Page 66 of Heavy Crown

“Are you mad at me? I came here to apologize for acting like an idiot. I don’t understand how that makes things worse between us.”

“We’re not friends.” When I give her a look of incredulity, she continues, “We haven’t been just friends since you dragged me out of the car. There’s something between us, Alex. Something big. We can ignore it, or we can face it. I ignored a lot in my relationship with Derrick, and I’m not doing it again. So, if we’re not facing whatever this is, if we’re sweeping it under the rug, then I think it’s better we don’t see each other.”

I’m so stunned, I can’t speak. The coffee maker beeps to remind me it’s ready. The door handle on the side entrance rattles. The short window of time I wanted is working against me.

“We’re a bad idea, Alex. Reasonable people don’t court heartbreak.” She picks up the dough and slams it against the countertop just as Joyce walks into the kitchen.

“Morning, Joyce,” I say with an easiness I don’t feel. My gut is twisting itself into knots, and there’s so much I want to say to Rory, but I don’t know where to start. Nowhere, not with someone else in the kitchen now. She got the last word—all the last words.

“Your Highness, you’re in here early.” Joyce hangs her things on a hook by the pantry.

“Coffee.” I hold up my mug. “Can’t function without it.”

“Joyce will deliver your cream tea today,” Rory says, and for the first time when our gazes meet, she’s playing a part. My employee, not my friend, not whatever else has really been brewing under the surface.

“I’m going to skip it today, thank you.” I smile at Joyce and pat my stomach. “Can’t keep indulging in things that are bad for me.”

Rory’s jaw tightens, and she kneads the dough with more force. “Wouldn’t want you to get fat.” The edge is back in her voice.

She couldn’t hold onto her fake persona for long, and I’m gratified by the return of the Rory I’m familiar with. In my circle of friends and acquaintances, women learn from an early age to pretend, and I’ve loved Rory’s openness. The idea that spending time with me might change that part of her causes an ache to bloom across my chest. Maybe she’s right, and we shouldn’t be together anymore.

Joyce’s gaze zips between me and Rory, and I need to do something to diffuse the tension or she’ll pepper Rory with probing questions.

“I’ll take your advice to heart next time I’m tempted to call for a cream tea.” With that, I grab my coffee and walk out of the kitchen.

The farther I get from Rory, the more the heaviness across my shoulders threatens to crush me. One drunken mistake, and the best part of my life is no more.

The days drift, one into another. Each is more of the same. Referendum preparation and press. Coronation matters. Emailing with Simone about wedding details. Every time I see her name in my inbox, my stomach drops to my toes. After a few cursory exchanges, I managed to pass her off to Merida, the same wedding planner who is coordinating Nick and Julia’s nuptials.

The wedding is a necessity to get what I really want—the crown. I’ll deal with the marriage when I have to. Until then, there’s someone else occupying every second of my thoughts when I’m not tied up in mentally taxing tasks.

Rory.

We haven’t spoken all week. No visits to the kitchen for coffee. No cream tea deliveries. No stolen evenings in her cottage. Silence. Brutal, make-my-chest-cave-in silence.

My mother, who must be keeping tabs, will be ecstatic. Crisis averted.

Is it, though? I’m fucking miserable.

While Rory and I have only known each other a matter of weeks, I wove her as tightly as I could into the fabric of my life, the pattern of my thoughts. Trying to rip her out is a task I not only don’t like but don’t want.

As my paper fiancée reminded me today, there are only four weeks left before the world believes we’re going public with our relationship. My stomach sours. Before I met Rory, this wife process would have been another thing I had to “get through” in order to achieve what I wanted. A hassle, but not something tied to any kind of emotion.

I’ve never loathed anything more than this impending fake marriage I’ll be expected to make real. Not a great foundation to start a marriage on. It is what it is.

I stare at the wall in my office, ignoring the memos strewn across my desk.

Four weeks. I’ve got four weeks left to carve out a sliver of happiness. The countdown is making me contemplate dangerous things.

Rory isn’t wrong. Whatever is between us is destined for disaster or heartbreak. Maybe both. What do I know?

I can’t let her go, though. I’m not ready. Right or wrong, if she’ll have me, I’ll cling on as long as I can.

With that thought in mind, I pick up the phone and call an old friend for a favor.

Rory could be out with Posey or doing a thousand other things on a Friday night, but I’m hoping she’s home. When I knock on the door just after dinner, I half expect her not to answer. Through the door, I can hear her, and I wonder whether she’s debating keeping me locked out of her life. Safer that way. For both of us. A tiny part of me hopes she does. Apparently, I’m not strong enough to resist her, but maybe she’s built of better stuff than me.

When the door draws back, my heart hammers at the sight of her blond hair loose around her shoulders and her expression wary, cautious. Her normal exuberant smile is missing.