Page 42 of Learning to Love

I point out a picture of a little girl covered in flour from head to toe. “There was a mishap with the flour.” Elodie laughs. “I told my parents I was going to bake a cake, and they thought I meant with the little toy kitchen I had. It was only when they came into our real kitchen they discovered what I’d meant.”

“I like that one. You’ve got mischief on your face. And what about this one?” I gesture to another photo.

“My parents told me to get ready because we were going to the beach. Five minutes later, I appeared with my sunglasses, hat, pail, and shovel.”

A lump forms at the back of my throat. I try to think back on all the photos I’ve seen of myself as a child. I don’t have any like this. I have a couple of me greeting visiting dignitaries in the shorts I was required to wear until I turned five—it was only at that age I was allowed to go into long trousers. There are a couple of formal portraits of me, which required me to sit for endless hours while being painted, but there’s nothing like this, none of the fun and laughter that Elodie had with her parents.

Elodie pulls one final picture off the wall and hands it to me. This one is more recent than the others. Elodie doesn’t look much different in it from the way she does now.

“What is this one?” I question, looking at the brightly colored clothes Elodie and her parents are wearing and the flower garlands around their necks. All three have a spot of red paint in the middle of their foreheads.

“This is the very last picture I had taken with my parents. I was in India doing a course to get my final yoga qualification, and they came out to see me. This is how we were greeted into the resort where we stayed. While my parents were with me, I took lots of photos of the animals we saw in the national park we visited, but this is the last one I have of the three of us together. It’s my favorite. They returned home, and two weeks later, I got the call to say they’d died. My world fell apart that day, but because of these pictures and my precious memories, I was able to hold myself together and carry on living. That’s why I could never be thankful my parents are no longer with me. I wish they were here every day. There was so much they still had to experience. We had many more memories to create, but it wasn’t meant to be.” Elodie strokes her finger down the faces of her parents on the photo.

I feel a lump form in my throat, and I can’t speak. I’ve never known the love and affection she’s experienced. There’s a part of me that’s overwhelmingly jealous. To see such happy family photos rubs salt in the wounds of my horrific childhood. A bigger part of me, though, is so pleased for Elodie because it made her the person she is today—the person I want to be with, and the one who is teaching me to be the man, no, the king I need to be for my people.

I place the picture back on the wall, and getting to my feet, I begin to pace up and down to center my thoughts. I know I need to tell Elodie everything about my childhood so she can understand why I suggested I’d be better off if my parents were dead.

She stops my nervous pacing and takes my hands in hers, just like I do for her when she’s losing it.

“Talk to me, Dalton. Please.”

“I understand how I hurt you with what I said, but honestly, Elodie, I would be better off if my parents were dead. I see the smiles and happiness in your photos, but I have experienced nothing like that. All my family portraits and photos are formal with my father appearing regal. There’s no hugging or smiling allowed. We have to keep our chins up and remain polite at all times. There’s never any love.” Elodie leads me to one of the couches in her living room, and we take a seat. “Hinchbootie is probably aware, but I’ve never said anything to anyone about this before. My mother is not maternal in any way, shape, or form. She provided a son and heir and was damned if she was going to go through another pregnancy. She spends all her time in her apartments with her various lovers, getting drunk. My father isn’t much better. He’s never been faithful either. Their marriage was one of convenience because they both wanted the power their royal titles afford. My father has no respect for women. He has them brought in for his needs.” I halt, not wanting to say the next bit as it disgusts even me. “On my eighteenth birthday, I was brought a woman so I could lose my virginity.”

Elodie gasps, “Dalton!”

“I didn’t. I sent her away, but it wasn’t long after that I started having casual sex to hide my misery. I wanted to be loved, but I’ve never had any from my parents. The closest thing to affection I’ve experienced is from Hinchbootie. I know, for all my faults and the hard work I cause him, he’s fond of me and I of him. I’ve never been loved or given it in return until I met you.”

Elodie strokes down my face. There are tears in her eyes.

“I can’t imagine a life like that. It would destroy me, but you don’t have to feel that way anymore. I’m at your side, and I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Prince Dalton, whatever the rest of your name is, of Janastria. I hated you when I first met you, but you’ve gotten under my skin, and I can’t imagine a life without you now. Please don’t make me have one. We can do this together. We can learn and grow together. We can give each other the love we both need.”

I feel the tears prick in my own eyes.

For God’s sake, a prince doesn’t cry. Damn it, this one does.

“I love you as well, Elodie. Please forgive me for what I said. I’ll never hurt you that way again. Those pictures will always be here to remind me. I want us to take pictures of our own, not formal ones, but ones where we’re smiling and in love.”

Elodie gets to her feet and walks over to a shelf. On it is a digital camera.

“This is the one I used in India. I haven’t had a chance to use it as much recently, but I’ve always made sure it’s charged.” She settles the camera on the table and fiddles around with it for a few moments before running back to sit next to me. I instantly take my formal pose. Elodie chuckles before tickling my side. I laugh and look directly at her as the flash goes off. She reaches out and picks the camera up, and turns it around so we can see the picture. It’s just like the ones on her walls. We’re happy and smiling. We’re in love.

“The first of many.” Elodie puts the camera back down on the table and leans forward to kiss me.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

“It does. It also means you need to take me to bed. You promised me an orgasm earlier, and I’m cashing in.

Twenty-Three

Elodie

My heart broke when Dalton told me about his upbringing. Even if you’re a royal, you need a parent’s love. I suspect, though, it says more about the people who gave birth to him than the true meaning of royalty in Janastria. I can’t wait to show him happiness and love of all different kinds, but right now, I need to show it to him physically.

I want to spend the rest of my life with Dalton, even though I know it will require a complete change to my life. He has a responsibility in his future we can’t avoid. I’m going to stand by his side the entire time and give him the support he needs to help him serve his kingdom, not condemn it.

I lead Dalton into my bedroom. It’s not as big as the fancy room we made love in last night, but it’s mine. There are more pictures on the wall in here. These are of my time in India, and the sights I saw. Animals, palaces, and beautiful tea plantations that look like something straight out of the hobbit world. Dalton glances at them as I lead him toward my bed where we stop and stand in each other’s arms.

“What music do you listen to?” I ask.

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