Page 92 of His Beloved Princess
"Princess." He put his hand on my shoulder, and I burst into tears, hiding my face behind my palms. "Hey, sweetheart, what is going on?"
Inhaling deeply, I wiped my cheeks, trying to pull myself together. Every time someone mentioned our accident, my stomach turned to knots, and I felt like I was about to puke.
Usually, I overcame that urge and plastered a mask on my face, pretending I was okay. Yet when he suggested it could happen again, my entire body cramped, my legs trembled, and my heart almost broke through my ribcage.
"I can't live through it again," I whispered, ignoring the trucks and vans that speeded next to us. "I would go nuts if something happened to you again."
"I'm right here, baby girl," he said soothingly, holding my face with his large hands. He rubbed off the tears on my cheeks with his thumbs, smiling softly. "I'm not going anywhere."
"But you said," I mumbled, sobbing like a little girl, but he placed his finger on my lips, silencing my objections.
"Forget it, princess. I won't ever leave you, okay?" He kissed the tip of my nose, then my forehead, and embraced me tightly. After a few moments of listening to his comforting words and reassurances, I calmed down, laughing when he didn't want to allow me to pull away from him.
He managed to dispel my fears and worries, but the frail voice in my mind didn't forget to remind me that the situation could happen anytime. A car accident, a plane crash, a lift malfunction, slipping on the stairs, it was only the tip of the iceberg, and I realized that if I didn't stop thinking like this, I would live in permanent fear for him. It wasn't a life; it was torture. So, I decided I had to work on my psyche and try to detach myself from that unfortunate event for the sake of both of us and our relationship.
"Do you want to switch places or take a break?" Bastian asked, watching me closely when I fired the engine. "We are only half an hour from our destination. We can relax a little bit and look around Coos Bay."
"You know it here?" I looked at him, smiling slightly to show him I was much better and we could continue. He leaned into his seat with a dreamy expression on his face.
"I lived here," he replied, chuckling when I cast him a doubtful glance.
"Really?" I’d never heard that he was from Oregon. All information online claimed he was from Seattle.
"Yeah, we moved to Seattle when Mom got pregnant with Elliot."
"Bastian, where are we heading?" I inquired, admiring our surroundings. The view of Coos Bay was magnificent—the ocean, the boats, and the high buildings framingthe coast.
"It's a surprise," he stated, shrugging when I objected. He told me nothing until we reached Bandon, and the GPS navigated us through the streets.
"Stop here, princess." Bastian pointed to the right side in front of a lovely, white two-story house with a porch and perfectly landscaped front yard. We exited the car, and I looked around, admiring the roses beside the stone path. All houses on the street were the same, but this one seemed empty.
Everything was in order: the grass was cut, leaves were raked, and the porch was squeaky clean, but there was no car on the driveway, toys in the garden, or shoes next to the entrance. The place was like it was from a catalog prepared for a sale.
"Whose house is it?" I turned to Bastian, who waved at the neighbor on the other side, and the old lady enthusiastically waved back. To my great surprise, he fished the keys from his pocket and nodded at me to follow him to the front door. He unlocked it and walked inside, grinning at me.
"This is where I spent the first twelve years of my life," he announced, leading me to the living room.
Almost all the furniture was covered with white blankets, and when I touched it, the dust swirled, making me cough. The walls were half-covered with light wood and painted with a flower pattern. One wall was entirely glass, providing a great view of the backyard with a treehouse, a slide, and something that looked like a fortress. I admired the massive fireplace with photos of three happy boys as they played football and hockey, and one of Bastian or Andreas at a violin concert.
They looked like twins when they were kids, which made Frederick look like he wasn't their sibling. Yet when I examined the family photo with Mr. and Mrs. Thorn at their young age, I found out that Fredy was the exact copy of his father while Bastian and Andreas were a mix of their parents.
"Do you want to see my room?" Bastian asked when I returned from the kitchen and smiled at him happily. It was an incredible feeling to see where he grew up.
"I want to see all the rooms," I answered, climbing the stairs when he gave me silent permission to explore the upper floor. He stood opposite another family photo by the railing while I peeked behind every white door.
His room came last, and I took a deep breath before walking inside. It was a typical boy's room with blue walls, a shelf full of comic books, an old radio, a dresser, and a bed resembling a pirate ship.
Excitement coursed through my veins when I looked at his ice hockey trophies, different awards from formal debate competitions, one first place from a history contest, and two from math. He was a golden child.
"I stored them here even when we lived in Seattle," he spoke from the threshold, watching me. I shook my head in disbelief, grabbing a hanging gold medal from the nail.
"It's fake." He chuckled when I admired myself with it around my neck in the mirror and acted like I had won a national competition in spelling.
"Doesn't matter. You have a medal." I grinned, touching a stuffed crocodile and tracing my fingers along the desk where his old school books still rested.
"How many girls have you brought here, sir?" I half-sat on the desk, looking at the posters of sports cars and muscled guys with sexy women.
"Only one—Sandy. She was a year older than me, and I was totally in love with her." He inhaled deeply with a dreamy expression, and I giggled when he sat on the bed, looking outside the window. "I kissed her for the first time under that tree." He pointed at the tall maple in their garden, turning to me when I joined him. I sneaked my hand under his arm and entwined our fingers, resting my chin on his shoulder.
