20. “Almost Lover” - A Fine Frenzy
“Almost Lover” - A Fine Frenzy
The gravel is cold and sloshy with rainwater, the tiny pebbles sticking to the soft flesh of my legs like barnacles to the hull of a sailboat.
My robe is completely sodden and hugs my limp frame.
I don’t even remember what being dry feels like.
Around me the rain pounds, taking its vengeance on me, the woman who’s lost every man she’s ever loved.
My father.
Beck.
Henry.
When I close my eyes, I can still see the red of Henry’s taillights as he drove across the quad. The flash of white as he braked for the gates, fading back to red as he drove through them and out of the palace grounds.
Where did it all go wrong? Was it the birth control? The dishonesty? Not accepting Elizabeth Gable’s story the first time? Or the second? Hiring that bloody PI? Was it the fact that I’m not ready to be a mother?
Was it my deep-seated fear that I’d married a man who might turn into the monster his father is?
This isn’t the way the story goes. It can’t be. Being in control of the situation is meant to alleviate regrets. I had it all handled.
Until I didn’t.
If I could just pinpoint the moment it all spun away from me, the moment I dropped the plate, knocked over the first domino. If I could just figure out what went wrong, I could fix it.
I hear Adelaide’s voice in my ear. Controlling others is what weak people think power looks like. I knew she might be right, but I expected him to get mad, maybe storm out of the room to fume. I never thought he would leave.
I don’t know how else to live. Giving up control means giving up the future. That’s not something I’m willing to do, no matter how weak it makes me. I have a duty to this country, and I cannot let her down.
But if retaining control cost me Henry, it did nothing to minimize regrets. Watching him drive away rivals only one other regret in my life: seeing my father’s cold body in that hospital bed.
So maybe Adelaide is right, and there is another way. Maybe . . . but I’m too tired to think about it anymore.
The rain feels warm now, and my teeth have stopped clattering together like a snapping turtle’s. I lean over until my head touches the gravel. I’ll just take a short nap, and when I wake up, I can figure out all of this.
Someone is lifting me. The scent of cloves and laundry detergent fills my nostrils as I bury my face in his starchy suit jacket. It’s warm, which only makes me aware of how cold the rain is.
“I’ve got you, ma’am,” my guardian angel says. His voice sounds familiar.
I blink my eyes open, but the rain is still coming down in torrents. I can just make out a chin with a deep dimple in it.
Once we’re inside, the brightness of the corridor hits me like a stage light. I shift upright and recognize Davies. Heat flames to my cheeks.
“You can put me down now,” I say. I’m suddenly alert and all too aware of my sodden state.
He gives me a once-over before carefully lowering me to my feet. “You sure you’re okay, ma’am? I don’t know how long you were out there.”
“I’m fine.” I press a hand to the wall to make sure I don’t topple over. “It wasn’t long.” Time has eluded me, so I have no idea whether this is true or not.
“I can call your doctor or—”
“No. I’m okay.” The less time spent being analyzed by a doctor, the better.
“I’ll help you upstairs, then,” Davies says.
He leaves me at the door of Henry’s and my suite.
Inside, the rooms don’t look any different.
I expected them to have changed when Henry decided to leave, to have lost their luster or something.
But our giant bed with its silk and velvet tapestries is still as lavish as ever.
The gilded glass chandelier sparkles like a child at her first piano recital.
It’s not fair. Henry leaves and I’m . . . what? Meant to carry on like nothing’s changed? What am I supposed to tell people? What is the press going to say when they get wind of this?
I peel off the robe, now stuck to my body like a glove to a wet hand, and drop it into the bathtub. Putting on some dry clothes, I am planning to slip into bed, but when I look at it, I can’t bring myself to climb between the sheets, knowing I will be alone there for god knows how long.
Instead, I swipe a bottle of red wine and a corkscrew from the bar and head down the hall. The only thing to take my mind off what just happened is work, and I’ve got a lot of it at this point.
I reach my office without running into anyone, since most of the staff has gone home. Hopefully we can keep all of this a secret. Preston should be able to help me with a story to explain Henry’s disappearance, just until I can formulate a plan to get him back.
I forgot to bring a glass with me, so after uncorking the wine, I tilt it back and drink directly from the bottle. My desk has too many memories tied to Henry for safety, but I would be hard-pressed to find a single room in this place that isn’t haunted by the ghost of him.
Everything is already shut down for the day, so while I wait for my computer to fire up, I pull out my phone. There’s a reminder on my home screen of a memory from two years ago. When I open it, I see it’s a picture of Henry and me playing Monopoly.
Technically, we must have already finished playing, based on the look on his face. We were so happy back then, in spite of the faux scowl he’s wearing in the photo. I can’t remember the last time we played a game together. These days we’re lucky if we go to bed at the same time.
Of its own volition, my thumb begins scrolling right, sifting through more photos, carrying the weight of a thousand words and even more memories.
Henry on the sofa, wearing those obnoxiously sexy glasses and studying something in his lap, right before I tackled him and we made love on the floor.
The two of us deciding to cook breakfast together and nearly burning the entire palace down when we got too distracted by each other to keep an eye on the eggs.
Hiking through a small forest an hour from the city when we just needed to escape for a while.
A tear splashes onto my phone screen.
What happened to us?
What Henry and I have is bigger than us; it’s bigger than life. We can’t just throw it away as soon as things get tough.
But I know, even as I’m thinking this, that things have been tough for a while.
There’s something so comforting about the knowledge that another human being loves you more than you love yourself. Not everyone gets the opportunity to experience that, no matter how much they may deserve it. But what does it mean when that person no longer deems you worth loving?
It can’t be true. I know Henry still loves me. He has to. One doesn’t just turn off love like it’s a faucet. I learned this lesson years ago when I tried to stop loving him. It’s impossible.
Which means he’ll come back. I’ll make sure of it.
He said he’d already ordered a DNA test kit, so maybe it’s just a matter of waiting for the results. I know in my bones that they’ll be negative. There is no way that Axel is Henry’s son. None of it makes any sense. I would know if Henry had a child.
It’s nothing but a tactic to tear us apart. But we’re stronger than that. He’ll do the test, and when the results come back negative, he’ll see that I was right all along.
The sound of knuckles rapping against the door jars me from my thoughts. I set the bottle of wine onto the desk. I didn’t expect him back so soon.
“Come in,” I call. My heart has jumped into my throat. It quickly flits back home to my chest when Preston sticks his head into the room.
“I just wanted to check that you’re okay,” he says, concern in his voice.
“I’m fine. Or at least I will be.” I hold up the bottle of wine, which is already half gone.
He grimaces and steps inside. “Davies told me what happened.”
“He shouldn’t have done that,” I say, frowning. Davies rarely bucks protocol.
“He was afraid word would get out and wanted me to have a plan in place in case it does.”
I deflate in relief. Of course he was just looking out for me. “Is that why you’re here? To hide my latest scandal?”
“I’m here,” Preston says, helping me out of my chair, “to be of assistance where I can. If that means listening while you pour your heart out over that bloody bastard, I’ll do it.”
He leads me over to the sofa. I snag the bottle from the desk, chugging from it on the way over. He gives me a glance but doesn’t say anything. Henry wouldn’t have been able to keep his mouth shut.
“I don’t know what happened,” I say like a pathetic child as I sink into the cushions. “We were so happy one minute, and the next . . .”
Preston takes the seat beside me, leaving several inches of space between us. “Did I ever tell you I used to be married?”
I shake my head and take another swig of wine.
“We were happy for a few years. Had the typical honeymoon phase that everyone goes through, I suppose. Then one day she decided she preferred her coworker over me.” He slaps his hands against his thighs. “And that was that.”
“Is this meant to make me feel better?” I ask.
His eyes shift sideways. “Sorry. I’m not good with emotions.”
“Me neither, apparently.” I hold up the bottle.
“You want to talk about it?” He says it like he’s not sure whether it’s the right response or not.
I turn to study him. That lock of dark hair has fallen over his eye again, making him look younger than he is.
“Not really,” I say. Not because I don’t think he’d make a good listener, but because I don’t know if I can bear to face what went wrong between Henry and me.
“But I’ll have to eventually, won’t I? Wesbourne isn’t going to sit silently while they lose their beloved prince consort once again. ”
Preston clears his throat and rubs his hands up and down his thighs. “They care about you, you know.”
“Who?”
“The people.” He turns to meet my eyes. “The staff. Everyone.”
I force a laugh. “I hardly think that’s true.”
His hand lifts and settles on mine. “You’re the best monarch this country has seen in a long time, maybe even forever. People love you.”
I tilt the wine back to guzzle a few more mouthfuls, then look down at our entwined hands. “But if he doesn’t, what does the rest of it matter?”
Preston’s fingers squeeze mine. “Maybe his opinion isn’t the one that counts.”
Warmth flows from his hand through mine and into my arm. It’s nice sitting here, having actual physical contact with someone without the pressure of wondering whether it will lead to an orgasm or conception.
He brings his other hand to wipe away a tear trailing down my face. His fingers linger on my skin, heating it and causing goosebumps to rise on my back.
He leans in and presses his mouth against mine, and I freeze, my body like a block of ice. When he pulls back, his eyes immediately search mine.
“You should go,” I say with a frown.
“Of course,” he says quickly, then stands up. “We’ll talk more about how to handle all of this in the morning.”
After Preston leaves, I set the bottle of wine in the rubbish bin.
No more of that tonight—it already led me to do something stupid.
I can’t believe I let Preston kiss me. Of all the foolish things I could have done, that one might be at the top of the list. I am not only his employer, but his queen.
And a married woman, even if my husband might be in bed with Elizabeth Gable at this exact moment.
Will he tell her they shouldn’t use birth control? It’s what he wants after all, and she’s the type to give him anything, including another baby.
I know it’s a toxic road that can lead to nowhere good, but I picture them together. Does he thread his fingers through her hair the way he does mine? Does he kiss her as thoroughly as he does me, like the world is going to end if he doesn’t consume me?
I touch my lips, where the press of Preston’s is but a faint memory, nothing like Henry’s, which leave me scorched for hours afterward. Is he using that same mouth to seduce her, to ravish her the way he used to ravish me before we let everything get between us?
The thought splinters through me, and I sink to the floor. I’ve lost everything that matters. What good is any of it if I don’t have him anymore?