Page 65 of Heavy Crown

Stolen kisses in my cottage won’t be enough. Even if I can fool myself into thinking I wouldn’t want to marry Alex, I have no control over how I’d react if we started an affair. No man has ever felt this right, this destined to be mine.

I’ve never been the kind of girl who could do temporary. Alex can never be my permanent. We’d have an expiration date, whether that was my visa running out or him growing bored of the farmgirl from Canada. In any scenario, I lose.

I grab my pillow off the floor and slide under the covers. There’s a heaviness across my chest when I roll onto my side to stare at the clock.

For the next couple of hours, I drift in and out of sleep. When my alarm goes off at four in the morning, I realize what I have to do, but I’m not sure I have the guts to do it.

twenty-five

Alex

When was the last time I couldn’t sleep because of a woman? Easy—Jules when I was in university. Not since I shut down my feelings for her has a woman gotten close enough to stir my emotions. Lust? Sure. But what I experienced with Rory last night was indescribable. I wanted her, but underneath that was a wellspring of something more primal. Like the night I found her in the car, I couldn’t get close enough. I wanted to take what she was offering and never let her out from underneath me again.

Fucking terrifying.

Those sorts of thoughts have no place in my life.

Bellerive above all else. Anyone else.

My clock turns over to five in the morning. Rory will be entering the kitchen to prepare her baking for the day ahead. She has an hour of solitude before Joyce arrives to cook breakfast for my parents and any other overnight staff.

She won’t be getting that hour to herself today.

What happened between us last night can’t happen again. As my mother predicted, Rory is a danger I didn’t see with enough clarity weeks ago.

Can we go back to how things were before I showed up at her door drunk and desperate?

While I dress, my gut twists with uncertainty, but I’m not one to back down from a confrontation. I shouldn’t have gone to her place last night, and I definitely shouldn’t have kissed her—a lot. I kissed her a lot, and if my phone hadn’t gone off, I might have done more than that.

I flick the lapels of my suit jacket into place and tug my cuffs to straighten the fabric. From the bedside table, I grab my phone. Perhaps texting or calling her would be wise instead of going to see her in the kitchen. But Joyce arrives soon, so there’s no hope of our conversation spiraling too out of control.

Brief. To the point. Salvage what I can of our friendship. Get in and get out.

At the door to the kitchen, someone is banging pots and pans, and the shrill clang reminds me I had a few too many shots of tequila last night. Nothing good comes from hanging out with Brice and Nick together. They are a tag team of poor decisions. No wonder they’ve gotten in so much trouble over the years.

Before I can lose my nerve, I stride into the kitchen to the coffee maker. “Morning,” I say with my back to Rory.

“Morning,” Rory mumbles in response.

A single word can say a lot. She’s not happy with me. That’s the least enthusiastic greeting I’ve ever gotten. While the coffee percolates, I inhale a steadying breath and turn to face her. Her blond hair is in a tight braid, and she’s wearing her usual kitchen whites. She looks tired, and I wonder if she had a terrible sleep like me.

I won’t be asking.

“I shouldn’t have gone to your cottage last night when I’d had so much to drink. My judgement was impaired, and I apologize if my behavior offended you.”

“Offended me?” A frown creases her brow. “How would your behavior have offended me?”

There’s an edge to her voice, and I’m aware I need to tread lightly, but I’m not sure which direction I should be stepping in. “We’re friends, and I value your friendship. I shouldn’t have risked that by turning us into something that can’t happen. I don’t want to lead you on.”

“You’ve made yourself really clear, Alex. Honestly, hearing the same thing over and over again is a bit tiring.”

Wow. She’s more than irritated with me. I think she’s angry? “I want to make sure you understand the parameters of our friendship.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not a child.”

“I never said you were.”

“But sometimes you treat me like I can’t grasp the simplest concept. We can’t be together—check.” She grabs the dough in front of her and flips it over and kneads it with an abundance of aggression. “If you’re worried about the parameters of our friendship, we should probably spend less time together.” She makes eye contact with me, and her green eyes are blazing. “A lot less.”