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At one point, I would have welcomed that. Would have jumped at any opportunity to see her, even if for only a moment.
Now, I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to see her every day. Not sure if I can bear the reminder of one of the best and worst times of my life.
“I’m ready!”
I snap out of my thoughts as AJ rushes down the stairs and into the living room.
“Great,” I reply, my voice not sounding like my own, high-pitched and uneasy.
I can feel Rory’s eyes on me, studying me.
But if she senses my nerves over the prospect of Esme being back in my life, she doesn’t say anything. Just hugs AJ and tells him to have fun before I pat his shoulder, leading him from the house, trying to focus on him and only him.
It’s a lost cause, though, my thoughts constantly floating to the one woman I shouldn’t be thinking about.
The one woman I swore to leave in my past.
The one woman I swore to forget.
The one woman I still love, despite wishing I didn’t.
ChapterSix
Esme
“What are we doing here?”I ask Archie as he pulls up to the imposing gates of Lamberside Palace.
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” My chief protection officer meets my eyes through the rearview mirror. “Call just came in. His Majesty has requested to see you before I take you to your apartment.”
“Of course he did.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting off a headache I feel coming on from the mere idea of dealing with my father’s bullshit tonight.
“My apologies.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re just doing your job.”
He smiles sadly before refocusing his attention forward, navigating the car along the familiar driveway toward the palace. But instead of pulling up to the administrative entrance, he continues toward the residential wing, stopping underneath the port cochère. Oliver, the head butler, opens my door almost instantly, offering me his hand to help me out. Once I have my footing, he releases his hold on me and bows.
“Your Highness.”
I greet him with a tight smile. “Good evening, Oliver.”
“This way, please.”
I follow him into the foyer and up the elaborate staircase toward my father’s private quarters. It’s been a few years since I’ve walked these hallowed halls. Despite the passing of time, not much has changed. Portraits of past rulers adorn the walls. Crystal chandeliers hang overhead. Floral arrangements decorate the occasional side table. Everything is pristine, not so much as a speck of dust to be found, marring the façade of perfection. But that’s all it is. A façade. Nothing about it is real. It never has been.
I doubt it ever will be.
When we reach the king’s residence, Oliver raps on the door. It opens within seconds, my father’s personal butler, Gerald, standing there to receive me.
“Your Highness,” he bows.
“Gerald.”
“His Majesty is in the study. You may go ahead.”
With an appreciative smile, I continue through the residence and down a corridor. I’m not quite sure what to expect when I see my father, why he called me here with little notice. I can only pray my grandmother’s not here, along with the rest of the privy council and PR team. I can only imagine what kind of spin they’re planning regarding Anderson’s diagnosis. I’d like to think she’d be sympathetic toward him, considering she’s his grandmother, but that would require her to see us as people. As family.
I doubt she ever has.
