Page 123 of Heavy Crown

In my pocket is Posey’s name and number written on a slip of paper. A scrap of the life I’ve left behind. My phone, wiped clean, sits on the kitchen island next to a final Tupperware container of midnight brownies with a note telling whoever cleans the apartment to enjoy them as a parting gift.

I slouch against the bathroom wall, and I stare at the familiar floral wallpaper. Other than my mother’s tight embrace, nothing in this house fits anymore. The list of things I’m longing for is a mile long. Home isn’t here. It’s in the muscled embrace of a six-foot royal who told me the other night I could never be more than a mistress to him.

I miss him. I miss him so much, and I fear this deep despair will never end.

The tightness across my chest threatens to squeeze me in half. I’ve been alone before, but I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this lonely.

forty-five

Alex

By the time I get back to Bellerive, it’s Sunday afternoon. Earlier than expected. But there’s a knot of dread in my stomach, as though I’m already too late.

My car from the airport has barely come to a stop before I’m out the door and headed across the field to Rory’s apartment. Her shift in the kitchen will be done, but she might not be home. She used to grocery shop on Sunday afternoons while she waited for me to finish whatever royal business I needed to take care of.

For some reason, her less-than-subtle points about my work-life balance come back to me. If Nick and my father go for my plan, I’ll spend the next few months getting my brother caught up on the political side of Bellerive while Rory and I keep our relationship under wraps. At the eleventh hour, I’ll abdicate, and Nick will become king of Bellerive. More time with my father, less concern about Nick’s incompetence, and I get to be with Rory.

Now, I just need to find her.

Last night I dreamt I arrived home to discover her apartment empty, and I haven’t been able to shake the sense that something isn’t right since. At her door, I pound on it, and I call her name. When I press my ear to the heavy wood, I don’t hear any movement.

Unlike the week before Simone arrived, I’m not taking a chance Rory won’t let me in. The groundskeeper has a set of keys to every building and room in the palace, and I head to his office, which is near Dr. Bennett’s medical clinic.

Is what I’m about to do a breach of her privacy? Yes. But after our last two disastrous conversations, I want to ensure we talk calmly and rationally. Sort this whole thing out like adults who know how to speak to each other. We used to be able to do that easily, and maybe we can again now that we both want the same thing.

When I rap on the groundskeeper’s door, he calls for me to come in. Inside his office and workshop, Juan is puttering around. A young guy in his twenties, he has a key in one hand and a brownie in the other when he glances in my direction.

“Oh, Your Highness.” He drops the key on a table and stares at the brownie before shoving it into his mouth. “Sorry.” He points to his mouth. “These are incredible.”

It’s then I spot the Tupperware container on his desk, which is brimming with midnight brownies.

Rory.

“Are you here about Ms. Wilson’s apartment? I’ll have the locks changed by tomorrow. It’s being cleaned today.”

“Locks changed?” I rock back on my heels.

Juan nods. “Policy when someone moves out.” He shrugs. “I had a look through. All she left behind was the container of brownies and her disabled phone.” He holds it up.

Waves of hot and cold are rushing over me. “She’s moved out?”

“This morning, as far as I heard, yeah.” He holds out the brownie container to me. “Want one?”

I swallow the panic creeping across my chest. “No note or anything?”

“Just one saying anyone could eat the brownies.” He takes another one out and bites into it. “I can’t believe she left them behind.”

As far as things left behind, her brownies are the least of my concerns. “Thanks, Juan.”

As I make my way to HR, I tamp down my fear. Maybe she moved off the property. Gone from here doesn’t mean gone from the island. She’s been working for us for months, and she could have easily saved up enough money for a deposit on an apartment in Bellerive.

She’s not gone. She’s just not here.

Since it’s Sunday, there’s no one in HR. I stand outside the office door, and I curse their Monday-to-Friday hours.

My next stop is the kitchen, and as soon as I walk in, Joyce’s back straightens.

“Your Highness, what can I do for you today? A sandwich? Cup of coffee?”