Page 60 of Coronation
My baby didn’t ask for any of this, and my heart aches whenever I dwell on all the horrible things they will inevitably hear about their unconventional parentage. People can be so cruel, and being born out of wedlock to a freaking king will be hard enough. I refuse to subject them to a father who may or may not be an icy, hurtful jerk on top of it.
“When are you going out again?” Davina asks, pulling me from my preoccupation with a nudge of her elbow. The van is almost at the hotel, and I can see the swarm of photographerswaiting outside, milling around on the sidewalk, clearly waiting for their paycheck to arrive.
My hands twist in my lap. “Tonight.”
We’re about two hundred yards from the hotel marquee, stopped at the nearest intersection, when a few of the photographers notice the van, lifting their cameras in anticipation.
“Here.” Dav reaches over to fiddle with my hair, draping a few strands artfully over my shoulder and offering me an encouraging smile. “You’ve got this, Z.”
I reach out to take her hand, squeezing it in silent thanks. It’s moments like this I wish I could tell someone,anyone, the truth about this arrangement I have with Benedict. As far as my friend is aware, this dating thing we’re doing is genuine, and I’m just trying to work up the courage to tell him I’m pregnant.
Like it or not, though, I can’t tell anyone.
I’m on my own.
The van stops and we get to our feet, filing out onto the sidewalk. The flashes started even before I stepped outside, and I duck my head down, pushing through the crowd with the help of two of the palace security guards, who appeared out of nowhere. I’m peppered with questions as I go, everything from whether I will be attending the coronation to whether Ben has met my family.
I breathe a sigh of relief when we finally make it inside and find the lobby empty. Davina and I both pause as the door shuts behind us, muffling the roar of voices from out on the street. We look at each other, exchanging looks of shock and alarm. “There’s more than there was yesterday,” she comments, still looking a little worried as we start moving again, heading to the elevator.
We’ve only made it halfway there, however, when a familiar voice stops me in my tracks. “Zelda.”
I whip around, staring in amazement at the king himself,who is strolling into the lobby from an open doorway, as stern and unsmiling as ever when we’re in company.
My heart flips. I ignore it.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as he approaches, aware of Davina almost vibrating with excitement beside me. “I thought we were meeting at six.”
“Change of plans, I’m afraid.” He stops before us, inclining his head toward Davina in greeting. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Lovette.”
“A pleasure, Your Highness,” she echoes, beaming at him. “I’m going to head upstairs to clean up. I’ll leave you two to your evening.”
The moment she’s out of earshot, I look back to Ben. “Is everything okay?”
He glances past me toward the hotel desk, where a single concierge is pretending not to notice us as she polishes a bronze bookend, and shakes his head discreetly. “Not here.” In a gesture I’m still not used to, he reaches out, settling his hand on the base of my spine to guide me toward the elevator.
My body warms instantly at the tiny amount of physical contact, but I keep my expression impassive as we follow Davina’s path in silence. Ben draws closer to me as we wait, watching the number above the gleaming twin doors descend. Once we’ve stepped inside and are moving upward toward my floor, safely ensconced in the small space, Ben offers me an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry to turn up here like this. We have a bit of an issue, I’m afraid.”
My pulse stutters. “An issue?”
“In the form of my ex-wife.” He reaches up, raking a hand through his hair, but his next words are interrupted by the gentle chime of the elevator as it reaches my floor.
Offering him a hesitant smile, I lead the way out and down the carpeted hall, stopping only when we’ve reached the door to dig through my bag for the keycard. Once we’re inside, Bendrops into one of the kitchen chairs with a disgruntled huff, looking more irritated than usual. It’s weird to see him here, in the space I’ve lived for months, like two worlds colliding.
“Your ex-wife is why you’re here?” I ask, watching him carefully.
The question makes a nerve in Ben’s neck twitch. “She owns several art galleries in Wyngate and is in the process of opening a new one,” he clarifies, shaking his head in obvious disgust. “We’ve been invited to a show there, two weeks from Friday.”
“Oh.” I hover beside the small kitchenette, staring at him. “Are you two on good terms?”
Ben scoffs. “We wereneveron good terms. I have no doubt she’s hoping to capitalize on the publicity surrounding our relationship for her own gain.”
“Why go, then?”
“Perception.” He looks as though he’s just taken a sip of spoiled milk. “At the time of the divorce, the palace had to exercise quite a bit of pull to keep the media from sinking its teeth into the story. Now, they’re concerned that our failure to attend would send a strong enough message to drum up renewed interest. Especially in light of this new fascination with my romantic life. They suggest we attend to keep the focus on us, rather than my marriage.”
Unable to help myself, I’d done a bit of late-night internet snooping on Ben’s ex-wife. There was plenty there, and no shortage of speculation, but nothing very definitive on what rift was responsible for the divorce. Photographs of the couple were plentiful; however, I couldn’t find a single one where either of them looked even a little happy about being in one another’s presence. Even images of their wedding showed two people who couldn’t look less in love if they tried.
The official word from the palace was that the split was due to “irreconcilable differences,” but judging by what Ben’s late brother had to say on the matter, nobody in the royal family was on board with him ending his marriage.
