Page 101 of Thrones We Steal

He pulls into the palace garage, neither of us having spoken the rest of the way home. The silence is tight and thick. I release my seat belt and reach for my bag in the back. He stops me with a hand on my arm.

My breath snags in my throat, clawing but unable to get out.

“C, wait a second.” Eros himself couldn’t have sounded more alluring.

Frozen by his intoxicating presence, so close I can nearly inhale him, I can’t do anything but breathe and hope he doesn’t require me to speak.

“I’m truly sorry for all the times I’ve hurt you. I know it doesn’t excuse anything, but for what it’s worth, I regret each and every time,” he says, barely above a whisper.

He’s right. It doesn’t make it better, but a small part of me appreciates the effort anyway.

He lifts my chin with his electrifying fingers, forcing my gaze away from the seat belt buckle and into his eyes. “Regardless of what I might have said or done, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The pull is there. I want to tell him.

Tell him that nothing has changed, that I love him more now than I ever did.

But that would only give him the ammo he needs to shatter what’s left of my heart. I can’t do it. I will never put myself at his mercy again.

So instead I say, “If that’s true, you’ll let me go.”

“Is that really what you want?”

It’s a trap—I know it is—but I falter. For three agonizing seconds, I contemplate what would happen if I told him what I really want. But reality catches up to me, breathless, to remind me that this isn’t a fairy tale. There will be no happily ever after to our story.

“Yes. I need you to let go.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” I say, but I don’t make a move to get out of the car. Once I leave, it will be over, and I just want to soak up his presence a little longer.

I meet his eyes, as black as the night we just came through, and I feel him rooting around in my soul. “I can’t breathe when you look at me like that,” I whisper.

“I don’t know how else to look at you.”

And I don’t know how to stop loving you.

30

“The Way I Loved You” - Taylor Swift

Most days I long for a break from the tedium of life as a royal. Everyone thinks it’s wonderful being famous and wealthy and powerful. It’s actually exhausting. But today I would have welcomed some good old-fashioned fatigue. It would be better than having too much time to think, because time to think inevitably leads to thinking about things you shouldn’t.

I’m finishing up in my office for the day when Maisie opens the door for a footman. She confirmed my suspicions that Henry orchestrated her absence from our trip to see Mrs. Schumann. The footman sets a giant bouquet of white hydrangeas on my desk. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a bouquet that wasn’t a palace-sanctioned decoration. My stomach and heart do this choreographed dance where one sinks while the other skips. I pull the card out with trepidation.

It simply says, A car will be waiting at 7:00. Wear the long green dress, the one that matches your eyes.

And he’s back to his cat and mouse games.

I toss the note in the trash. “You can have the flowers,” I tell Maisie before walking out the door.

Two can play this game, and I’ve been the mouse long enough.

* * *

I’m reviewing the mission statement of a charity I’m considering patronizing when the text message alert goes off on my phone. It takes me a few minutes to locate it—still in my purse—and when I do, I’m surprised to see it’s from Beck.

I can’t wait to see you tonight. xx

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