Page 14 of Desperately Yours

Bishop arrived a second behind me and took her other arm. We hoisted her to her feet, and yet she still giggled like a child. It was infectious, really. I couldn’t help my own smile.

“I’m fine, Fitz,” she whispered as she took hold of her embarrassment and shifted to arrange her skirts again. “You know I’m a klutz.”

Understatement of the century. Despite being a pageant queen, grace and balance had never been her companions. Backin school, she used to routinely trip over curbs until I started offering her my arm every time we approached one.

“I’m aware of your proclivity for accidents, but it doesn’t mean I won’t rush to your aid every time.” I’d become rather protective of her, more so since she’d nearly died. It didn’t feel like an overreaction at this point. Never again would I let her slip through my fingers. I cleared my throat and released my grip on her arm, though immediately I felt the draw to touch her again.

Earlier in the evening, for a solid two hours, my mother lectured me on my recent choices, clearly recovered from her loss the night before. She droned on about the time I spent in the capital city being a mere distraction, and yet, what was I supposed to do? The people were hurting, and I needed to be there. This pageantry she’d conjured up was hardly an effective use of our time.

But I knew she wasn’t upset about my earthquake relief plans. She was sore that my heart belonged to the American she detested. But once more, what was I to do? I ached to be with Michaela. Mother had turned Michaela’s lady’s maid into a brick wall, barring my entrance and vigilantly watching the woman I loved at all hours of the night so I couldn’t reach her via the passage.

Last night didn’t quench my thirst. It felt like a lifetime waiting to see her, not a single day. Finally with eyes on her again, I found myself transfixed by Michaela. When I pulled her from her grave, she was pale and weak. I worried she might never recover and yet, only a short time later, she appeared vibrant and healthy, hardly any trace of the accident left other than fading bruises.

“Shall we?” I offered my arm to her, though I hadn’t done such for the other two. As her gloved hand curved through the crook in my elbow, my heart soared. The world felt right when she was with me. Why hadn’t I seen it sooner?

More importantly, how could I make it our future?

Michaela

Fitz spoke softly as we moved toward the banquet hall. “You even look better tonight.”

“I feel better.” Was it appropriate to tell him a lot of it had to do with seeing him again? Too forward? Did I actually care? I shortened my steps and glanced behind us to judge the distance of the cameras. The producers had deterred two of them, likely to give new directions, but a third still followed us close enough to pick up our conversation. “May I ask you something, Fit—Your Highness?”

Bishop cleared his throat as if reading my mind. “Hold on a pip. I’m on it.” He pulled back and within seconds, he’d derailed the cameraman behind us.

I didn’t miss the appreciative smile that flashed across Fitz’s mouth. “Seems we have about twenty seconds of privacy, so by all means, ask away, Lady Coco.”

Questions bounced around my mind, each one more important than the last. After all, nearly passing out had saved me last night, but I couldn’t expect it to work a second time. A little direction from Fitz would go a long way.

How much was I allowed to say?

Did I need to hide our friendship if the reporter asked?

What was he going to do about the throne and his responsibilities?

Did the queen really hate me?

But none of that came out.

“Have you missed me, Fitz?”

Silly, since we saw each other the night before, but his steps faltered. Tension tightened his jaw. His nostrils flared for a split second as he gathered control. Slipping his free hand over mine with a fiercely tight squeeze, he gave me a single word as an answer.

“Desperately.”

For such a small word, it carried incredible weight. In his voice, I heard the worry, the gratitude, the frustration, and the need. He wasn’t at liberty to express any of it freely, but he needed me to understand—his absence wasn’t his choice.

“I’ll be seated near my parents. Her Majesty,” I didn’t miss the frustration as he mentioned his mother, “has you sitting at the far end of the table with Bishop.”

As we entered the hall, I understood what he was saying. Esme and Sadie both stood at one end of the table, while I was positioned at the opposite end. To me, it was a clear commentary on how I would never be good enough for her son.

“It wasn’t my choice,” he whispered under his breath. “Granted, my choice would be to cancel the whole thing and meet you in my chambers —”

“There he is!” The queen entered the room behind us. “Our darling prince with the sickly American.”

A bit over the top in my opinion…

“She was never sick, Mother. She was buried alive after risking her life to save a Nolcovian child.” Fitz’s muscles tightened as if this was only the start of a tirade, but I wasn’t looking to make family drama. Sure, reality TV thrived on it, but the last thing Iwanted was for this little party to look like a late-night episode ofJerry Springer. Though imagining the queen pulling off her earrings to hand them to a friend so she could throw down had me struggling to hide a smirk.

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