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“Good. The new team members should be there within twenty-four hours. You still have the rest of the staff around you.”
“I don’t know who I can trust. What if Paul wasn’t the only one?”
“Then you act like nothing is wrong and you only break down when you’re alone.”
Her words wash over me as shame bubbles up inside me. Is this how my sister felt before she met Asher? So alone, isolated, exposed? I should have been there for her.
Dropping my chin to my chest, I let out a sigh. “Okay.” I hang up the phone and stare at the blank screen, wondering how my sister has survived so much for so long. She seems sure of herself, as if navigating this minefield is the easiest thing in the world. Or if not easy, it’s possible. I feel like my feet are encased in concrete, my limbs too heavy to move. And my heart? It’s sluggish. Slow. Dying.
I want to call Jazz. I want to march out of this hotel room, get on a plane, and knock down her door. I want to tell her what I feel—that I love her. I love her like I never even knew was possible. I love her so much, it makes me want to give all this up. My titles, my privilege, my meaningless standing in society. My place in the castle, private residences dotted all around Nord.
I’d give it all up for her. Just to see her smile, to wake up next to her.
But as I stare at my silent phone and hear her words resonating in my mind, I know that will never happen. She was so cold. So crystal clear.
She wants nothing to do with me.
I get ready for the event at Argyle Palace with the help of my remaining staff, then head there with a big, fake smile on my face. For the first time in weeks, I get very, very drunk.
Rumors swirl for a week, heighten when I fly back to Nord for the holidays, and reach their peak two weeks after the first story broke, then they die down. Being home for those few days is pure torture. I ball my hands into fists and hold myself back from going to see Jazz, even though every cell in my body wants to run to her.
I know it would only hurt her more, though, because if we were seen together, the rumors wouldn’t stop. So I stay at the palace, wishing we were together. Christmas dinner tastes like ash.
When the royal media team releases a statement that the royal family does not respond to idle gossip, there’s not much for the gossip rags to draw on. They’ve lost Paul, who I’m guessing was their main source of information. After the holidays I fly to Mexico, then over to Europe for the final month of the tour, and I’m not calling anyone except my sister.
The news cycle turns over, and I’m no longer in the headlines. Just like Penelope says, the storm passes.
My feelings, on the other hand, don’t. They stay stuck in the same holding pattern, going over the same old thoughts.
Love. Heartbreak. Meaninglessness.
For a few short weeks, I felt like I had a purpose. I was overcoming my own challenges with Jazz’s help, and I felt like I was a useful member of my family. I was doing well, which is something I’ve never been able to say before. The speeches get harder, though, and I stumble a bit more. I struggle to make it through every event in my twelve-hour days, but I slide a mask over my features and play the good prince.
My thoughts stay with Jazz. In the echo chambers of my mind, I hear her laugh. I see her smiling on the pillow next to me, feel the weight of her arm across my chest.
She made me feel like I was worth something. Like I could do something with my life that meant more than just drinking and running away. She made me want to be good. To grow up, for once.
I scour the internet for any article written by her, bracing myself for more of her razor-sharp words about abolishing the monarchy.
Nothing.
Not for two weeks while the rumors about us swirl. Not for two more weeks as they die down. And the final two weeks of the tour, when I know I’ll be back in Nord within days, I still don’t see a word of hers online, in print, anywhere.
It’s like she’s disappeared off the face of the earth, and it’s all my fault.
26
Jazz
My extended leave of absence from work leaves me feeling empty and directionless, but at least it offers me the opportunity to hunker down and avoid the tabloids while the storm rages around me. I hide in my house, ordering groceries online and letting no one but Rhea and Annie inside. I shuffle to the nursing home to see my mother every day, dodging photographers and questions as I make my way from the front door to my car.
It takes about two weeks for the worst of the rumors to die down, and I thank every deity I can think of that Christmas and the holidays happen right in the worst of the storm. Most people are at home with their families, and I spend a few days sleeping at Rhea’s place, and things seem to die down. It takes a further two weeks for the rumors to really be forgotten.
Every day of those four weeks, I wonder if Silas will call. I hope he will, hope he’ll show up at my door with a sly grin on his face, hope he’ll throw me over his shoulder and tell me he can’t live without me.
It’s pathetic.
He doesn’t show up, obviously. The publicity propels him to new heights on the royal tour, which only feeds my bitterness. How he stays quiet about his involvement with me, letting the rumors drift into nothing.
