Page 112 of Thrones We Steal

She couldn’t sound more irritated if I told her this heat is staying for the rest of summer.

“It’s a little hard to throw away something you never had in the first place.”

She mashes her lips into a tight line. “Have you actually told him how you feel? Or did you just assume he could read your mind?”

Didn’t I? “I’m pretty sure I did.”

“Young lady, did you or did you not tell him you love him?”

Okay, I’m pretty sure I didn’t say those words, at least not this last time, but they were implied by my active participation in … whatever was happening that night. “More or less?” I bite my lip, knowing that answer won’t be good enough for her. I’m not wrong.

“Men need things spelled out, poppet. If you want a chance with Henry, a real chance, you need to tell him exactly how you feel. All of it. Then let him do with it what he will.” She scoops out another shovelful of dirt and sticks her trowel into the ground. “There’s that done. It’s all you, love.”

I take her place in front of the hole and bury the last of the hydrangeas. Sweat dribbles into my eyes. “I’m not sure I can give him that kind of power again.”

“The power to hurt you? But darling, that’s what makes love so magical. It’s not worth much if you can’t trust enough to risk getting hurt.”

“What if he sends me away again?”

She takes a long drink from her water bottle before responding. “Will you be any worse off than you are now?”

“I imagine I’d survive.” Although the jury is still out on that.

“Sometimes the best experiences in life come from the risks we take and our biggest regrets from the ones we don’t.”

35

“The One That Got Away” - Katy Perry

Lightning rips the sky apart, its jagged shards brilliant against the black night. Its accompanying thunder booms loud enough to rattle the dinnerware on the table. A few nervous chuckles sprinkle around the room, everyone waiting for reassurance that the storm will blow over soon.

“Dear me,” Lady Templeman says from across the table, the emerald at her neck glinting at me. “I do hope it stops before we leave. Storms are such a nuisance.”

King William snorts from the head of the table. “Not likely. They said it’s supposed to hail tonight, golf ball size.” He pushes a bite of pudding into his mouth, oblivious to the fear on Lady Templeman’s face. The grief over losing Argos still lines his own.

“I do hope the gardener remembered to put the hail netting up. I just got an order of roses in from Bulgaria, and they are so susceptible to hail damage, you know. I wonder—”

I tune out the rest of her words, my thoughts on the hydrangeas Adelaide and I planted this morning. The hail will demolish them, and I didn’t have the forethought to put up protection for them. A damn rookie mistake.

Another roar of thunder shakes the room, and I push my chair back. “Excuse me, please, sir. Ma’am.” I curtsy in turn to both the king and queen before rushing from the room, not caring about the horrified faces watching my escape.

I’m afraid there won’t be time to change, so I’ll simply have to put the netting up in my evening gown. I kick off my heels beside the door leading into the gardens. I yank it open, only to have it wrenched out of my grasp by the wind. Eager to thrust its greedy fingers inside, it slams the door against the wall, and the resounding bang rivals the thunder in volume.

Using both hands, I pull the door shut behind me and stumble to the gardener’s shed. I say a quick prayer that it’s unlocked and try the knob. It turns under my hand and, now aware of the wind’s tricks, I hold onto it tightly as I step inside.

What does hail netting look like? I scan the contents of the musty room, hedge clippers in all manner of sizes taunting me from the wall, a muddy wheelbarrow stubbornly tipped on end as if refusing to be of assistance. Rolls of something mesh lean against the back wall, and I have to step over more gardening implements than I’ve ever seen in my life to get to it.

This has to be it. And if not, it will have to work. I just need something to hold it up. I grab a handful of metal stakes and a mallet before ducking my head and marching back into the storm.

It’s stupid really, all of this trouble over a bunch of flowers. But I’ll be damned before I let all of our hard work swirl down the drain. There has to be one thing in my life that goes according to plan.

The rain has started by the time I get to the Sunken Garden. It soaks me to the bone and makes the moss-covered steps all the more treacherous. Fortunately, the hail is holding off, but who’s to know how long that will last. I will need to work quickly.

Hampered by my sodden dress, I pick up one of the stakes and am just about to pound it into the ground when I hear my name being shouted above the fury of the wind. Who is foolish enough to be out in this weather?

I turn to find Bea stumbling down the steps toward me, as soaked as I am but at least dressed more appropriately in jeans and sneakers. “What are you doing?” I yell as she runs closer.

“I could ask you the same thing!”

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