Page 101 of Heavy Crown

Simone arrives in an hour, and I should be making myself presentable. Since I woke up, I’ve been sitting on the edge of my bed scrolling through photos and videos of Rory, trying to recapture the elusive rightness those dreams inspire.

But I’ve also sat with my thumb hovered over the trash can icon on my favorite photos and videos. Keeping them doesn’t make sense, but deleting them is another form of agony I can’t handle.

I’ve won and lost in my life, but I’ve never been this defeated.

She wouldn’t let me in last night, so I sat outside her door, and I laid out my exit plan. I’d hoped to do it in person. One last push to prove to her that she matters to me more than anything. While I sat there, I listed where we’d live, what I’d do, how we’d survive. I set my fucking heart at her feet, and she never opened the door.

All week I’ve held out hope she’d change her mind. Time I should have spent on diplomatic relations, referendum advocacy, or coronation business, I used to call real estate agents in other countries, to explore visa requirements and tax treaties. I built us lives in three other countries, and all Rory needed to do was pick one. Say yes.

Silence. A void of silence on the other side of the door so dark and deep I’m not even sure she listened. Her indifference was deafening.

Tonight I’ll be forced to sit around an oversized dinner table with extended family and introduce Simone as though she means more to me than I’ve let on. The duplicity I once could have handled without a second thought stings.

I rub the heel of my hand against my chest, and then I straighten my tie.

My phone buzzes with a reminder to double-check the details in place for Simone to assume one of the rooms in my wing of the palace. I’ll have to find Stella.

If this is to be my future, the sooner I accept it, the better. Once Simone steps out of the Summerset limo, Rory can never be more than a memory. My family, my country, my future wife, deserve my complete attention.

When Simone’s limo arrives, I resist glancing toward the kitchen. There’s a window, near where I used to eat lunch, with a clear view of the front entrance.

Is Rory watching? Do I want her to be?

The night she broke things off with me, I stayed outside her door listening to her sob, and it killed me. To realize my poor planning gutted her was the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I would have done anything to make it right, to make it up to her.

She asked for a plan, and last night, I gave her three.

Waste of time. Turns out, she didn’t want a plan, she wanted a reason to say no.

From today, I’m embracing the sting her indifference left behind.

Fuck heartbreak. Anger is easier.

The rear door to the limo opens, and I step forward to help Simone exit the vehicle. When she emerges, she offers me a beaming smile and kisses both my cheeks. Like me, she’s learned when she needs to switch herself into royal mode. We’re not on beaming-smile terms with each other. I’m surprised she didn’t call the wedding off.

My communications skills were awful this last week. Instead of answering anything, I foisted every exchange onto Desmond’s plate. Up until last night, I was still hopeful I wouldn’t be in these shoes this morning.

“I hope your flight was good,” I say, and I guide her into the house with my hand on the small of her back.

“Very relaxing,” she says, and she glances behind us to check on her luggage.

“Kane will bring your things to my wing of the palace.”

“I’m staying in your wing?” She eyes me, but I’m not versed enough in her expressions to figure out if she’s happy or annoyed.

“In one of the guest rooms.” We’re in the front entrance, and for the first time in my life, I’m not sure what to do with a visitor. A blind date gone wrong. Comical, really, if she wasn’t to become my wife.

“A tour?” she suggests. “Start in the kitchen? I hear the pastries are sinful.”

I raise my eyebrows. There’s no way I’m taking her to meet Rory. The only reason she’d want to go there is to stake her claim or get a handle on her competition. Since neither is necessary, she won’t be getting her kitchen tour.

“Excellent idea,” I say. “We’ll start the tour in my suite of rooms so you can be sure the accommodations are to your liking.”

There are ears everywhere in the palace, and if she wants to read me the riot act for behaving like an idiot since I signed the marriage agreement, she can do it there. Stella will be the only one within earshot there, and she’s an exceptional secret keeper.

“Hmm,” Simone agrees, and her brown gaze assesses me. “To your wing of the house it is.”

While we make our way there, I maintain a running commentary of the various rooms, offices, and functional areas. Boring, mindless chatter that I can rattle off without engaging my brain.