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His eyes dilated.

‘I mean it,’ she said. ‘You’ve been through some horrible things but you shouldn’t have to suffer in isolation for the rest of your life. Don’t use it as an excuse to hide from true intimacy—’

He stepped forward, wild-eyed. ‘I’m telling you I’m broken. I can’t do or be what you want.’

‘Broken things can be fixed!’ she fired back. ‘They mightn’t be perfect, but they can still be beautiful—’

‘You don’t want to be a human band-aid. I’m not letting you be that for me!’

She flinched. ‘It’s not the same.’

It wasn’t. It wasn’t the same.

‘You have been used enough,’ he said in a low voice. ‘No more being a puppet. If you stay here, it’s palace protocol to the death. It’s public performance and judgement. Evisceration online. Every outfit you wear, every move, every word. I can’t protect you from all that—’

‘I’m not asking you to.’

‘It’s not a life for you, Tilly.’ He raked his hand through his hair. ‘I want you to have everything—’

‘What if you’re my everything?’ she cried. ‘Maybe I could handle all that because we’d be together. We could ignore it all together.’

‘You said you weren’t going to be like your mother. You never wanted to rely on a man for everything.’

‘She never wanted the man, she wanted what he could provide. You could be prince or pauper and I would still want you. Just you.’ There was a hell of a difference. ‘I’m not her. I’m my own person with my own flaws, and you’re not your father, and there’s no way you would ever do to our children any of the awful things he did to you!’

He turned white. ‘I reacted badly to the trouble you were in. If I’d taken the time to understand the situation in its entirety, our wedding would never have happened.’ He completely shut down.

‘So you regret it, and now you’ve got rid of him you can get rid of me too.’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘That’s exactly what it is—you’re just trying to dress it up as doing me a favour. This is about you.’

‘Okay, yes. This is what I need to do,’ he growled. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘No, you don’t want me, so don’t act as if you care when you don’t. If you cared the way I want you to, then you’d never banish me.’

‘It’s all I can do.’

‘Then I won’t force my presence on you any longer. You need to focus? Fine. You can’t accept love from anyone? Your loss. You do you, Alex.’

There was a knock at the door.

‘Not now!’ Alex yelled.

‘No.’ Tilly was done. He wouldn’t listen. He didn’t want her. He was sending her away. ‘Go and make your ascension speech. I’ll be gone before you get back.’

Chapter Nineteen

Tilly didn’t leave her hotel suite for a week—glued to the twenty-four-seven coverage of Domenico Montesi’s shock abdication and Alex’s ascension to the throne. The more she saw him on screen—all solemn and intense and dignified—the more her hurt deepened. There was a global upswell of support for him. His reign was ushered in on the sentiment that sons shouldn’t suffer the sins of their fathers. That he’d done the right thing in sending the clearly declining man to live in privacy in their mountain retreat. Pundits were even generous enough to suggest that Domenico’s last mistakes shouldn’t overshadow his entire reign—he’d been punished enough with the ignominy of his failed deals having been revealed. The mood in Montaurella was positive, given Alex’s business strengths, and the citizens were energised and excited about the new era. But there was disapproval over Tilly’s disappearance and rampant online debate over where she’d gone. There wasn’t a word from Alex and only a bland reassurance from the palace that Princess Tilly was well and her whereabouts were a private matter. She didn’t care about the discourse…it had nothing on the heart-wrenching agony of Alex’s rejection.

Erik messaged, offering to visit. She appreciated the sentiment, but refused to see him or anyone. She’d declined Bianca’s services and barely spoke to Rafa, who busily worked at his computer in the room beside hers. She missed Montaurella’s beautiful coastline, swimming at Zaffira, the stunning collections she’d tended with care. She missed him as much as she was furious with him for banishing her from a place she’d loved. But she’d grieved before. She knew that one day the agony would be just a little less. Then a little less. Until eventually it would become bearable. One day she’d be able to function again. She just had to get through all the days—all the endless nights—between now and then.

Nine days in and she knew she needed to do something or her endless ruminating would send her insane. While a ‘normal’ life might never be entirely achievable, while she would always be burdened by a crown that she’d not deserved, she couldn’t hide in a hotel room forever. She needed some light in her life. A little of what she loved. She needed to go to a gallery. She’d breathe in the creative endeavours of artists, those people with provocative ideas to share, those brave enough to bare their hurt or hope to the world. Their artistry and craftwork reminded her of everything she loved in life. She picked up a city guide and flicked through it until one picture caught her eye.

Rafa rose to his feet. ‘How may I help you, Princess?’

‘Tilly…please don’t make me remind you again,’ she murmured, hating the pity in his eyes.