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“After your mother passed away, I failed you,” he says quietly but firmly. “Failed your brother. I refuse to fail you now. Being in this position as long as I have has taught me a lot. One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that when adversity strikes, people need someone to look up to. Someone to rely on. Someone who will be there no matter what life throws their way. I’m begging you to be that person for Anderson. He needs you right now, even if he’s too stubborn to admit it.”
I peer past him at the frames lining the bookshelves of his study. Unlike his office in the administrative wing, this place is filled with personal photos of us before my mother passed. Before our lives changed. When we were still happy.
I fixate on one of Anderson and me. We couldn’t have been more than four or five, but even then, you can see how much he loved me, his arms wrapped tightly around me as we stood on the beach, the ocean waves crashing behind us.
“I love him,” my voice cracks as I look back at my father. “I’ll be here as long as Anderson needs me.”
My father slumps in his chair, so much weight released from his body I can almost hear the cushion below him sigh.
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to undertake my official duties again.” I pull my hand from his, voice determined. “I’m here for my brother. Not the royal household.”
The last thing I want is for Anderson to think I have any intention of taking his place.
“Being here for him may require that, Esme,” my father states evenly. “Unfortunately, his schedule over the next month is quite hectic, particularly with the referendum. He doesn’t need any added stress right now. I want him to focus on starting a course of treatment in the hopes of countering any relapses in the future. Not on wearing himself out.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to deny the truth in my father’s words, especially after spending the past several hours with Anderson.
There’s no doubt in my mind he needs me. Not only to relieve some of the pressure, but to show him he’s not alone. That he has my support. That he’llalwayshave my support. Maybe once he sees that, he’ll realize there’s no need to remove himself from the line of succession.
I slowly return my eyes to my father, promising the one thing I thought I never would. “I’ll do whatever you need.”
“Thank you, Esme.” He squeezes my hand again. “This means a lot.”
“Andersonmeans a lot to me,” I respond, driving home the point that he’s the only person I’m doing this for. No one else. “But under no circumstances is Gianna or anyone else in the royal household to control or manipulate my personal life in any way. Or Tristan’s. I may be a royal, but I’m a human being first.”
“Gianna?” My dad straightens, giving me a quizzical look.
“Yeah. Gianna. You know. The woman with all the answers. The palace fixer, more or less.”
His confusion increases by the second, his brow wrinkling. “Gianna’s dead, Esme.”
I blink repeatedly, his statement taking me by complete surprise. “What? How? When?”
“I thought you’d have heard. She was the victim of a mugging. Her body was found in an area of town notorious for drugs and prostitution. Stab wound to the stomach.”
“When was this?”
He taps at his chin, eyes scrunched in concentration. Obviously, it wasn’t all that recent if he has to think this hard.
“If memory serves, it wasn’t long after you left for Paris. Maybe a month? Your brother had already left on deployment. That might be why you never found out. It’s not like you stayed up to date with things around here, particularly in the beginning.”
“I know. I just…” I trail off, an unsettled feeling forming in my gut, given everything that transpired in the weeks leading up to my departure.
Hayes Barlow accusing Jameson Gates of murder. Learning of Jameson’s relationship with Callie Sloane. Adam theorizing that Callie may have gone missing because she was seen as an obstacle to a potential wedding between Jameson and me. Then the attack on the SUV that resulted in Adam’s death, and almost mine, too. Throw in Gianna’s death, and it all seems suspicious. Not to mention the strange looks I noticed Jameson and Gianna exchange toward the end.
“You don’t find that…odd, considering everything else that happened around that time?”
“The Chief of Royal Police handled this case himself. They arrested a homeless man with a history of mental illness. Gianna’s purse, wallet, and several of her other belongings were found among his meager possessions. His clothing also had traces of her blood.”
“But—”
He holds up his hand, cutting me off. “I understand your concern, but I assure you Gianna’s death was just an unfortunate coincidence completely unrelated to…everything else.”
“And Hayes Barlow? Has he ever been found?”
I don’t know why I bother to ask. I know the answer. I may have avoided paying attention to the news in the first several years after I left, choosing to focus all my attention on honing my craft. But there was no escaping the news of Hayes Barlow’s death.
Or theappearanceof death, I should say.
