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Jazz
The first week after Silas leaves, I’m still walking through life like I’m living in a cloud. The whisper of his touch still exists on my skin, and I look forward to every text and phone call I get from him.
It’s so different from my usual attitude toward men. Typically, I’d keep my distance. I’d stand on my own two feet. I’d enjoy being alone.
But there’s something nice about being able to rely on someone, especially when I spend long hours at the nursing home with my mother. Her recovery is slow, and it’s hard to see her in pain. Harder still is watching her grow more confused and forgetful. The mother I knew is slipping away, and every evening I look forward to my conversations with Silas to lift me up.
I don’t know how I’ll reconcile my feelings for him with my political opinions. I don’t know how it’ll all work. I’m not thinking about it right now. At the moment, I’m just surviving. Working, visiting my mother, speaking to Silas. I even manage to avoid Rhea outside the nursing home and dodge her questions about the tour.
I’m not ready to tell her how I’m feeling. Not ready to voice it out loud—that little four-letter word that seems all too strong and too soon to be real.
The reality is, though, that I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never imagined a life with someone else the way I imagine a life with Silas. It’s pure fantasy, of course. The logical part of my brain knows it would never work. How could it? He’s a prince, and I’m nowhere near noble. My reputation alone would exclude me from any official relationship with him.
But every day he calls me, and every day my feelings grow.
I was lonely before. I was lonely when I slept with Will Broderick, lonely when it was over, and I was lonely when I went to that Halloween party. It feels good to have someone to talk to, to be honest with, to lean on.
Even if he is a prince, and this relationship is doomed, I can bury my head in the sand for a little while longer.
The second and third week after Silas goes back, routine becomes a bit easier. I work out of the office in Stirling and visit my mother every day. Rhea and I see each other at the nursing home, but I mostly keep to myself. Annie, mercifully, stops pestering me about who my mystery admirer is.
My writing is a lot more tame than it was before, and I avoid any scathing political editorials. I help Annie with the gossip column and tell my boss it’s because I’m stressed about my mother. I can’t handle anything too heavy right now.
The truth, though? Mom is fine—or as fine as she can be. The doctors say her arm will heal, and she’s doing the best she can with the Parkinson’s. I’m starting to accept it, finally. I’m working through the grief associated with the end of the relationship I had with her. Just because she’s not as able-bodied as she was when I was younger doesn’t mean she isn’t my mother.
I’m not naive enough to think that having Silas to rely on hasn’t helped. He knows what it’s like to go through something difficult, either with your parents or yourself. He’s suffered as much as any of the rest of us, and he’s…he’s been there for me. How many of my former lovers can say the same?
On Monday afternoon of the fourth week after Silas visited my home, I get an email from Will Broderick.
Will: Rumors the Prince has a lover. My source on the royal team says he’s been calling Nord every night. You heard anything about it?
My heart takes off, but I manage to answer a quick no.
I sit back in my desk chair and rub my hands on my temples. I feel hot and uncomfortable. Rumors are the start of it—a sign that this needs to end. What if the story breaks? What if someone finds out it’s me? My reputation will be ruined. Credibility shattered. Career over.
Can I really choose Silas over my livelihood?
I scoff. Of course not. I’m not naive. I knew this would happen.
As my heart races, I stare at the screen on my desk and let out a long sigh. I adjust my bra, wincing at the tenderness in my breasts. I need a vacation. Everything feels…off. I shouldn’t have gotten involved with Silas. It causes too much stress. I should have known better.
“You okay, Jazz?” Annie leans on my desk, tilting her head.
I force a smile. “Fine.”
“You look a bit under the weather.”
“Stomach’s bothering me,” I answer, shrugging. “I’ll be fine. Lots of stress these past few weeks.”
“Are you sad you didn’t get to go back on the royal tour?” Annie tucks a curly strand of hair behind her ear, her multitude of rings shining under the fluorescent lights of the office. She’s wearing a black-and-white striped dress that somehow looks professional and quirky at the same time.
“Not really,” I answer. “I’d much rather be here with Mom.”
Annie nods, chewing her bottom lip. I can tell she’s holding back, staring at a spot on the wall behind me. She takes a deep breath and opens her mouth, then closes it again and clears her throat.
“What is it, Annie?”
“Huh?”
