my skin sizzles where it touches his.
I sway as the room spins, and he pushes me back into the chair.
“On second thought, maybe you should stay sitting.” Before my sodden brain can comprehend what’s happening, he drops to one knee and pulls something from his pocket.
“What are you doing?” It comes out in a whisper, because I know exactly what he’s doing.
“You ask too many questions. It’s my turn.”
My heart jackhammers in its cavity. “No, really. What are you doing, Henry?”
“Relax,” he says, and runs his thumb over the back of my hand. It has the opposite effect. “I want to do this right.”
I pull away from him and wipe my clammy palms on my trousers. “You don’t need to do this. It’s a business transaction, nothing more.”
“I know that. But since this is the only proposal I’ll get, I’d like to do it right.”
I can’t very well say no to that.
I peer down at the red velvet box he’s holding.
A lump the size of a hedgehog dislodges itself from my stomach and crawls up my throat.
He pries the lid open to reveal an antique band of yellow gold filigree, set with a diamond the size of a small coin and surrounded by clusters of emeralds.
In spite of myself, I gasp. It’s exquisite.
“I brought it with me just in case. It was Helena’s. Seemed appropriate.” Henry removes the ring from its box. “I know you hate me and think I’m an arrogant jerk. We drive each other crazy, and you’ll probably kill me before the year is over.”
He reaches for my hand again, and goosebumps scurry up my arm all the way to my hairline. “We don’t need to like each other to do this. We can do it because it’s right for our country,” he says.
My lip trembles, and I bite it to keep it still.
“Celia Eleanor Chapman-Payne.” He pauses, his eyes locking on mine. “Will you marry me?”
Will you marry me?
Eight months ago, those same words. Another beautiful ring. Another pounding heart. Another handsome man.
How can I put another man’s ring on my finger before it’s even adjusted to being bare? It’s a betrayal, but I don’t know how to survive otherwise. I must do this, and so I nod.
Henry slides the massive diamond onto my hand, and its weight settles into my heart. This is it then. We’re actually doing this.
He presses a chaste kiss to my knuckle, his lips warm next to the cold metal. It’s the final seal. I have promised to marry this man to save my country. Does that make me noble or cowardly?
Because no matter what it looks like from the outside, I know that I never really had a choice. My fate was determined the moment that diary was discovered.