Page 88 of The Princess Trap
“Then you understand why I can’t leave you here. I never should have left in the first place.”
She shook her head. But she approached without fear, walking past him to look down at her daughter. That was something. The first time he’d gotten her alone, she’d been afraid of him.
And he’d understood.
“It didn’t start right away,” she said softly. “Things were fine for the first few years.”
“Fine?”
“Well.” She shrugged. “As fine as things can be with a mansuch as my husband. But eventually he turned on me. I expected it, in the end.”
“Lydia,” he whispered. “I don’t understand why you won’t let me help you.”
She smiled up at him, tired but gentle as ever. Hopeless, and yet so kind. “You’ve always been reckless, Ruben. Fearless. I admire that about you, but I cannot become you. I am a mother. I will not have my children running from their own father, their king, without protection or safety—”
“Iwill keep you safe,” he insisted.
But still, she shook her head. “Safety lies in certainty. If I go along with this plan you have devised, is the outcome certain? Certain enough that I should stake the safety of my family on your word? This is one small island, ruled by corrupt officials, easily swayed by Harald’s money and influence. You have—what? A private jet, a loyal faction of the royal guard on your side? I’m sorry, Ruben. It’s not enough.”
He swallowed. He understood, and yet…
“I can’t give up on this,” he said.
She smiled. “I know. I know you, little brother.”
It was the first time anyone had ever called him that with love in their voice. For a second, he could barely breathe.
Then she turned her back on him, ghosting a hand over her daughter’s golden head. “Leave us, now. The nurse might come.”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Any time. Say the word, any time.”
She didn’t reply. He left.
He arrived at the room he and Cherry had shared uneasily for so many nights, and found her waiting for him.
She was curled up in bed with the lamp on, wearing that damned Dolly Parton T-shirt, the blankets pulled up over her lap.
“You’re turning me into a Dolly Parton fan,” he said.
“Good,” she replied. “I have at least four of these T-shirts.”
He moved towards the bed as if it might disappear at any moment. A small part of him worried that it could. That the sight of Cherry waiting for him, smiling at him, as if this was normal and natural and forever, must be a fucking mirage. He felt like a beast in comparison to her beauty as she sat there, utterly composed, watching him with a gleam in her endless eyes. This was nothing but a fairytale. A fantasy. It had to be.
But he sat down, and it was real.
She pushed the blankets aside and crawled over to him, and sat on his lap. She helped him fumble with his tie, laughing when he lost patience with the buttons of his shirt and tore the whole thing off over his head. Then she kissed him. Soft and slow and sweet, like a blessing. A blessing that set his blood alight, left him both satisfied and insatiable.
He pulled back, cradled her face in his hands, looked her in the eye. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The way I want you. The things I need from you. Do you think I’m fucked up because of—”
“No,” she interrupted sharply. “No. I don’t. My childhood was fine. Perfect, really. And I want this just as much as you do. It’s just the way you are. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
He didn’t need convincing. He already knew that, had decided long ago. But the idea that she might think otherwise had hit him like a truck, and he’d needed to know.
“Good,” he said. He kissed her again. “Good.”
