34. “The Scientist” - Coldplay
“The Scientist” - Coldplay
I’m not sure how I got to sleep last night. I lay in bed for hours playing Henry’s words over and over in my head, looking for a way I could have prevented this. I thought I was doing what he wanted by staying out of it.
The problem is, there wasn’t a right choice. They were both wrong, and I chose the one I thought would hurt him the least.
The sun is shining through the window and hitting the gold coverlet just right, throwing sparkling flecks all around the room. I must have slept past my alarm, which hasn’t happened in years.
My face is swollen, and my eyes are puffy.
I wet a washcloth with cold water and hold it over them.
It does little to reduce the signs of a night spent crying.
I step into the shower, and the warmth relieves the tension in my shoulders.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing that can relieve the ache in my heart.
Daphne does not comment on my appearance when I tell her I’m ready for my hair and makeup. Instead, she prattles on about the weather and her one-year-old daughter. I smile when she pulls out her phone to show me videos of little Arabella grinning and splashing in a mud puddle.
As soon as Daphne leaves, Maisie knocks and enters my suite. The look on her face forces all the tension right back into my shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She hands me her tablet without a word.
The article is brief but succinct. They published it first thing this morning, while I was still sleeping and unaware of the chaos being unleashed.
Queen Covers Up DNA Scandal
In the past few weeks, the public has been shocked to discover that our very own Prince Henry has a love child. Earlier this year, Elizabeth Gable came forward, claiming to have had a child with the prince consort and asking him to be a part of their son’s life.
Reactions from the palace were mixed. At first, Ms. Gable’s claims were ignored.
But when her story was published online, the outrage was immediate.
In this modern society, we don’t expect perfection from our monarchs and leaders.
We do, however, expect them to take responsibility for their actions.
And what could be more irresponsible than ignoring your own child? That’s what we all thought, and apparently the pressure got to be too much for the royal family. They issued a press statement soon after, saying they were “willing to discuss the issue and have already started to do so.”
What I wouldn’t have given to be a fly on the wall at these “discussions.” Unfortunately for most of us, we’ve been kept in the dark most of this time. After issuing her statement, Queen Celia went back to life as usual, without a ruffle in that flawless expression of hers.
But all is not well in fairy tale land. Many of us saw the footage of our queen and her prince consort on an outing at the Bay River Children’s Farm.
The surprising new element was little Axel Gable with them.
The three of them looked like a charming family, but only if you didn’t look too closely.
Anyone familiar with the usual dynamic chemistry between Queen Celia and Prince Henry would have picked up on the obvious tension between them.
While not much for PDA under the best of circumstances, the ice queen was in full regalia that day, seemingly unaffected by the warm temperatures.
And who could blame her? Not many of us would welcome the love child of our significant other popping up after three years. Sources inside the palace have also confirmed that things have been rocky for our royal couple since their marriage two years ago.
Unfortunately for Queen Celia, that’s only the beginning of the story. A source, who has chosen to remain anonymous, revealed that not only did the queen know that Prince Henry is not, in fact, Axel Gable’s birth father, but she also hid this knowledge from the public and even her own husband.
Speculations as to why she might have done so run the gamut.
Was she trying to garner attention from the media?
Was she trying to gain sympathy as the poor wife, left on the sidelines while her husband started a family with another woman?
Or maybe she was trying to finally produce an heir for the throne.
It’s no secret that people have been anxiously awaiting an announcement that our royal couple is expecting their first child, but the palace has been silent on the matter.
Regardless of her reasons, the fact that Queen Celia hid this information begs the question, what else has she been hiding? While her intentions may have been good, it’s obvious what the right thing to do would have been, especially when you take into consideration who Axel Gable’s real father is.
Our source confirmed that the boy was fathered by none other than the former king, William Sutherland.
He is currently serving a twenty-five-year sentence at Staggart Prison for leading the nation’s largest drug ring, which was responsible for the escalating rise of insidion, the most coveted drug by our country’s youth.
As if this wasn’t bad enough, we also have solid evidence proving that Ms. Gable was raped by Mr. Sutherland, yet another thing our queen chose to cover up.
While there’s no question Wesbourne is better off in the hands of Queen Celia than King William, one can’t help but wonder, how much better off?
I hand the device back to Maisie, glad I haven’t eaten breakfast yet. “Was it really necessary to show me that?”
She blinks at me. “How much of it is true?”
“Let me think.” I pretend to consider this. “All of it.”
“All of it?”
“Yes, Maisie. All of it. Except they left out the part where Henry left me last night.” I sink into the nearest chair, no longer trusting that my legs to hold me up.
“What? Again?”
Sighing, I lean my head back. “Why are you here, Maisie?”
“I wanted to show you the article and tell you that Preston hasn’t come in yet. Normally he handles these things, but when he didn’t show up, I wasn’t sure what to do. Do you know when he’ll be in?”
I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “He won’t.”
“Okay,” she says. “Should we wait until tomorrow to handle it, or—”
“He won’t be here tomorrow either, because I fired him. I suspect he is their anonymous source.” He must have been listening outside the door last night. Considering the volume of Henry’s voice, it wouldn’t have been difficult to eavesdrop.
“Ah.”
She’s still waiting on an answer about what to do, so I sit up.
“Forget about the press for now. We’ll need to hire a new press secretary, but honestly, Maisie, I can’t think about that right now.
Cancel the dinner tonight, please. Tell everyone I’m not feeling well.
” I can’t face a room full of people and explain to them why my husband isn’t there.
Not when I don’t even understand it myself.
Maisie assures me she’ll handle it and leaves the room. The second she’s gone, I wish I hadn’t sent her away so quickly. The apartment feels too quiet in her absence.
I call Adelaide. She arrives an hour later, arms laden with a dozen or more shopping bags. When I open the door, she gives me a single appraising look, then heads for the kitchen.
“What is all of that?” I call after her.
“Provisions.” She’s in the process of setting the groceries down when I walk in. I help her put everything onto the marble countertop.
We rarely use the kitchen in our apartment. There’s no need when you have a world-class chef preparing every meal for you, but sometimes it’s nice to have some semblance of a normal home life.
I slide onto one of the bar stools as Adelaide washes her hands at the sink. “Are you going to tell me why you brought”—I pull out a knobby thing from one of the bags and hold it up—“a tree root?”
She takes it from me and sets it down. “That’s ginger. It’s going into the soup.”
“All of this is to make soup?” Raising a brow, I glance at the crowded counter. “I just invited you here to talk.”
“I talk better when my hands are busy. Hand me a cutting board, would you?”
Moving to a cabinet on the other side of the kitchen, I grab one. “You realize it’s supposed to be ninety degrees today.”
She cuts me a sharp glance. “Soup is good for healing hearts.”
I set the board down and start pulling onions from a bag. “Whose heart needs healing?”
“I saw the news.”
Of course she did. “It’s no worse than any of the other stuff they’ve published.”
“It is if it’s true.” She begins peeling vegetables.
I watch her. Even if I knew how to help, my hands aren’t cooperating right now. I thought I’d hit rock bottom weeks ago when Elizabeth Gable showed up. Guess there are always new depths to plummet to.
“Well?” Adelaide’s sharp tone startles me out of my thoughts, and an onion drops from my hand and rolls across the floor.
I bend to retrieve it. “Well what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, poppet.” She chops with speed and precision, her knife hardly moving as it dices. “Is the boy Henry’s or not?”
“Not,” I whisper, sagging against the counter.
She keeps cutting, only stopping after the slices of three onions are heaped into neat little piles on the board. When she’s done, she wipes her hands on her apron and turns to face me. “And you knew?”
“I found out a few days ago.”
A tiny furrow appears on her brow as she scans the kitchen. “Cooking pot?”
I direct her to the collection of professional-grade cookware, most of it never touched. Even if Henry and I wanted to attempt The Donna Reed Show: Royal Edition, I can’t make anything more complicated than coffee.
Adelaide chooses the largest one and begins to drag it out of the cupboard. When I offer to help get it down for her, she glares at me until I retreat. She sets it onto the stove with a bang. “And what did Henry say? Did he know, or were they right about you covering it up?”
I gnaw my bottom lip. I can usually handle Adelaide’s judgment, but my nerves are so frayed right now that I don’t want to be at the receiving end of her ridicule.
My face must give me away, because she frowns. She returns to the cutting board and begins mincing several cloves of garlic. “I take it he was upset?”
It takes me several seconds to find my voice. Everything that happened last night is starting to sink in. “He left me,” I say quietly. “For good this time.”
The knife clatters as she sets it down and grabs me, pulling me into a hug that smells like garlic and lavender. “Oh, poppet,” she murmurs into my hair.
She holds me tightly against her frail frame as my body heaves. Everything I’ve been bottling up for the past two years pours out. She alternates between rubbing my back and stroking my hair.
When my sobs subside into sniffles, she grabs my shoulders. “I need to put the onions in the pot. Wait right here.” She dumps them in and gives them a stir.
By the time she’s done, I’ve found a few tissues and blotted my eyes as best as I can. “I’m fine.” I perch back onto the bar stool I vacated. “It’s just fresh.”
Adelaide’s eyes are sharp and penetrating. “I warned you this would happen.”
“I know.”
“What are you going to do?”
I shrug and let out a heavy sigh. “Nothing. There’s nothing I can do. He’s made his choice.”
She stops fiddling with the soup and looks at me. “That may be the wisest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“I do not feel wise right now. More like a fool.”
“A fool keeps doing the same things and wondering why he doesn’t get different results.” She gestures toward me with the tip of her knife. “You, my dear, are growing and maturing.”
“Maybe, but it’s too late now. I’ve lost him.” It takes everything in me to keep my voice steady.
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” She rinses a bunch of carrots. The dirt and grime from the field flow down the drain. “If there were ever two people meant to be together, it’s the two of you.”
“He says I’m too controlling.”
“Are you?”
I look at her without lifting my head. “You and I both know the answer to that.”
She shakes the water from the vegetables, and several drops land on my arms. “The best thing you can do for your relationship is to let the other person be. You can’t force them to become someone they’re not.
You can’t make them do things they don’t want to.
You can only make those decisions for yourself. ”
I touch the droplets on my arm. They cling to my fingertip but don’t shatter.
“But I think you’ve already realized that, haven’t you?” she says.
“I’m trying.”
“Then don’t give up hope, poppet. They say if you love someone, set them free.” She peels a long, thin curl off a carrot and drops it into the sink. “If they come back, they’re yours; if they don’t, they never were.”
After Adelaide leaves—her giant pot of soup stowed away in the fridge—I pull up videos of babies babbling on YouTube. Their chubby cheeks and high-pitched squeals make me smile. It’s like a bandage wrapping around my heart. Not healing it, but holding the pieces together until they can be mended.
One baby in particular makes me laugh out loud. He’s sitting in a high chair, and every time someone off-camera blows a raspberry, he convulses into hysterical giggles. It might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I rewatch the video at least two dozen times.
Suddenly, something flutters in my stomach. At first I ignore it, but as I hit replay, it happens again. I wipe my cheeks—they’re happy tears this time. I recognize the feeling. Longing.
I want this in my life. I want the joy of a child, the laughter, the way they can brighten any room they’re in without doing a single thing except being themselves. I want that closeness, the knowledge that this person belongs to me, that no matter what, it’s my job to love them unconditionally.
I spend the rest of the day in the apartment, watching silly videos and allowing them to be a balm for my soul. I browse baby name sites and consider whether I want a boy or girl, then realize I don’t care at all, not even a little bit. I’ll take either one—or both.
When my alarm for my birth control goes off at ten o’clock, I can’t believe the entire day has passed and I’ve done nothing productive.
Even more surprising is my lack of guilt over it.
I grab the pink compact from my bag and take it to the bathroom, punching each of the tiny pills out of the foil and into the toilet.
When it’s empty, I flush them down. Joy swirls in my chest as they spiral in the water and disappear forever.
This is what Henry wanted all along. For me to let go, to relax, to start a family with him. To stop trying to control other people’s expectations and actions. To allow myself to live fully and truly. And he was right. It feels incredible.
The only problem?
I’m too late.