AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Rowan chuckles, shaking her head. “He would’ve preferred if I stayed at home and popped out a couple of kids for him.”
My brows twitch. I nod, doing my best to keep my face steady. “Ah. You don’t want kids.”
“I don’t not want kids,” Rowan says. “I just…I want other things, too. I want to come here and see the Summer Palace in person. I want to have my name attached to it. I want to be a leader in my field.”
“You want the glory.”
Rowan sucks in a breath. “I don’t want to die alone in a shitty little apartment with cancer spreading through every organ because I didn’t have the time or opportunity to actually take care of myself. I don’t want someone else to be saddled with the responsibility of feeding me and clothing me and making sure I have what I need.”
“I’m not sure being alone is the best way to accomplish that.” I arch an eyebrow, sipping my drink.
Rowan stares at me and finally huffs out a laugh. “And I’m not sure running away every October is the best way to honor your fiancée’s memory.”
“It’s survival.”
“Exactly,” she replies, staring into my eyes. The air grows thick around us, and on some primal level, we understand each other. Being alone here, with her, as the storm batters the walls of the cottage, I wonder if she’s here for a reason. If she was sent here by some higher power.
“Why did you take this project?” I ask in a low voice.
“How could I refuse it?” She blinks, then lets out a sigh. “Maybe I just wanted to get away.”
“From your ex?”
“From my life.” Rowan’s eyes blaze, and something stirs in my core.
How many times have I wanted to get away from my life? From my grief? From everything that makes me a prince?
Rowan gulps. Her eyes shift back to the fire, and we sit in silence for a while. Nordish blood flows in her veins, but I still don’t feel like she belongs to this place. She says she understands why her design was wrong—but does she truly get it? It won’t fulfill her ambitions as an architect if she tries to bend this landscape to her will.
The landscape doesn’t care. The arctic bends to no one.
Just look at her first few hours here. Near death.
“I want to do something more with my life than just be someone’s wife,” Rowan says softly. “Gerry was fine. He’ll be a good partner to a woman one day, but it’s not me. I need something…more. I need to see the world. Explore my career. Put my ideas on paper and see them come to life. I need to do something so that when I die, I don’t feel like I’ve wasted my life or been a burden to the people I’m supposed to help.”
“What if you never find what you’re looking for?”
Rowan blinks, then shrugs. “Then I guess I’m destined to wander until I die.”
I’ve never met anyone like Rowan before. She’s giving up safety. Security. A stable relationship. For what? To explore the unknown? To carve her own path?
Abby wasn’t like that. She had very few ambitions of her own and was content to follow me wherever I went. I thought it was because I’m a prince, and she had no noble blood, but when I stare at Rowan, I know I’m wrong. Abby didn’t have the fire, the will for life that Rowan has. She didn’t have the ambition or the independence to be on her own.
Rowan leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she stretches the graceful column of her neck from side to side. Her eyes have their own fire burning, and she’s propelled through life by some force I don’t understand. She doesn’t need a protector. She doesn’t need me—or any man—to save her from the dangers outside.
Well—unless she decides to go for a walk in sub-zero temperatures with nothing but a thin jacket on.
There’s a deep well of strength in her that sparks something inside me. It makes me pause. Pushing myself up to stand, I jerk my head toward the bar trolley. “Another drink?”
Rowan nods. “Yes, please.” She stands with me and meets me at the trolley, extending her glass toward me.
When I top up Rowan’s drink, her eyes flick up to mine. Warmth wraps around my chest and snakes lower through my stomach. This girl will be the end of me.
She’s not afraid of me. Not intimidated. She looks me straight in the eye—and I like it. She’s the first person to treat me like a man and not a prince. The first person to listen to me talk about Abby and understand the pain, not just pity me for it.
I take a sip of my drink as I watch her over the rim of my glass.
Rowan meets my gaze and sticks out her tongue. “Do I have something on my face?” she asks, popping a brow.
