17. “Set Fire to the Rain” - Adele #2
“You did this on purpose.” I point my finger at him. “You knew he was coming, and you wanted to play some sick game with my head.”
“And what game was that?” Henry folds his arms over his chest.
“Whatever manipulative tricks you play on women.”
“I dare you to find one woman who says I tricked her into spending time with me.”
“You’re looking at one.”
He sighs. “If I told you I forgot he was coming, would you believe me?”
“Not a chance in hell.” I comb my fingers through my hair, trying to undo the havoc Henry has wreaked. I still tremble thinking about his hands.
“Relax, C. You don’t even look like you’ve just had an earth-shattering experience. Here, let me at least help repair the damage I did.” He reaches out a hand, but I bat it away.
“Stay away from me.”
“Calm down. I just want to help.”
“Give me a break. I know what your help looks like.”
He leans close and whispers, “Your lips are swollen.”
I grit my teeth and take a deep breath through my nose. “There are no words in the English language strong enough to convey how much I loathe you.”
“Then please don’t overexert yourself trying.” He pulls a small mirror from one of his desk drawers and holds it in front of me.
I use my reflection to tame my mussed strands. “Do I even want to know why you have this in your desk?”
“Do you always think the worst of me?”
I look up at him. His tone is light, unaffected, but his eyes tell a different story.
Before I can respond, he calls to Sidney. I use the remaining few seconds to smooth down my dress and put as much distance between myself and Henry as possible. I pray I’ll be able to slip out without any awkwardness.
Beck enters the room, and his eyes alight on me. He covers his surprise quickly, but not before I catch a glimpse of it. Is my shame sizzling like a neon sign above my head? I was still engaged to him just a few days ago.
“Your Royal Highnesses.” Beck’s normally warm, friendly voice now sounds like a blast of frigid air. His eyes meet mine once more, and this time I notice a small glimmer of something hard in them. I want to sink into the floor.
“Mr. Harrison,” Henry says. “Please, come in. Celia was just leaving.”
“Hello, Beck,” I say before excusing myself from the room.
Fresh air. I need fresh air like a politician needs votes. I walk through the palace halls as fast as is acceptable for a royal family member wearing heels—which isn’t fast enough.
The sun hits me like a spotlight once I step outside, and I turn my face to catch its rays. I wander through the gardens, led by my feet alone, my thoughts much too conflicted to pay any mind to where I’m going.
Ten minutes later, I stop short, regretting giving free reign to my body, which is clearly still living on the mountaintop of Henry’s kiss, or else it would never have brought me here, of all places.
The stone steps descending into the Sunken Garden are clothed in moss and lichens, like a subtle warning to stay away. I ignore it and carefully pick my way down. I’m here now, so I may as well rip off all my plasters while I’m at it.
A koi pond sits at the center of the green lawn, complete with lily pads.
The goldfish seem to have disappeared, though.
Plants spill over the flagstone path, disregarding the border, which was once neatly edged.
Weeds poke their heads rebelliously through the cracks, and years of dirt cake the surface.
The palace employs a crew of gardeners large enough to staff a bustling restaurant.
There’s no reason this particular garden should have been neglected for so long.
The memory of my last time here swells around me and threatens to suck me down into even further humiliation. I won’t let it. I have to stay strong. The future depends on this.
Birds chirp in the nearby branches, oblivious to the chaos raging inside me. I drop to my knees on the path, the stones warm from gulping up the rays of the sun. It was sunny that day, too.
I tug at a cluster of weeds. This place makes it easy to shut out the outside world.
The whole garden is four feet lower than the rest of the grounds, and it’s surrounded on all sides by a wall and a thick hedge.
I’ve spent more hours here than I can count, creating make-believe fantasies, playing schoolyard games, lounging in the sun, and conjuring enough freckles to give my mum an ulcer.
And Henry at the center. Always Henry.
Even now, ten years later, I can’t escape his magnetism. What possessed me to kiss him the way I did? Because, while I’d die before admitting it to him, I participated in that kiss as much as he did.
I yank on a particularly stubborn weed and nearly tumble backward when it finally comes free.
Beck and I were on the verge of getting married, and we’ve never kissed with half as much passion. That is the trouble with Henry—he doesn’t think. He just does whatever he wants in the moment. And when he pulls you into his circle, you can’t help but do the same.
Guilt eats at me, much like the caterpillar making quick work of a leaf on one of the nearby plants.
This isn’t who I am. I’m Celia Chapman-Payne, doer of what’s right and good and just. Follower of plans and maker of lists.
Kissing Henry like we were the only two people left on the planet does not fit into the picture.
I look at my nails. They’re now thoroughly chipped and dirtied, as if I’m a little ragamuffin let loose outside rather than the queen-in-waiting who just spent an hour getting a manicure. Liz—and probably Maisie—is going to kill me when I return to the palace.
I toss the small pile of weeds I’ve removed aside. The rest will have to wait for another time.
No matter how badly my body might try to convince me otherwise, kissing Henry has to be strictly off-limits.
It doesn’t matter that those few short minutes may have been the best of my life.
It doesn’t matter that he tasted much better than I ever imagined anyone could.
And it certainly doesn’t matter that when he looked at me, I saw shadows of the old Henry.
It will not happen again.