Page 30 of Heavy Crown

The door opens, and he’s gone. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I did something wrong.

thirteen

Alex

My phone buzzed in my pocket throughout my scone-making experience, but I didn’t take it out for fear of what I’d find. As soon as the door to her apartment is closed, I draw out my phone and wince at the sheer number of notifications. My parents. My brothers. Julia. Desmond. Everyone has texted me about the grocery store incident.

Desmond’s texts are about social media fallout, reporters calling for comments, and the general interest from the public my tiny outing has caused.

My parents are concerned about public appearances and have requested a meeting ASAP.

Julia, unlike my parents, is concerned about the shitstorm I’m dragging Rory into without her understanding.

Brice’s text is about how down-to-earth Rory seemed and how I need to be careful not to lead her on.

Nick’s text is the most surprising. Instead of taking the piss or railing at me for being stupid, he’s offered to be a sounding board if I need to chat about the arranged marriage bullshit. I stop walking to read the text again, but I close my phone without replying to any of them.

I stride across the fields toward the main palace and try to smooth out my features so no one suspects the riot that’s started inside me. When was the last time I had so much fun doing something so simple? University, maybe? Back then I was somewhat free of the restrictions my life has now. To spend that much time with a woman and not to sense even a hint of an ulterior motive is rare. As much as I’ve wanted to be normal, whatever that means, I’ve never felt like Alex around anyone. Rory’s easy acceptance of me is startling. She treats me like we’re old friends instead of strangers, instead of royalty. Sitting across from her enjoying the best cream tea I’ve ever eaten, a flashing neon Danger sign lit up above her head. She’s not a possibility for me in any sense, and letting myself sit at her table, potentially leading her to believe otherwise, wasn’t something I could tolerate.

So I left. Now, I need to give the performance of my life when I’m sitting across from my parents and explaining my actions (again) in relation to Rory.

No matter what, I can’t let myself see her anymore. My predetermined destiny doesn’t include an incredible pastry chef from Canada.

After a thorough dressing down from the king and queen, the likes of which I haven’t experienced in years, I’m in my suite of rooms on my burner phone scrolling through the social media nonsense I lit on fire earlier by going grocery shopping. The headlines would be laughable if it wasn’t my life they were burning down. As the king and queen, rightly, pointed out, any woman on the island looking at these photos of me and Rory would wonder why I’d be there if I wasn’t trying to make a statement. None but the most desperate will want to marry a man, future king or not, who appears interested in another woman.

After telling Nick he didn’t understand our lives were a series of political maneuvers, my lack of savvy in this instance is cringeworthy. Our social media manager is arranging for Dumbass Derrick to be home tomorrow when Rory collects her things so the media latches onto a different story. Derrick has agreed, which makes me think he either wants Rory back or is genuinely too dumb to realize the media will sniff out his affair lickety-split.

Annoyed, I toss the phone onto the coffee table and sink deeper into the armchair near the gas fireplace.

There’s a knock on my door, and although I don’t want company, I rarely have a choice. “Come in,” I call.

The suite door swings back, and Nick stands in the entrance. As the middle child, Nick’s brown hair and hazel eyes are reflective of our father. But none of us are mirror images of our parents—a trait here or there from them, and some from our grandparents too. A mishmash of royal heritage.

He leans his shoulder against the door jam and takes in my décor. Has he been here since we were teenagers? We haven’t exactly sought each other out in the past.

“You fuck up with Jules again?” I ask. My grumpiness is showing, as it often does in Nick’s presence.

Nick chuckles. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that since I come in peace at Julia’s request.”

“Your wife sent you to give me a talking to? You’re too late. The king and queen beat you to it.”

Nick shakes his head and enters the room, plopping into the chair across from me. “I appreciate that it’s hard to believe, but I’m not here to talk at all. I’ve been advised to listen.” His eyebrows rise with the last word.

This makes me laugh. “She’s determined we’ll be friends, is she?”

“I think she wants us to be brothers.” Nick gives me a searching look. “Not opposed to it myself, despite your usual dickish response to my arrival.”

“It’s just been a fucking day. Sorry about that.” I drag my hands down my face and sigh.

He doesn’t speak for a minute, and I wonder whether he’s going to take Julia’s advice a little too literally.

“I wouldn’t be happy if I was in your shoes. I’d probably be off doing stupid shit too.”

There isn’t a doubt in my mind Nick would be out doing “stupid shit” if he was in my shoes. He’s never been as good at following the rules and living within the confines of royal life. I’ve never bucked any of it. My destiny was set at birth, and no one has let me forget it for a moment in thirty-three years.

“Rescuing someone on the brink of death is hardly stupid shit.”

“Putting your life at risk would be in that category, wouldn’t it?” Nick raises his eyebrows. “Look, I didn’t come here to fight.” He gives a dark chuckle. “Even if that’s our default mode. Are you okay? That’s all I came to ask.”