Page 40 of Thrones We Steal

“I don’t expect you to understand,” I say.

“That’s good, because I don’t.” She snaps the book on her lap shut, and the harsh pam echoes through the room. “How can you live with yourself?”

“Let’s not forget who got us into this mess in the first place.”

Her soft features grow hard. “Don’t worry. You can’t possibly regret it more than I do right now.”

The fact that she’s only succeeded in pushing Henry out of her grasp forever is a small consolation. “There wouldn’t have been a future for you and Henry anyway.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? I love him!”

“Bea,” I say. “We both know he would only have used you, then tossed you aside when he got bored. Look at his track record.”

“I suppose you think it’ll be different with you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve always wanted him. Even back when we were kids. This is your dream come true.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“You think the world revolves around you. Isn’t it ironic that as soon as I want Henry, you become engaged to him? Why do you always need to win at everything?”

A strangled cough bolts from my throat. “You think this is some kind of competition? If I could get out of this mess, trust me, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“They’re not forcing you to do anything. You’re the one throwing away your fiancé to steal the man I love.”

“You want me to allow Wesbourne to fall to pieces because my sister has a crush on the prince? Bea, most of the women in this country think they’re in love with him.”

“But they’re not your sister.” She sinks even further into her chair, like it’s swallowing her whole. “I love him, Celia. I think I always have. He’s always been so sweet to me, so funny and playful. He never treated me like I was just a little kid. He’s protective too and I feel safe when I’m with him. Who wouldn’t fall in love with him?”

She’s right—who wouldn’t? “He’s not that boy anymore. He’s manipulative and selfish. You see the way he lives, the things he does.”

“Maybe we should be more cautious of those whose flaws aren’t blatantly obvious,” she says. “We all have them. Some just feel the need to hide them. I’d rather have someone who is brutally honest about who they are.”

I fill my lungs with air and fight for strength. She’s delusional but I already hurt Beck tonight. Is there a chance of ending the night without hurting Bea too? “I’m sure you’re right. What are you looking at anyway?”

She sniffs and swipes her hand under her eyes. “Just some old photo albums.” She hands me one. “Looking for pictures of Dad.”

I flip through the album. The photos are old snapshots taken when we were young. Bea in the bathtub, me with my tenth birthday cake, both of us dressed in poofy white dresses for Aunt Eleanor’s wedding.

“Sometimes I forget what he looks like,” she whispers. “I’ve already forgotten the sound of his voice. The way it felt when he held me.” A long sniff punctuates her words. “I come in here because it’s the only place that still feels like him. I’ve tried sniffing his cigars like you, but they’re too strong; the other notes of his scent are gone. But sometimes when I close my eyes, I can almost picture him sitting in his chair.”

I drag a hand through the tears on my cheeks. Will I ever quit crying tonight? “I wish I could freeze his presence, but every year it seems to vanish more.”

We stay that way for a few minutes, each flipping through a few more pages in the albums, a childhood that feels like a lifetime ago. How has so much transpired in such a short period of time?

“Why does losing someone have to hurt so bad?” she says. I know she’s referring to more than our father.

I swallow, unsure if I can trust my voice. It comes out warbled. “The greater the love, the greater the loss.”

“I guess it’s worth it then.”

“Is it?” I think about Beck standing in the kitchen, not bothering to turn around as I left his flat tonight.

“Of course.”

“The happiness is only temporary. The pain lasts a lifetime.”

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