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“Did she saywhy?” I asked, nervous that my indiscretions from the night before had come to light.
“Her private secretary intimated she would like to catch up. A kind invitation. She hopes you enjoyed your evening. Perhaps, a bit too much, sir?”
I grimaced. “Yes, indeed.”
“It could be good for you.”
I knew what Martin meant. He was like an older brother to me—in a way my strange and awkward older brother was not. He sometimes offered his opinions too freely but knew I needed and valued that. He’d told me to stay away from my ex. He’d tried to stop me from getting involved with her but ignored him.
“Martin, I will go. But… I need something.”
“I can bring you a sports drink?”
“Great, thanks.”
He turned to leave but I had to say something.
“Did she find out, Martin?”
“What sir?”
“Don’t lie. You know what I got up to last night.”
Martin shrugged at me with pity. “Sir, I think you are in the clear. However, it would behove you to not do that again.”
I hated myself. There was to be no redemption arc. I embarrassed myself at the bar. I’d used a woman because she was convenient. She probably used me, too. She mentioned something of a breakup. That still didn’t make my view of her as replaceable any less reprehensible in the morning.
Martin had the staff bring me a sports drink. I sucked it down, knowing in about ninety minutes, I would need to act like all was well. The deafening pounding in my head served as a reminder it was not. Regardless of what I told myself, I was heartbroken. I attached myself to a woman I couldn’t have and was reaping the rewards of that “choice”. I miss her even now. I knew better than to try and reach out, but it killed me to think I may never speak with her again.
She swore she’d leave him. She did, but only after she blew up my entire life. I was dumb enough to believe we’d get away with it—that she’d leave him, that we’d be able to run off, and that we could make a life together. I don’t know why I thought I deserved that much. People like me didn’t live happy lives with their forever person.
Licking my wounds and feeling sorry for myself, I attended my scheduled lunch with Queen Margaux and Prince Consort Alex. People called him Al. He was American and I liked him. She frightened me.
“You slept well?” the Queen asked.
Her tone suggested she knew what I got up to with her distant cousin—maybe generally what I got up to. She and my father spoke regularly. I was certain he’d told her how much of a fuck up I was.
“I did, thanks.” I lied. “Is anyone else attending?”
“No. Your father said you might be interested in chatting. He thought it would be good if we spoke.”
I cursed my father internally. “Oh, did he?”
“Yes. I usually entertain your parents. I adore your mother.”
“Who doesn’t?” I asked.
My mother was the one person in my life who never deserted me.
The Queen smiled. “Well, we missed her, but we were happy to host you. How is your brother doing after the wedding?”
“Haven’t heard from him. Didn’t expect to on his honeymoon.”
Everyone heralded my brother’s wedding as a triumph. It took a vast media circus to keep up that appearance. He had the charisma of burnt toast. While his wife was rather affable, they had no sexual chemistry. He provided a life for her that she enjoyed, and she tolerated him. It was no fairytale. The press just billed it that way.
“Weddings are always nice,” Prince Al said. “Might be a while until we see another one.”
I shrugged. “They are expensive and a lot of work.”
