Page 127 of Thrones We Steal

“Damn you, Henry!” I grab the universal remote from the nightstand and hurl it at his head.

He ducks it effortlessly and it slams into the wall. “Look, if you don’t pack, I’ll do it for you. It doesn’t matter to me. But you will be on that plane.”

“Why?!” I yell. I grab his face between my hands. “Tell me why you did it!”

He hisses through his teeth like I burned him and takes a step back. “I thought we’d have a good time and we did. But this,” he motions between us, “will never happen again.”

I didn’t think the giant crack through my heart could possibly get any wider, but hearing him give voice to my fear makes me realize the pain I felt before was just the tip of the iceberg.

I’m spiraling out of control and there is no stopping it. “You’re lying. I know you feel something.” I run my hands down the front of his chest. “Kiss me. Prove there’s nothing.”

He stiffens, then pushes my hands away. “I’m not going to kiss you. And don’t touch me again.” He turns back to the window, dragging his fingers through his hair.

Had you asked me, I would have guessed that after the initial pang, each subsequent injury would hurt less. It’s the first one that’s the hardest. But now I know that isn’t true. When he pushes me away, I know this is it. There is no future for us.

“So you really don’t care?” My voice is nothing more than a wobbly whisper.

“I never said that.”

“Then why are you throwing me out like some random woman you slept with?”

“Don’t ever say that. That is not what you are.”

I gulp a shaky sob. “Then why?”

“Because nothing has changed.”

“Everything has changed! I gave you everything. You made love to me!”

He hangs his head. “And I’ve regretted it ever since.”

I can’t stop the cry that slips out of my mouth. I sink to the floor because my legs boycott holding me up any longer. The rug beneath me has an intricate design, likely Persian, in splashes of red and blue. I wonder at the amount of hours that went into creating its timeless beauty. The fibers look like they should be rough, but they are surprisingly soft beneath my fingertips.

I lay my face down on them and weep.

* * *

I don’t find out when he leaves the room. I eventually open my swollen eyes to see the sun considerably higher in the sky. Abstractly, I wonder if I missed my plane.

I stand up and study the room. Everything has been tidied, and my bags are packed and set by the door. Henry’s wallet lies abandoned on the desk. He couldn’t have chosen a stronger signal to indicate that what we never had is over.

I wander into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I turn from my reflection in the mirror. I can’t remember ever looking worse.

There’s a knock at the bedroom door. I open it, unsure of who I hope is on the other side, but it’s only Daphne. Her calm expression never falters, like finding her employer in this state is something she does every day.

“The car is ready to take us to the airport, Your Royal Highness,” she says. “I see your bags are packed. Are you all set then?”

I want to scream. “Do you know where Henry is?” I say instead.

“I’m not exactly sure, ma’am, but I don’t think—”

He’s even stolen my maid’s allegiance. Will the hits ever stop coming? “Fine,” I say. “I’m just going to use the restroom, and then I’ll be ready to leave.”

I stumble back to the bathroom and hold a cold washcloth to my face. Would that I had a genie in a bottle to magically erase the tear-blotches. I have cried a river of tears over this man. It’s time to stem the flood.

I swallow the giant mass in my throat and run a brush through my hair. I rub a small amount of moisturizer onto my face and pray the circulation will encourage my skin to return to its normal hue.

* * *

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