Page 122 of Heavy Crown

“You must have been shocked to discover the future king was the one who rescued you from the car wreck.”

“Yeah,” I murmur. “Definitely a surprise.”

“Did you get a chance to meet him?”

“Yes.” I squirm in my chair.

“What was he like?” Her eyes are alight with curiosity, and it’s strange to see her starry-eyed over Alex. A glimpse at how other people see him. So many of our interactions were with people who knew him well, and other than social media storms, I rarely caught a glimpse of how the world saw him.

“What do you think he’d be like?” I ask.

“Definitely handsome. Too old for you, though.”

Warmth floods my cheeks. Ten years never felt like anything to me. A blip. Another perception people would have that I’ve never bothered to consider. Our age gap would have occurred to Alex since he’s hyper aware of how things appear. All these thoughts of him are turning my stomach.

She smiles. “He must be heroic to risk his life to get you out of that car.”

Alex told me once that he couldn’t help himself. He saw me lying there, and he had to get me out. Wouldn’t have mattered what he had to do. Tears prick at the back of my eyes. Three weeks ago he loved me enough to turn his life upside down. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe when it came down to leaving, he wouldn’t have been able to do it after all.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart. Is it still hard to talk about the accident?” She places her hand over mine and gives my fingers a gentle squeeze.

The stairs creak, and my father wanders into the room and draws out another chair from the kitchen table. He eases himself into it, and he takes in my appearance.

“You look like hell,” he says.

“Arthur!” My mother hits his arm with the back of her hand.

“You get your fill of adventure or is something else going on?” my father asks.

Trust him to cut through the bullshit. This is my chance to come clean to someone on my own terms. The narrative I decided I’d have to tell on the plane starts here.

I run my fingertips over my eyebrows and take a deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

“What?” My mother jumps out of her chair. “Derrick? Oh God. What a mess.”

Bile rises into my throat, and I swallow. “No.”

“Does the father know you’re pregnant?” my dad asks.

“No,” I admit.

“Why not?” my father asks. “He’s got a right to know, especially if you’re keeping the baby. At the very least, he needs to be paying something toward raising his kid.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. More than telling them I’ve come home pregnant, I’m dreading the next thing I’m going to say. “I don’t know who the father is.”

“What?” My mother pales. “How can you not know?”

“A rebound after Derrick and I broke up. He was in Bellerive on vacation. I didn’t get his name.”

My father lets out a scoff of disgust, and his chair scrapes across the floor. He’s gone from the kitchen without another word, and the front door slams.

This time when my stomach rolls, I realize I’m not going to be able to keep my sickness at bay. I press my hand over my mouth, and I run to the two-piece bathroom in the hallway. Just in time, I kneel over the toilet to lose my meal from the plane.

When I glance up, I half expect to see my mother in the doorway with a sympathetic expression or another warm hug. Instead, the front door slams again, and I’m alone in the house.

Out the window, a breeze whips through the trees. Winter will be here soon. A chill in the air to match the ice in this house.

Coming home was a gamble, but I thought facing my unexpected circumstances with my parents would make me feel less alone.