Page 107 of American Royals
Connor didn’t move. “What does that mean?”
Beatrice felt her controlled court persona slipping away as easily as if she were unzipping a dress.
“I mean that we aren’t over. Or at least, I’m not over you.” She took a heavy breath. “No matter what happens, I’ll never be over you.”
Slowly, she stepped forward and lifted a hand to his face: to trace over every freckle, every curve and shadow that had become so utterly familiar to her. More familiar even than her own reflection.
“Bee—” he said gruffly.
She grabbed his sweater with both hands and pulled him in to kiss him.
His mouth on hers was searing hot. Beatrice closed her eyes and clung tight to Connor. It felt like she’d been living in an oxygen-starved world and now could finally breathe—as if raw fire raced through her veins, and if she and Connor weren’t careful, they might burn down the world with it.
When they finally stepped apart, Connor kept his hands wrapped tight around hers, as if he couldn’t bear not to have some part of him that touched her. They both hurried to speak.
“I’m so sorry—”
“I never wanted to—”
“Beatrice,” Connor cut in, and she fell silent. “I’ll come back, if you’ll have me. Be your Guard again.”
The embroidery at the top of her gown stirred with her breath. “Really?”
He nodded solemnly. “These last couple of weeks have been torture. I realized that I can’t bear the thought of a life without you. I’m not saying that I’ll enjoy watching you marry him,” Connor added, stumbling a little over the words. “But I get it, Bee. You’re the heir to the throne and can’t make your own choices.”
He would come back to her. They would be together again. Beatrice tried to be pleased by this … but suddenly all she could see was Connor, kneeling before her in the garden, his heart in his eyes.
“I know better than to try to pick and choose which parts of you to love,” he was saying. “I love you, Beatrice. All of you, even the part of you that is sworn to the Crown. Even if it means we can’t really be together.”
“I love you, too.”
“All right, then. I’ll ask to be reassigned to you.” Connor smiled down at her. “At least this way we’ll have each other.”
Beatrice knew she couldn’t take him up on his offer.
This thing between her and Connor was real. She was his and he was hers—that was simply the truth, perhaps the most powerful truth in this entire court. And something that true was something worth fighting for.
“No.” Beatrice stepped back, shaking her head. “I can’t ask that of you. You deserve so much more than a half life.”
“What are you saying?”
Beatrice slid the diamond engagement ring off her finger, revealing the line of Sharpie inscribed beneath. For the first time in weeks, her smile wasn’t forced.
“It’s still there?” he asked, incredulous.
She hadn’t been able to stand the sight of her finger without it. “I touched it up myself,” she confessed, and took a breath. “Connor, I’m calling off the wedding.”
Seeing Connor again was a sharp reminder of everything that Teddy wasn’t. Beatrice liked Teddy, and understood him, and knew without a doubt that he would have been a great first king consort. If she’d never met Connor, maybe that would have been enough.
Except that she had met Connor. They’d managed to find each other in this messy, confusing, deeply flawed world. And now that she knew what it was like to truly love someone, Beatrice couldn’t accept anything less.
“Really?” The naked hope in Connor’s expression nearly undid her.
“Yes. I’ll talk to my dad tonight, tell him I can’t marry Teddy.” Her stomach knotted in dread at the thought of that conversation.
“What do you think he’ll say?”
Beatrice wished she could tell Connor that it would all be fine. But after everything they’d been through, he deserved the truth from her. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
