Page 53 of Fallen Crown

“Brice.” I’m sure my expression must read as pained.

“Join the club,” Caitlin says. “That man could tempt all the single ladies in Bellerive and at least half the married ones. I think we both know he’s not a viable option.”

“Right.” The tightness in my chest doesn’t dissipate, and the implication that Brice can’t be taken seriously leaves a sharp sting. Isn’t that what he told me last night?

“Excluding him, excluding this notion you’d be a quitter or somehow like your father, what do you want?”

My heart beats an irregular rhythm, and I’m not sure what to say. Enzo is my husband, and we were happy once. But we haven’t been happy for a long time. I have no idea if we can be happy again. We certainly can’t be happy if he’s in Boston and I’m here, and neither of us is willing to change that.

“I think I need to talk to Enzo. Tell him what I need.”

“Yes. And if that’s a divorce, I’m your lawyer.” Caitlin picks up her wrap and takes another bite. “Brice Summerset. He’s a walking sin, isn’t he? Can’t say I blame you with that one. As a rebound, there’s no one better, as long as your mother doesn’t find out. A detour off the main path for a while wouldn’t be so bad.”

I snatch my sandwich off her desk, even though I likely won’t eat it. Concealing my annoyance is a struggle. Since Brice and I started training together, I’ve never once told anyone about our secret training sessions, about the nights on the estate, the long evenings in the barn. He’s capable of being dedicated to something. But that doesn’t mean Caitlin isn’t right. He can be the man I’ve come to know and the one I should never for a second consider being with. As a friend, he’s exceptional. He’d probably tell me that himself.

My brain is still a muddle over him. One side of it thinking all those things he said last night were serious and the other side dismissive of every single word. Maren and Tucker at war with each other.

One thing I know for sure is that I need to speak to Enzo. We can’t go on like this.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Brice

When I wake up, Maren is gone. Not a trace of her remains except the faintest whiff of peaches on my spare pillow. I groan when I roll over. Why did I have to fall asleep beside her? Stupid. So fucking stupid. I already scared her last night with my “you’re my favorite person in the whole wide world” bullshit, even if it’s true. She is my favorite person. I didn’t realize it was true until I was saying it. Then I was glad I said it for about 0.2 seconds before her expression turned to terror, and she leapt off the bed like I’d poured a two-dollar bottle of tequila on her and set her on fire. The mention of alcohol gets my thoughts churning.

If I was pouring tequila, I definitely would have used a top-shelf brand, and once Tucker was wet with it, I would have licked it up, one inch at a time.

I groan again and throw an arm over my face.

It’s unbelievable the places my mind goes around her anymore. With other women, I’d welcome these fantasies, maybe even try my luck at having them come true. Any hint of them sends Tucker running—almost literally—for the door.

Given the distance she wedged between us after my comment, it was only natural I’d want to lie on the bed with her for a teeny tiny second. Not long. Just so I didn’t feel like I totally fucked things up. She looked so peaceful asleep, as though she didn’t have a care in the world, and Maren Tucker never looks like that awake. I watched her sleep for a minute, maybe two, because at some point, I also must have drifted to sleep.

There’s got to be something that’ll get rid of this cloud hanging over my mood. Maybe I’ll go hang out with Dad for a bit. Being around him makes everything—my brain short-circuits on the reality of what I’ve just thought. I cover my face with my hands, and I lay there as a deep, heaving sob creeps up my throat. The tears I managed to hold at bay for most of the night with Tucker here are still there, threatening to be unleashed.

I wedge the heels of my hands into my eyes, and I choke on the flood of emotion threatening to drown me. My dad is gone. God, I wish Tucker had stayed.

Once I think I’ve got myself under control, I climb out of bed, and reluctantly, I dress for the day. Since she snuck out this morning, I’m not even sure Tucker will talk to me later. She seems to have a soft spot for my grief, but I can’t use my dad as a reason to keep her close forever.

I make my way through the palace to Alex and Rory’s suite of rooms. A bit of cuddle time with Grace might cure this aching, gaping wound. Kane lets me in, so I must have somehow avoided nap time. Feels like Grace sleeps all the time.

At her nursery, I pause in the doorway. Rory is rocking her in a chair, and when she glances up at me, she looks exhausted.

“Not much sleep last night?” I ask.

“Between Alex and Grace, I got very little. How are you doing? I saw Maren’s vehicle was still here this morning.”

I wonder who else saw that. She’ll be beyond upset if helping me out starts rumors about her cheating on Enzo. I haven’t been able to help nudging her in that direction a few times, and she’s resisted.

“She’s good company,” I say. “One of my best friends.” I nod toward Grace. “Can I hold her?”

“Be my guest.” Rory adjusts Grace’s sleeping form to pass her to me.

I slot her into the crook of my arm, and there’s something about having her gentle weight pressed against me that fills part of me that’s been empty this morning.

“Should Maren be one of your best friends if she’s married? I know we called her last night, but…”

“She’d never cheat on her husband, even if I’d quite happily help her do that.”