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But she also begged for forgiveness. She bore my anger with dignity, and she called me. She reached out even after all that, and she’s conducted interview after interview with grace.
She’s borne more than I could ever ask of her. And how have I repaid her in turn?
I blow out a slow breath.
I’m such a fool.
“What’s scheduled for tonight?” I’m already lunging out of my chair, snatching my phone and keys off the desk and shoving them in my pockets. “No, don’t tell me. Whatever it is, rearrange it. And text me Beatrice’s address. I might be back late.”
Danika snorts, sipping her own tea serenely. “If you’re lucky, Majesty.”
Quite.
I set off at a run, my shoes smacking against the palace marble floors.
* * *
Beatrice lives in a townhouse apartment overlooking the river. Her building is three stories high with painted wooden shutters on the windows, sandwiched between an art gallery and a second hand bookshop. When I press the buzzer for her floor, an old fashioned bell chimes high overhead.
“Yes?” Her voice crackles through the intercom. Even through the speaker, Beatrice sounds tired, and a wave of longing hits me with such force that my knees nearly buckle.
That voice. I’ve heard it every night in my dreams, whispering my name. Why did I ever try to stay away?
“It’s me.” There’s a long pause, and I swallow hard. I suppose I can’t make such presumptuous statements, not when I all but abandoned her. “It’s Alden.”
The pause stretches longer. I glance over my shoulder at the river, where tourist boats drift past trees strung with golden lights and a lone guitarist plucks a soft melody from the bank.
It’s evening. The light’s fading, the sky tinged pink, and already the street is getting busier. The city dwellers are coming out to play.
And meanwhile, my girl won’t answer the door to me.
“Please.” I grimace, ready to plead loud and long for the whole street to hear, but before I do, a harsh buzz cuts through the quiet. Shoving the front door open, I step into Beatrice’s lobby, crossing the checkered floor tiles for the stairs. I climb them three at a time, racing up to her floor.
Her door is painted duck egg blue. I raise a hand to knock, but it swings open before my knuckles make contact.
“You know, the front door doesn’t lock, Your Highness.” Beatrice smiles at me, but the expression is oddly empty. “It definitely doesn’t stop the reporters. They come right up here and bang on my door.”
Fuck.
I exhale, chest tight. “I’ll get your front door fixed. Immediately. And if anyone gives you any trouble—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Beatrice swings her door wider, and my heart stops when I see the can of pepper spray balanced on a stool by the door. “I’m on the case.”
No.
Oh, god. What state did I leave her in?
I’ve been holed up in the palace. Protected and served. And meanwhile, Beatrice looks pinched with exhaustion, swamped in pinstriped pajama pants and a baggy sweatshirt that says ‘Caledithia Libraries Fun Day 5k!’
There’s a little cartoon right over her chest. A book with arms and legs, wearing sneakers and a headband.
“Forgive me.” I could spend the rest of my life on my knees for this woman and still not earn her forgiveness. Even so, I have to try. “I shouldn’t have said all those things. Shouldn’t have pushed you away, or left you here to manage alone.”
Beatrice lets out a strangled laugh. “Um, wait.You’reapologizing tome?”
Yes. Clearly.
Because I don’t want to punish the woman I love. I want to protect her and cherish her and make her laugh. I want to throw her over my shoulder and take her back to the palace then fill my private quarters with her moans.
