Page 86 of Heavy Crown

“You love the hat trick,” I say, thinking about his comment the night before.

He chuckles. “This hat trick will be much better than the other one.”

“I sure hope so,” I say with a laugh.

He stares down at me. “I—” He hesitates and searches my face. “God, I—” He gives almost an imperceptible shake of his head, and then he kisses me.

Whatever he intended to say gets lost in a sea of sighs, moans, and the cry of his name when he scores his hat trick.

thirty-one

Alex

Rory comes out of the bathroom naked, and she crawls across the bed to me. For the last three weeks, we’ve spent an abundance of time in this cottage. Without discussing it, we’ve fallen into the same pattern as before—we work, do our own thing, and at the end of each night, we’re together. Exactly the same as before but with a thousand times more sex. We’ve christened every square inch of this place, and instead of anything feeling routine or boring, we’re becoming more connected, more in tune with each other. I have never craved anyone—their company, their body—the way I do hers.

“I should go,” I say. “My lunch hour is almost over.”

Rory laughs, and she trails kisses up my side until she reaches my cheek. “You could take a five-hour lunch and still work more hours in a day than most people.”

“If I took a five-hour lunch, people would notice.” Though I’m sure we’re already a source of palace gossip. Instead of taking lunch in my office, as I’ve done for years, I walk to Rory’s cottage on her days off. When she’s working, I eat in the kitchen at a worktable by the window, talking to her and the other kitchen staff. The distance I should be keeping has been obliterated by my need to be close to her. I’ve never had someone I see so often take up so much mental space.

I have completely lost the plot, and I can’t bring myself to care.

Untangling myself from Rory, I begin putting my suit back together. The day she tore some buttons off my shirt required an explanation in the laundry department. While it was amusing someone so petite could manage to dislodge them, it was less amusing when I had to find a plausible lie for the seamstress on staff. The pastry chef did it is grounds for a sexual harassment claim on top of everything else. I am, after all, one of her bosses. Were I speaking to my parents, I’m sure they’d have played that card too.

I button my shirt, and Rory stretches on the bed, enticing me toward one more lunchtime round. It’s Saturday, and I could get away with being here all afternoon under normal circumstances. With Nick and Julia’s wedding only a week away, things at the palace are not normal. I have a meeting with Desmond in twenty minutes about wedding logistics.

He’s begrudgingly kept my parents’ questions in check. I’ve denied all their requests for a private meeting, and neither of them has had the guts to seek me out. The result is that I’ve had no one to answer to for the last three weeks. Glorious, glorious independence to make terrible, life-changing choices.

I’ve gotten into the habit of compartmentalizing even more than normal. The things I want to do versus the things I have to do. At first I kept the details of my coronation from Rory because I didn’t know her. Then I kept them because there was a chance I could wiggle out of what I’d agreed to. Now I’m not telling her because hurting her feels like stabbing myself in the heart.

In six months, I’m supposed to be marrying someone else. In one week, I’ll be walking into the church in Bellerive with Simone on my arm. No loophole has been found.

I’m totally and completely fucked, and when I let myself consider what I’ve done, what I’m doing, I want to drown in self-loathing. I haven’t told Rory about Simone, but I have no doubt word of my affair with Rory has reached Denmark. So many royal households are connected by staff-member friendships and acquaintances. Someone will have warned her.

No one has warned Rory, and although I know it should be me, that I must be the one to tell her the truth, I refuse to do it before I absolutely have to. I’m squeezing out every drop of happiness, even if that joy is tarnished each day by regret, sadness, and a host of other negative emotions I hope she can’t sense.

“You okay?” Rory asks, rising on an elbow to examine me. “You just got this really sad, serious expression on your face.”

“Wish I didn’t have to go,” I say, and I box her in with my arms while I give her a quick kiss. When she tries to draw me down, I laugh and step away from the bed. “I have to meet Desmond.” I give her another peck, and then I nuzzle her nose before kissing her again. “I’ll be back after dinner.”

“I won’t be here,” she says. “Remember I’m going to Wino Wine Bar with Posey, Julia, and some of Julia’s other friends? A mini-bachelorette party or whatever.”

“Ah, right.” I rub the back of my head. “Right.” Any time she hangs out with Julia, I get twitchy. While a sober Julia would never give away any secrets, drunk Julia is rife with bad ideas. “After?”

She rises onto her knees and grabs my tie. She tugs me down for a kiss, and her arms snake around my neck. “After,” she murmurs against my lips.

If I don’t get out of here soon, I’ll be late for my meeting with Desmond. “Later.” I disentangle myself, and Rory flops back on the bed with a dramatic sigh.

It’s enough to make me want to collapse down there with her. I let out a chuckle and draw my hands down my face. After Nick and Julia’s wedding, I’m carving out a better work-life balance. On a Saturday, I can’t even crawl back into bed with my love.

The thought draws me up short, and I run a hand through my hair. On the way to the door, I chastise myself for letting such dangerous notions creep in. She’s not my love. After Nick and Julia’s wedding, she may never speak to me again.

I’ve played my cards too close to my chest, and when I lay them down, she may very well feel cheated.

Believing she is my love is a shortcut to giving up everything here for a chance to be with her. I can’t have her and Bellerive.

My impossible choice.