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“Sorry, what?”
“Will Rowan be at the ceremony?”
I shrug, trying to look more nonchalant than I feel. “No idea.”
Jonah stands with a sigh, dropping a hand on my shoulder. “How long are you going to live like this, Wolfe?”
I meet my brother’s gaze, frowning. I don’t know how to answer that.
He pinches his lips together, shakes his head, and walks away. My head spins as my brother leaves.
What am I supposed to do? Knock down the Summer Palace and plead with Rowan to come back to me? She made her choice, and her choice was to walk away. I’m not going to get down on my knees and beg like some pathetic little dog, and I’m not going to treat her like she doesn’t know what she wants.
Rowan left because she thought it was best for her and the baby. She chose this.
Sighing, I shut down my computer and scrub my face with my hands. Next week, I’m going to the unveiling ceremony of the visitor’s cottage, and I’ll do my best to ignore Rowan.
I mean nothing to her, so she can’t mean anything to me.
My siblingsand I arrive at the Summer Palace in a convoy of black vehicles. Inside the palace gates, there are already throngs of security-approved reporters and media representatives, cameras poised and ready. There’s a new road leading across the flat meadow toward the former visitor’s cottage—now an official museum. My chest clenches, a kernel of tension weighing heavy in my stomach.
I’ve spent the winter and spring successfully avoiding the public eye. I’d forgotten how much anxiety churns in my gut when I see those hundreds of lenses pointed toward me—but it’s impossible to ignore now. My heart hammers as we drive toward the palace. Eyvar is in the driver’s seat, his hands clenching over the steering wheel. He can feel the tension radiating off me.
I gulp, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment to compose myself. Every time I see a big pack of reporters, it takes me back to that moment nearly five years ago, when Abby died in my arms—except now, it’s not her death that really hurts. I feel like my grief has dulled, but there’s still an ache in my chest. A sense of deep loss—loneliness, maybe.
Plastering a sorry excuse for a smile on my face, I exit the vehicle and join my siblings on the landing of the palace stairs. Security personnel surround us, but reporters still shout and snap pictures. I raise an arm, waving, knowing this picture will be online within minutes.
My stomach is tied up in knots, but I swallow down bile and try to keep my face steady. Jonah puts a hand on my forearm, giving me the tiniest nod of encouragement.
Maybe he understands my pain, even if he hasn’t lost anyone.
Jonah, Silas, Penelope, and I enter the Summer Palace. It feels different in here. I can hear the distant whine of angle grinders and saws, along with the low hum of generators and machinery. The renovation of the main palace won’t be done for weeks, and the place feels…foreign.
Palace staff usher us to another room and prep us for the grand unveiling ceremony that is set to start in less than an hour.
My heart squeezes.
Is Rowan here? Will she be at the visitor’s cottage?
I know she’s thirty-five weeks pregnant. I’ve been counting every week on my calendar, because I’m that pathetic and hung up on her. She’s about to give birth to my child, and I might get to see her before that happens.
Dropping my head in my hands, I try to suck in a breath. I’m not sure I can do it. I’m not sure I can see her like that, knowing she doesn’t want me in her life. It hurts so damn much. It makes my whole body ache, pain racing through my veins.
I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.
When I look up, Penelope’s staring at me. She’s the regal, frigid Queen of Nord now, not my sister. Her face is a mask of regal propriety and her spine straight as she sits on the edge of a chair. But her eyes flash, and I know she’s able to read every thought and emotion racing through my mind.
She stands, motioning for the staff to bring the cars around. “It’s time,” the Queen says, allowing her lady-in-waiting to fluff her hair and dust another bit of powder across her forehead.
This is a joyous ceremony. A proud moment where we give back a monument to the people, giving access to the visitor’s cottage to anyone who would like to see it. We’re unveiling all the artwork and sculptures that have been restored in honor of the people of Nord.
It’s a celebration—but it only fills me with dread.
We all pile into two cars—my sister riding in the last one, and my brothers and me in the first—and we make our way across the grassy plains toward the visitor’s cottage. When I close my eyes, I see the snow-covered landscape and the bright red flush on Rowan’s cheeks. I hear the clinking of the dogs’ harnesses and I taste the fresh, cold air.
This is where I fell in love with her, but it’ll never be the same. The visitor’s cottage where our baby was conceived is gone—and whatever love existed between us has disappeared with it.
Maybe it’s a blessing. I won’t be able to see where my relationship with Rowan began and ended, right there on that bed.
