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“And you will be my wife,” I returned. “My Princess. Both of you.”
I was resolved. And it was done.
“My mother?”
“Is welcome to come.”
Marissa nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll...I’ll talk to her.”
“We must leave tonight,” I said, decisively. “I will send men to handle my things, and to handle Vanessa as well.”
“Oh...” Marissa looked crestfallen. “Vanessa. What are you going to do about Vanessa? You’re engaged to her. You’re supposed to get married in two weeks. How are you going to...?”
“I just told you,” I replied. “I will send men to handle her. And to help mitigate any disappointment that she might feel. I’m not a monster. Whatever you might think.”
“You’re breaking up with your fiancée via your goon squad. Who, by the way, are likely the very same men who told me that you wanted—”
She cut herself off, and I saw her flick a glance at Lily.
“You and I will have to discuss this at another time.”
“We will.”
I picked up my phone. “Have my private jet ready to go in one hour. Please arrange alternative transport for Ms. Carlson.”
And with that I hung up, not cowed by Marissa’s disapproving gaze. She could disapprove all she wanted. We were in a mess that I suspected had been made by my father, and I refused to let him win. Absolutely and utterly refused. Marissa may not have liked my methods, but I knew that in the end my way would be the best way.
“An hour? That’s not enough time to pack. What about all our things? Lily and I don’t live here. We have a house in Boston. All of her toys...”
“Someone will be sent to retrieve them,” I replied. “But I will not delay taking the two of you back to your rightful place.”
“My mother...”
“I suggest you speak to her quickly.”
“So all of this will be your way?” Marissa asked.
“I did this part your way,” I said, nodding toward Lily, indicating the fact that I had asked her permission. “Yes. The rest will be done mine. I regret to tell you that there is no other option.”
“Somehow, I very much doubt that you’re filled with regret of any kind.”
But she was wrong. Because what I felt swirling in my chest right now as I looked at my child, as I looked at the way she fitted in Marissa’s arms, was a tangle of regret that I had not felt before in my entire life.
I did not like it. And so I did what I must do. I took action.
“We are going. Now. Don’t tempt me to change the deadline.”
Marissa turned away from me and bumped against a box on the edge of the dresser. She cursed—which surprised me—as the box hit the ground. The lid fell open and out spilled two shells. A larger one and a smaller one.
She looked at me, and my eyes went to her hair. The way it curled.
And then I looked back at the shells.
I’d given those to her. Because in my madness I’d seen her in everything, even in nature.
And she’d kept them. Even while claiming to hate me.
She bent down and picked up the box, put the shells back in and cradled the box to her chest. She stared me down for a moment, as if daring me to say something.
I didn’t.
Then, without a word, Marissa nodded and swept from the room, leaving me standing there.
Something no one would typically dare to do.
But Marissa had never been typical. She hated me, and yet she had my shells. And I was fascinated all over again in spite of myself.
But Marissa had nothing to do with the decision that I had made.
This was about Lily. This was about the throne.
This was about making sure my father knew he would never win against me.
Of that I would be certain.
CHAPTER FIVE
Marissa
I HAD KNOWN that he was a prince. I had followed news stories about him over the years and seen the lavish way he lived his life in stunning photographs splashed across search engines and tabloid newspapers.
But it hadn’t really taken hold of me just what that meant until we boarded his private plane.
Luxury on that scale was something so theoretical to me that I could only imagine it, and even then, I could only imagine it at a reduced scale.
My brain hadn’t had the textural vocabulary for leather as soft as what was found on the plush couch in the seating area of the plane. It didn’t have the concept of the scale that something like a prince’s private plane might have. I had imagined something like I had seen in movies, where one still had to duck down when they stood, and there were a few seats with ample legroom, and glasses of champagne.
No.
This plane was mammoth. One that could easily fit the same number of people as commercial planes that did domestic flights. And there were rooms. Multiple rooms, though I didn’t know what they all were.
The stewardess quickly ushered Lily to a beautifully appointed bedroom and did the same for my mother. Then she made herself vanish, and I knew that everyone had been carefully dealt with so that Hercules and I could talk.
My mother had of course decided to come with us. There was nothing left for her in Medland, except the beautiful house that she had once shared unhappily with my father.
I could tell that my mother was hesitant to leave me, but it was also clear to an extent that pushing back against Hercules was futile. Far better to try to negotiate with him and get a handle on what this new reality was. And what it would be in the future.
“This is...nice,” I said, taking a seat on the couch and sinking into the buttery softness. But I refused to show him that I took pleasure in it.
“Champagne?” he asked.
“A toast to our upcoming union?” I asked. And I immediately regretted making the dry comment, because I was in no place where I could joke about such things.
I couldn’t take it lightly.
It made my insides twist into a knot.
And that hope bubble in my chest became more pronounced.
I wanted to pop it.
I felt so foolish, revealing to him that I’d kept those shells. And even more foolish that I hadn’t dumped them straight in the trash but had packed them instead.
“If you like.”
“I don’t drink,” I said.
“Do you still not drink? I thought that you also didn’t have premarital sex. And yet...”
I didn’t tell him that I hadn’t had sex since. That he was the only person I’d ever made the exception for.
I didn’t tell him that I didn’t drink because holdovers from my childhood were still hard to shake, and sometimes I worried a little bit about hellfire being in every breath I took wrong.
“Well, when do you suggest I might have started? During my pregnancy? After? When I was single parenting a young child? There never seemed a good time. And at the moments when I thought I might need a drink most, it occurred to me that perhaps it wasn’t healthy to be thinking of it as a crutch.”
“Fair enough.”
He put the bottle of champagne back and then to my surprise opened a cooler and took out a bottle of sparkling cider.
“You can have champagne,” I said.
“I don’t need it,” he said. “And, as you pointed out, perhaps if one is using it as a crutch, it’s not a very good thing.”
“I wouldn’t think that Your Royal Highness needed crutches.”
“In this current situation, I’m finding that I might need more than I think.”
