Page 16 of Learning to Love

I open my mouth to reply to him, to tell him not to be so stupid, but at that moment, Mr. Hinchbottom returns to the room. Dalton shifts on the bed as the personal secretary hands him a glass of water and painkillers. He then gives him a hot compress to place on his groin.

“I think you should get some rest, Your Highness. If the pain is still bad in a few hours, I’ll call a medic to give you an examination. I’ll inform your parents in the meantime of what has happened.”

“Do they really need to know?” I question. His life isn’t in danger. He was just stupid.

“I’m afraid it’s protocol whenever the prince is injured in any way, Miss Nash. He’s the future of our kingdom and is very important as a result. Maybe it’s time for you to leave. I suspect the tablets will send him to sleep soon anyway. Your Highness, what do you suggest?” Mr. Hinchbottom questions.

“Whatever you think is best.” Dalton doesn’t even acknowledge I’m there anymore.

“Miss Nash.” Mr. Hinchbottom points toward the door. I reach out and touch the prince on the shoulder again. “I hope you feel better soon. Do some light stretches later so your body doesn’t seize up.”

I follow Mr. Hinchbottom out of Dalton’s bedroom, and the guard shuts the door behind me.

“Miss Nash, I would appreciate, as a favor to His Highness, you don’t say anything about what has happened here today to anyone, especially to a reporter. Any mention of an injury or incident with the prince is headline news in our country. We must try to keep everyone calm.”

“Of course,” I mumble, a little stunned at the nightmare I appear to be in at the moment.

“It would be good if you could ask your clients to remain silent as well. I could have them issued with non-disclosure agreements on your behalf if you wish?”

We reach the exit to Dalton’s apartment as Mr. Hinchbottom finishes speaking.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll ask them to keep quiet.”

“Thank you, Miss Nash.” Mr. Hinchbottom shows me out, and before I know it, the door is slammed in my face.

Did that all just happen?

I wander numbly back to my studio. The class has finished, but a few people are still lingering. I inform them that the prince is all right, and they leave to go about their daily business. I look around the now silent studio. My head is in a torment of confusion.

Dalton is a grown man, but in many respects, he’s like a child when it comes to knowing his own mind and health. He wasn’t being stubborn when he kept doing the yoga positions. He was waiting for someone he employs to tell him to stop, and no one did.

I can’t imagine not having the freedom to know my own mind.

I sit down on my yoga mat and cross my legs into the lotus position. I need to clear my mind of all the anguish within it. Being a royal is no fun at all—in fact, it sounds like hell, but it’s not my life, so why am I worrying? Is it because I can’t stop thinking about the feel of Dalton’s hand in mine? I’m beginning to realize I don’t hate him anymore, and that’s the scariest feeling ever.

Ten

Dalton

After spending a week resting, I’ve finally recovered enough to be out of bed and moving around. Who knew yoga required so much effort? I’ll never question Elodie on it again.

She popped in to see me once during the week, and we sat and watched a romantic comedy together on television. She was happy to see I was recovering and no lasting damage had been done. There was an element of sadness to her when she was here, though—something I hadn’t seen before. I think the fact I pushed myself so much without thought of the consequences scared her, but to me, it was normal. I wasn’t kidding when I said I have people paid to think for me.

Lying by the pool after a light swim, I look at my watch, and see it’s ten in the morning.

“Hinchbootie,” I call out.

He pops his head around the door. I know he’s been sitting at his makeshift desk, concentrating on matters of state. He’s enjoyed the last week because I’ve not been able to cause him any problems, being bed-ridden for most of it.

“Yes, Your Highness?” he asks.

“What day is it?”

“Thursday, sir.”

It’s one of Elodie’s yoga class days, and she regularly starts her lesson around this time.

“I’m going to yoga,” I say, getting to my feet and making my way into the bedroom to change.

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