Page 121 of Heavy Crown

Inside, my mother calls to my father as she makes her way to the front entrance.

The metal door swings back, and my mom and I stare at each other through the screen door.

“Rory,” she breathes out my name, and it hits me that maybe she’s not mad at me after all.

“Mom.” Her name is garbled. When a sob breaks through, she yanks open the screen door and drags me into her arms. I cry while she makes soothing noises, and I breathe in the familiar scent of jasmine.

“You’re home,” she says into my hair. “I’m so glad you’ve come home.”

“Who is it?” My father calls from the other room.

“Rory’s home.” There’s a wariness to her response, as though she’s worried my dad might not be quite as relieved as she is.

He comes through the farm kitchen, and he stops on the other side of the door. He’s tall and broad and still fit from the work he does around the farm. “Your big adventure has come to an end, has it? That fancy boy let you down just like your mother said he would.”

He’s talking about Derrick, but the words sting given my recent conversation with Alex. They don’t even know about Alex. They aren’t the type to follow social media, so they’d have no idea #Alora was ever a thing, that the future king of Bellerive took more than a passing interest in their daughter after saving her life. That three weeks ago he offered to abdicate the throne to run away with me.

Was it months or years since I woke up to find Alex at my bedside? I’ve aged a hundred years in a few days. Each time I consider the choices I’m making, a crushing weight settles across my shoulders. Would my life have been any worse if I’d told him?

But I know it would have been. Seeing him with Simone, understanding what would have to evolve between them, how I’d never be his priority again, and our child would be a dirty secret, wasn’t something I could accept.

I don’t even know if he’d be okay with me keeping the baby. Hidden children have ways of being discovered. He’ll build his family with Simone.

The argument that I’m only twenty-three is also one of his favorites. Lots of time for me to try again, start over. Would he ask that of me? I couldn’t risk it.

“Where’s your stuff?” my dad asks.

I gesture behind me, and he waves to my driver before ambling down the porch stairs. My mother leads me into the kitchen and sits me at the table. She scooches her chair next to mine, and she keeps her arms wrapped around me. It’s a level of comfort I forgot she could provide and didn’t realize she’d want to give. She sent me a text message when I almost went over a cliff.

“I’ve been so worried. After that car accident, I almost flew out there, but your father talked me out of it.”

“Why?”

She’s quiet beside me for a long time, and she gives me another squeeze. “Said you’d ask us to come if you needed us. And you’ve come home now, so maybe he was right.”

I bite my lip to keep from unleashing the anger that’s been simmering in me over their indifference. They taught me, often forced me, to be independent, and they convinced themselves I’d tell them I needed their help?

“I thought you might come home once it was clear that boy wasn’t any good,” my mother murmurs into my hair. “Did you two try to work things out?”

There’s no judgment in her tone, but I’m not sure where to start since Derrick hasn’t been on my relationship radar for months.

“No,” I say. “I got a job somewhere else. An apartment.”

“Oh.” There’s surprise in her tone. “Okay.” She draws away to search my face, and my father bangs in the door with my suitcases.

“Want these in your room? I’m assuming you’re staying?” he says.

“If that’s okay,” I say.

“We never wanted you to leave,” my father says in a quiet voice. “I’ll take these up.” He juggles my things and heads for the stairs.

I’ve come home with my tail tucked between my legs, and that’s good enough for him.

My mother rotates in her chair, and I get my first chance to take in the changes in her. A few more lines around her eyes that are a light shade of green. Her blond hair has more highlights to cover the gray. Otherwise, she looks like I remember her. A year that feels like a lifetime has passed between us.

She leans her elbow on the table. “Tell me everything.”

I’m not sure where to start or even what to say. She hasn’t asked me why I’ve come home, and I was prepared to announce my pregnancy and fall on their goodwill. But my mother wants to have a gossip session as though we haven’t been at a lengthy impasse.