Page 98 of Heavy Crown

Of all the arguments I expected her to make, this was never one of them. Given how many people are involved in Simone’s arrival for Nick and Julia’s wedding, it’s not a surprise someone put two-and-two together, but I never wanted it to be her.

“When you love someone, you don’t build a second life, construct a more suitable path.” Her lip quivers. “You don’t have a plan right now, Alex. There is no real plan for us because I have never been the plan.” Her voice thickens. “The only plan you’ve had for weeks is the one where you marry Princess Simone of Denmark and assume the throne. That is the plan.”

Words are failing me, and I need them right now. Badly.

“You’ve spent the last three weeks fucking me while you intended to marry her.” Her sadness has been overtaken with anger. “That’s not love. I don’t know what that is, but it isn’t love.”

“You were unexpected,” I whisper. Those are not the right words. She’s slipping away, and I don’t know how to drag her back.

Tears fill her eyes again, and she tilts her head. “I’m a misstep. But even if I wasn’t, I don’t want to be with someone who could do this to me, who could do this to Simone. Neither of us deserve it. If she wants to marry you, that’s up to her.” She swipes away the tears streaming down her face again. “But I won’t be leaving the country with you on Tuesday, and I don’t want you coming here anymore.”

“Give me a chance to explain.” Panic grips my chest, but I keep my tone even, reasonable.

“I need you to leave.”

“I don’t want that life you described, the one that’s been planned for me. I don’t want it. I want you. I want us.” Desperation has leaked into my voice, but I don’t care.

“Alex.” Her reprimand is sharp. “I need you to go.” She tries to guide me toward the door.

“I have until Friday, and I’m not giving up on us. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I do about you.”

“Alex.”

We’re at the door, and she’s opened it, but I’m not stepping through.

“You’re upset,” I say. “And I get it. I should have told you or been better prepared for this conversation, but none of that means I don’t want to be with you. None of that means my choice isn’t sincere.”

She’s holding the door and staring at her feet. “I have a choice too.” When our gazes meet, there’s so much anger and pain in her green eyes that I suck in a sharp breath. “You might choose me, but I don’t choose you.”

Her words are a dull knife across my heart, wrenching and painful. “Rory.” I clutch my chest.

She shoves me out the door and slams it, clicking the lock into place with force. She thumps against the door, rattling it, and then she slides to the floor.

I press my palms into the wood. How did I fuck this up so badly? After all these weeks, all these years, I finally have something other than the Crown, other than servitude and solitude, and she’s seeping through my hands like water. Impossible to hold onto but life sustaining.

Maybe I wasn’t completely sure about leaving last night, but I am now. How do I survive this life without her when I know how much better it is with her?

A gut-wrenching sob penetrates the door, and my heart cracks in half.

“Rory. Let me back in. I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can fix this. I can fix it.”

But I don’t know how to fix what I broke between us, and she doesn’t let me back in.

thirty-six

Rory

Every night, he comes.

The exact time varies, but he’s knocked on my door each night since Sunday. He arrives, a rap of knuckles on the wood, calls my name, and then he waits. Sometimes it’s five minutes, sometimes I hear him out there for hours pressed against the door. The chime of his email and the bing of a text are the soundtrack of our heartache.

On Tuesday, he came to the kitchen, and I locked myself in the pantry. Joyce ran interference by telling Alex I was delivering a cream tea to the queen.

Avoiding him is killing me, though. To have him so close, to have him want to be closer, and to not give in. Each knock on the door dents my resolve. I can barely eat, and I’m exhausted all the time. Sleep comes and goes in fits and starts. When I dream, I dream of him. Vivid, visceral dreams like I had as a kid about this cottage. Waking up is the most exquisite torture. When I sleep, I’m happy, and each morning when the dreams end, I’m faced with a life stretched out before me with no Alex in sight.

My heartbreak feels limitless, expansive, as though it’s eaten my whole life.

Whatever heartbreak he’s experiencing is temporary. I was a misstep in an otherwise smooth existence. He has another life, one without me, all planned out. A life he’s been prepared to live since the moment he met me. My presence and absence will change nothing for him, whereas his has changed everything for me.