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A hand squeezesmy leg as I peer out of the window of the private jet. The familiar landscape of my home country of Belmont comes into view — rolling hills dotted with lakes, giving way to jagged mountain peaks toward the south, pristine ocean to the north. A queasiness settles in my stomach that has nothing to do with the plane descending toward earth.
Instead, it has everything to do with having to face the one man I’ve avoided for years.
It’s fitting, in a way.
Tragedy tore us apart when Adam died.
Now another tragedy has forced us back together.
Although, I’m trying not to view it as a tragedy. Still, nothing could have prepared me for this news.
My brother has multiple sclerosis.
The same disease that took our mother from us when she was my brother’s age now plagues him.
The past several weeks have been trying, to say the least. From receiving Creed’s phone call telling me Anderson had lost consciousness during a public event while in the States. To Anderson telling me he was diagnosed with MS. To him wanting to keep it from Creed for a little while longer so he could drive across the country, something he feared he may not be able to do much longer, not if his progression ended up being as rapid as was the case with our mother.
To him meeting a girl.
To him falling in love.
A part of me wanted to tell him there was no way he could fall in love with someone so quickly, especially someone he just met. Someone who didn’t even know his real name, that he’s heir apparent to the crown of Belmont.
But I know better than anyone that the heart can’t be reasoned with. I tried to control my heart all those years ago. Tried to contain the fire that burned between Creed and me, growing stronger and more out of control with every passing moment.
In the end, it was as futile as trying to control the weather.
Just as it was for Anderson, his own short love affair while traveling across America ending in heartbreak.
Just as mine had.
I’m starting to think my grandmother has a point.
Maybe there truly is no room for love in a monarchy. Not when who we are is such a heavy burden.
“Are you okay?”
My gaze drifts away from the window and onto Tristan’s face. His chestnut eyes, framed by thick lashes, flicker with uneasiness.
“Just…worried.”
I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. While I am concerned about my brother, what has my stomach in knots is the idea of coming face-to-face with Creed Lawson again.
“He’ll be okay.” Tristan presses a reassuring kiss to my temple.
I have no doubt Anderson will be okay. I’m just not sureI’llbe okay. Can’t shake the feeling in my gut that this trip is about to change everything.
We step off the plane and are immediately enveloped in a sea of flashes and shouting reporters, all of them hungry for their next juicy photo. There’s no question in my mind someone from the palace PR team tipped them off to our arrival, hoping to put the royal family front and center in the headlines. What better way to accomplish that than to have photographers snap photos of me with my handsome actor boyfriend?
Tristan’s hand is warm against my own, his grip reassuring as we navigate through the throngs of people. My heart beats loudly in my chest, my unease increasing as I’m scrutinized by strangers behind their cameras. It makes me feel more like a circus animal than a human being.
Then again, as a royal, that’s precisely what I am. A thing used to entertain the masses. Nothing more.
It’s a reminder of how much I loathe this part of who I am.
But Tristan helps me through it, keeping my hand enclosed in his as he waves to photographers, smiling that charming smile of his. The one he reserves for the public. After all, he grew up around this kind of thing, too. He was ten when his father was first elected as President of the United States, forcing him to leave the relatively simple life they were living on a ranch in Texas.
Much like my uncle’s death forced me to leave the relatively simple life I was living.
