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“Why did you build such a mad itinerary?”
“Because I thought you would be angry with me forever and I wanted to make it as painless as possible if we had to be stuck together.”
She brushed my cheek. “Well, we aren’t cross. So, it’s alright. I appreciate the thought, darling.”
I couldn’t help but love Alexandra.
“I love you. I am sorry this hasn’t helped us pick up where we left off.”
“It’s okay,” Alexandra said. “We’ve got forever, right? Besides, the press think we’re up to no good.”
“Well, to be honest, we couldn’t keep our hands off one another at the wedding.”
“They are sure a royal baby is right around the corner,” Alexandra rolled her eyes.
Panic crossed my face.
“Don’t worry. I’m on the pill.”
I was relieved. “Look, I’m not ruling out kids. I agreed to this arrangement long before I was in love with you. Just… not this moment.”
“God, no! I cannot even… no. Now, nap. I’m going to go watch telly or whatever. Rest.”
“Watch with me,” I said. “Whatever you want. Just… stay.”
I didn’t want to her leave. She was comfort, normalcy, and everything I needed. I wasn’t sure if it was the drugs or my general love for her, but I wanted her there in my semi-broken state.
“Sure,” Alexandra said. “Scoot over.”
“What?”
“This is my side of the bed.”
“Is it?” I said. “It’s mine.”
I realised now we’d never had this discussion—having never spent a night alone together in bed. Was she a cuddler? I gathered she was, but would never admit it. Alexandra loved adoration even if it flustered her.
“I’ll sit over here—for now—since you’re in bad shape,” Alexandra said.
She crawled into bed, tucking herself under the covers. I curled up next to her. She smelled heavenly. I drifted off, now drowsy from the drugs and feeling like I was on a warm cloud. It felt safe. I hoped she felt the same—if not a bit less woozy. When I woke, she was up, and I felt a bit better. I’d slept about four hours. It was now dinner time. Alexandra brought me food in bed, and we watched French-language programming. My French was thankfully improving, but still a joke.
“Je t’aime,” she said.
It was the first time Alexandra said it. We barely spoke in French. I knew it meant something to her. It meant more than it did in English.
“I love you more,” I said. “I still don’t deserve you, but I will try to prove myself more worthy, my love.”
Alexandra kissed my hand. “You are.”
Thirty-Nine
Alexandra
Rick was hurting. We were a week into our honeymoon, and he was finally moving about our hotel room in Rome. He wasn’t capable of much else but felt bad about leaving me hanging.
Like most things with us, everything had a false start. If my awakening on our wedding day wasn’t a good omen, I wasn’t sure what was. Good things came when we waited for a perfect moment.
Still, we were a third of the way into our honeymoon and hadn’t managed to consummate things properly. If we were a royal couple in the dark ages, our marriage wouldn’t even have been considered legal. Not that it invalidated the love I had for him. I was falling even harder by the day. It turns out that babying Rick brought out his kindest, most vulnerable side.
