Page 120 of Heavy Crown

She draws away and frames my face. “If you don’t let yourself get over her, you never will. It’s a choice, Alex.” She draws her hand down my chest as she crosses the hallway to her room. It’s a move designed to seduce, and if I’d been on the cusp of giving in, it would have been enough. But there’s not a single fiber in me tempted to follow her. After she opens her door, she peeks over her shoulder, but I’m glued to my place.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” I say. I roll off the wall into my own room, and while I strip for bed, I consider Simone’s claim that it’s possible to choose to fall in or out of love. In any of my other relationships, I might have agreed with her.

What I had with Rory isn’t like anything else I’ve experienced. Falling in love with her was never a choice, something I could avoid or stop. From the moment I saw her in the car, she ran through my blood like a virus, infecting everything. There’s no cure for that kind of love, and I’m not convinced it ever runs its course. It’ll live inside me, dormant or wreaking havoc.

Last night I took one of the sleeping pills Dr. Bennett prescribed in the lead-up to the referendum. Between worrying about the result, missing Rory, and being sure I was somehow fucking up my life, sleep was eluding me. The beauty of the sleeping pills is that they provide a dreamless sleep. Rory doesn’t make an appearance, so I don’t wake up disoriented and depressed. A blank slate to start my day until my first thought of Rory hits me, two minutes, five minutes, or ten minutes into my morning, and the piercing ache across my chest resumes.

Unlike other nights, I don’t want to be dragged under or pass out. Instead, I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling like I’ve done for the last three weeks when I didn’t take a pill to ease my misery.

Except this time, I’m not trying to puzzle out why none of my plans were good enough for Rory or why she didn’t love me like I loved her. When I asked her to leave with me, I never doubted she was right there with me—desperate to be together. Her refusal to let me back in was frustrating and infuriating and fucking heartbreaking.

If there was one thing crystal clear in her appearance and her pleading the other night, it was how much she loved me, how hard the last three weeks have been on her too. She didn’t come to my room looking for Prince Alexander or the future king of Bellerive. She came for Alex. But I’ve spent so much time suppressing him since she turned me down, that I couldn’t get to the yes she needed. Didn’t understand how to get there.

I might be there now.

For the last two days, my mind has been humming with potential scenarios. Simone’s comment that I should let myself get over Rory has brought my choices and decisions into sharper focus. What I’m willing to sacrifice and what I’m not.

I can get over losing my country.

I can get over starting somewhere new.

I can negotiate with my brother to get more time and access to our father once Nick’s the king.

I can’t get over losing Rory.

I can’t.

More than that, I don’t want to. She’s out there, as miserable as me, and I’ve got it in my power to make both our lives better.

It’s going to be hard, and really fucking messy, but I can’t let her go.

Climbing out of bed, I throw on some clothes. At Simone’s door, I hesitate, and then I knock.

When she opens the door, a smile spreads across her face. “Decide to take that drink after all?”

I take a deep breath. “I haven’t been honest with you, and I think it’s about time that changed.”

She waves me in, and I prepare myself to do the first hard thing that’ll lead me back to Rory.

forty-four

Rory

True to her word, Posey booked me a flight—in first class no less—and hired a driver to get me to the farm. She also instructed him not to leave the house until it was clear my parents were going to let me in. If they didn’t, she’d given him instructions to take me to her friend in Toronto. When he’d told me the secondary plan as he removed my suitcases from the trunk, I’d almost burst into tears. I’ve never had a friend quite like Posey Jensen. Pregnant and alone isn’t a good look, but at least I’ve got her in my corner.

I glance at the driver, who is leaned against his car door with my suitcases beside him in the gravel. He said he’d wait to make sure delivering them to my side was the right call.

Out in the pasture, cows moo, and the two horses my parents keep to ride are off in the distance. If I whistled, they’d come running and expect a slice of apple or a sliver of carrot as their reward. In some ways, being home is already a comfort.

Except for my parents’ reaction to my return, nothing is unknown. Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and understand exactly what’s expected of me. Hard work, and not another murmur of leaving this behind for something else.

If I ask for their help, this farm will be my future.

Whatever life I might have made elsewhere with Alex is nothing but a dream. Not for the first time, the reality of where we’ve landed hits me. He’s the father of my child, and I’ll never be able to see him again.

Tears pool in my eyes, and I stare at the porch overhead, willing them away. Crying won’t get me through this.

With a deep, steadying breath, I knock on the screen door of the sprawling two-story farmhouse. I’m surprised they aren’t already peering out a window after the car’s tires crackled down the gravel drive.