Page 86 of King of the Crease

But I won’t be there.

“You can come up here after tax season.”

But I don’t do taxes.

“This won’t be hard. We’re in the same zone.”

But I’m actually living on another continent.

“We can make this work because…because we care about each other.” Hank smooths his hand over my hair. His touch only makes me more nauseous with guilt. “Because this thing between us is real. I really like you, and not to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty sure you really like me, too.”

I want to leave this bed, run away. But I also can’t imagine my life without Hank.

“I’m going on and on. What do you think?”

What do I think? I think a lie can only build and build for so long. It’s a snowball rolling down a hill. At some point, it has to crash into something. That’s just physics.

“Hank…” I kiss him once more, one more sweet kiss before everything changes. “I can’t.”

While his body doesn’t move, he crumbles from the inside out. His face loses all energy.

“Oh.”

“I haven’t been honest with you about who I am.”

“Are you a spy?”

“Worse.” I clear my throat. “I’m a prince,” I say with my real accent.

A soft chuckle escapes his lips.

“I’m…Prince Nicholas of Ardenia.”

He blinks at me, processing, searching my face for the punchline.

“Give me your phone,” I tell him. He reaches over to his nightstand and unplugs it, hands it over.

I google “Prince Nicholas Ardenia.” Pictures of me from formal events flood the screen. I toss it into his lap.

His expression shifts, surprise giving way to something deeper, harder to read.

Hank gets out of bed, his face glued to his phone. “Excuse me. I just need to…I just need a minute.”

He leaves the room, goes downstairs. And just like that, my Sourwood bubble has been popped.

27

HANK

Prince. As in actual prince.

I stare at Nick all cleaned up on my phone, trying to make sense of everything. It’s cold outside, but I need some fresh air. I pace on my front porch, digging my hands into my pockets.

Nick from Baltimore…is a prince. He’s wearing a crown in these pictures.

An actual, literal crown.

I shove my phone inside my mailbox. I can’t with those pictures.