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Curt felt like somebody had just shoved a dagger into his gut. “Never travel again?”
If she wouldn’t travel again and he wasn’t about to hop an airplane and go to America, especially as he had no idea if she wanted him to ... how would they ever see each other again? What kind of future did they have?
None. That was the solid answer. None.
He hadn’t expected a future with an angelic, sassy, Southern beauty, so he didn’t know why he felt devastated now. Losing Aliya might be the hardest hit of his life, but he had to be unselfish and do what was best for her.
She didn’t respond, just stepped close and threw her arms around his neck. He wasted no time wrapping her up tight and cuddling her against him. How would he live without her?
“Bless you, Prince Curtis August. You are a brave, hunky, kind, and glorious man. Bless you for protecting me, and for …” She swallowed hard. Her golden-brown eyes got far too bright and then tears spilled over.
“Aliya,” he murmured.
She blinked furiously and then arched up and kissed him. She kissed him with such gusto that all he could do was hold her tight and kiss her back. It was a desperate kiss, full of gratitude, longing, desire, love … did he dare even think that word?
The kiss continued, and he savored every blessed second of it.
“Final call for United Flight 1542 to Amsterdam.”
Aliya ripped herself away from him. “I have to go,” she breathed out, her eyes tortured. Because of all she’d been through or because she didn’t want to leave him?
Then she turned, pushed through the lounge door, and disappeared.
Curt didn’t move. He stood there, wondering how he’d let her go. She’d said he was brave, and he told himself he was being unselfish, but deep down he wondered if he was simply a coward.
A week passed. A miserable but fulfilling week. The busiest week of Curt’s life to that point, and he’d had some busy weeks. He was up before the sun rose and in his shop, working as quickly as he could without losing a finger in a table saw.
After breakfast, he took off patrolling the mountains on his CRF250 or his legs. He forced himself to check out every inch of the cave that led to the ravine the women’s bodies had been found in. He found nothing that might be the cure for the curse. He was beginning to doubt it could be found, but he talked to Lieutenant General Philippe Cordon about it for hours. The man actually believed in the curse and that the cure wasn’t a fairy tale. It was a good thing to discuss and to focus his mind on. He didn’t come up with any solutions but it almost took his thoughts off Aliya.
He’d eat a packed lunch and keep patrolling. He met a variety of nice and interesting people, just like always, but he was leery after the experience with Leon and Fredrich. More than leery. He hadn’t invited anyone to stay at his cabin. He wondered how traumatized his Aliya was.
Only she wasn’t his Aliya.
He took his climbing gear in a backpack and before he headed home each day, he forced himself to climb. Smaller heights at first, and each one made his chest tight and his vision narrow, but he forced himself to do it and by day eight, he was up to a hundred-meter climb. It felt amazing to be back doing what he loved, and he felt like he was putting Suzanne to rest.
If only he could find the cure and somehow help solve his mum’s murder. If only he could put Aliya from his mind.
Yet he liked the memories of her far too much to want to lose them.
By evening he’d be back home, eat a quick dinner, then work in his shop until late. He had the dining room table completely finished and was just waiting for one of his brothers to help him move out the old one and replace it with the new. One clock and two of the bureaus for the bedrooms were the next crossed off his list. He also had two dining room chairs assembled and would work on the others tonight, then he could stain them.
Tuesday, he spoke with the wildland fire chief and told him to call next time they needed a hand. The chief promised he would, and Curt felt like he’d taken another step in the right direction.
That night, he was eating dinner when he heard a vehicle approaching the cabin. His gut churned. He didn’t want to turn anyone away but he wasn’t ready to host. He’d taken to locking his doors and he didn’t like that.
A vehicle would most likely be a family member. That relaxed him a bit.
The code on the door beeped, the door swung open, and Steffan walked in. “Hey. What did you make me?”
“Leftover grilled chicken and a mushy sweet potato.”
“Delicious.” Steffan pulled a face. “Don’t worry about feeding me. I’ll go back to the castle and Grace will be all too happy to spoil me.”
“I’m sure she will.” Curt leaned back in his chair and pushed his almost-empty plate away. “Why the visit?”
“So suspicious. Can’t a brother come say hi?”
“At six on a Tuesday? Normally you’d still be at the hospital.”
