Page 131 of Scarred Crown

Tears are pricking at my eyes, but I’m not going to cry. The other fifty percent of my scenarios have him not mad at all, understanding, reasonable.

Except Nick’s feelings around medical issues and assisted suicide have been set in stone for years. He had those beliefs when the stakes were much lower than they are now—hypothetical, philosophical—this referendum will hit him right in his home, in his heart. Despite Nick’s sometimes outwardly prickly appearance, his heart is buttery soft.

When we get to the palace I hustle through the main entrance and follow the corridors back to our wing. Will Nick be there, and if so, what will I find? I’m half-hoping to run into someone who might offer a clue to Nick’s mental state, but the palace is uncharacteristically quiet. At the door to our suite, I take a deep breath.

He’ll either be in there, and we’ll hash it out, or he won’t be, and I’ll need to track him down. I’m not sure which is worse.

I open the door, and Nick has his elbows on his knees, a glass of clear liquid balanced in his fingertips. He glances up at me, and his gaze is clear. Whatever is in the glass isn’t alcohol, thank God. But his usual flirty, happy to see me smile is absent as well.

I can already tell which scenario of the two I crafted in the car is most likely. The air is thick with tension.

“You’re home,” I whisper.

“You got Kafil, Bahati, and Elena to the hotel without any problems?”

“I did.” I take a step into the room and shut the door behind me.

He doesn’t get up, and he doesn’t say anything else.

“We should probably talk,” I suggest.

“Should we?” He squints at me. “Honesty seems to have become your least favorite quality. It’s a shame—used to be the one I relied on the most.”

“I haven’t lied to you.”

“I imagine if I went back to every conversation we’ve had, there’s a lie rooted in there somewhere. Or a half-truth, an evasion of the truth. It’s all the same.”

I try a different tactic because I can’t remember every conversation we’ve had over the last couple months. There’s a whole swath of time in Las Vegas that I don’t remember at all. The line I’ve been forced to walk hasn’t always been clear. The duties of an employee, a wife, and a friend have been muddled along the way.

“Have you spoken to your father?”

“You mean, did he tell me he has Alzheimer’s? Yes. Did he tell me you knew? Yes. Am I pretty fucking furious?” He stands up, and water spills out of his glass. “Yes, again.”

My hand is trembling when I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “He asked me not to tell you.” At his look of disbelief, a lump forms in my throat. “Ordered me not to tell you.”

“So what?” He practically throws his glass on a side table and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “You’re my wife.”

“I know. But I wasn’t then.”

“Okay, fine. Let’s say in Tanzania, your loyalty belonged to my father. We’ve been home for weeks. Fucking weeks. You’ve heard me muse about what might be going on with my father beyond the obvious and you knew. You knew and you didn’t tell me.”

“I went to King George, and I asked him to tell you. But he refused. Said he wasn’t ready. He cried in my arms, Nick.” My shoulders sag at the memory. “He broke down in my arms. How do I betray him after that?”

“So you betray me instead?” Nick scoffs.

He’s too angry. We’re not going to get anywhere with this conversation. Even though I know it, I can’t help trying again. “I hoped you’d understand the difficult position I was in.”

“The real kicker,” Nick says, moving to put more space between us. “Is that I’ve realized that’s likely what you were speaking to Alex about yesterday. Am I right?”

I swallow down another ball of fear. “Yes,” I whisper.

“You and Alex, keeping another massive secret from me.”

“Alex agreed to make sure you were told today.”

“You know what you could have done? You could have fucking told me yourself.”

“I made a promise.” I’m pleading now. Worry about where we’re headed is eating away at any rational thoughts in me too. Confiding in Alex about the referendum might be the tipping point.