Page 27 of Unforgiving Queen
I scoffed. “Busted.”
He just shrugged. “I was trying to win my wife back. And that castle has nothing on this one. This one dates back to the Golden Age.”
I rolled my eyes. “If you start a history lesson, I’m going to barf.”
“Well, let’s fill up your stomach first with some food and coffee,” he offered. I really needed to talk with Livy. Her taste in men was questionable.
I turned to my grandmother and steeled my spine.
“Not to change the subject, but I was thinking…” I locked eyes with her, hoping she’d take my next words seriously. “I’m all healed up. I’m ready to go back to Paris. Back to school.”
Her shoulders tensed. “No need to rush. There’s still another few weeks before you are due back.”
I swallowed. Truthfully, I didn’t want to be in the same city as Amon, but the odds of crossing paths with him were slim, and I was willing to take my chances.
“It’s hardly rushing. I’ve been here for weeks now.”
“So what’s another few weeks,” she reasoned, and I wondered if she’d picked up on more of my near-panic attack earlier than she’d let on. “You might as well stay here through the second week of January and then go back for the spring semester.”
I shook my head. “No. The sooner I’m back, the better it will be.”
By the press of her lips, Grandma clearly disagreed, but said nothing else.
“When?”
“There’s an afternoon trip on the Eurostar leaving from London. I just need a ride to St. Pancras station.”
A heartbeat passed. “Fine. I’ll take you.”
* * *
King’s Cross bustled with life in Central London, buses coming and going, people rushing in and out of the station, eager to get to their destinations.
The engine of Grandma’s Rolls-Royce hummed softly as we sat in the back seat, the driver having stepped out to give us privacy.
The silence stretched. I’d rather just get out of the car, but knowing my grandmother, she’d follow me all the way to the train and then hop on it so she could give me a piece of her mind.
I sighed. “My train leaves in forty-five minutes, Grandma.” I turned my head to meet her gaze. “Whatever you have to say, just spill it. I won’t fall apart.”
She took my hand, petting it gently. “I’m worried about you.” I swallowed, unable to drag a deep enough breath to say something. Anything. “Your physical injuries are healing, but the pain still lingers in your eyes. You need to talk about it, Reina. Nothing good comes out of avoidance. Trust me, I’m talking from experience. I saw it in your mamma. Phoenix. And now you.”
I wanted to grab on to her and hold her tight like she was my raft at sea. She had been our support since Mamma’s death, and I knew nothing else. Yet I remained immobile, shadows casting their forms all around us and whispering things I didn’t understand.Phoenix? Mamma? Even Grandma?She said we all suffered a tragedy, and yet I kept wallowing in mine. It wasn’t right.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, sounding like a broken record, but I didn’t know what else to say.
“You keep saying that, and it only tells me that you’re not fine,” she countered. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t,” I rasped. “I want to forget it and move on.”
“I didn’t tell your papà about the pregnancy nor about the boy.” I stiffened. “Your sister and the girls don’t know either.” Tears blurred my vision, burning the backs of my eyes, my heart, and my soul, but I refused to let them fall.
“I’m eighteen. What happened to doctor/patient confidentiality?” Then her words sunk in. She said something about a… “Boy?” The hope in that single word rang like a national anthem.
Another flicker of something soft in her eyes, and tension rolled through me. I didn’t think I could handle talking about him just yet.
“Obviously a boy got you pregnant.”
Relief washed over me and I refused to let him and the memories we shared together haunt me for the rest of my days. So I decided I wouldn’t speak his name. Not to her. Not to my friends. Not to my papà.
