Page 40 of Fallen Crown

Brice pats my knee and seeing his hand on my leg makes me realize I might be letting these familiarities slip by because I miss having someone do these things. Enzo was always affectionate, and I haven’t had anyone touch me, sexual or otherwise, in months. It’s no wonder Brice’s attention feels good.

As I drive Brice back to the estate, I consider my options. I can keep sliding down this mountain with Brice, one sure to break my heart one way or another, or I can let go of my pride and try with Enzo. A real effort.

My heart thumps as I drive through the estate gates. Giving Enzo another chance is the right thing to do. The grown-up choice.

Brice grabs his things out of the back of my SUV, and before I can drive away like the coward I am, he comes to the driver’s side and places his forearms on my window ledge.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Mmm-hmm.” There’s a tightness across my chest, but I can’t keep ignoring my husband and letting whatever this is with Brice expand across my life. I’m married.

I’m married.

And I will not become my father.

He hoists his backpack onto his shoulder, and he gives me a wave as he heads toward the main entrance. I sit for a beat in the vehicle, working up the nerve to make the call.

Then I turn the SUV toward my apartment, and I dial Enzo’s number.

“I was getting worried,” Enzo says. “What have you been up to the last few days?”

“Really busy with some charity things.” Not a complete lie. The race is for charity. “I was, um, thinking about taking you up on the offer to come to Boston.”

“To stay?”

I can’t read his tone, but I forge ahead anyway. “For a week or so, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s your apartment too.”

Technically, it’s a Tucker family apartment, and my parents were not happy when I said Enzo would be staying there while we worked out our issues. They think he’s a freeloader, but can you really call someone that when they’re literally part of the family?

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” I say. “I’m booking my flight as soon as I get home.”

One way or another, I need to figure out if what I’m starting to feel for Brice is real, or if I’m a deeply lonely and unhappy woman clinging to any sign of affection.

Chapter Seventeen

Brice

At the ocean’s surface, I let out a gasp and suck in a deep lungful of air. “This is bullshit.”

Brent chuckles from the paddleboard he’s keeping within my reach. “You have to release a little bit of air when your lungs get tight.”

We’re working on breath control at an inlet cove on the eastern side of the island. There’s a lot of reef around here, and the water, even far out, isn’t as deep as you’d expect given that Bellerive is an island in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean. Riker and Paxton suggested this spot during training this week. Training Tucker hasn’t been running.

My frustration isn’t so much about my insufficient lung capacity but rather about my complete lack of concentration. Brent has given me the same advice three or four times now, and each time, I get halfway down to the stupid brass key on the sandy ocean floor and forget to let out my air. My brain has been a muddled mess as the days on the calendar flip by. Tucker has been gone a week, and my father is one week closer to no longer being with us.

I hang on to the end of the board with one hand, and I wipe my face with my other one. After our three-day camping trip together, I wondered whether I’d freaked Maren out with my casual flirting. We’d already been dancing around each other, so I thought facing the tension head on was the best thing to do. Be honest. Lay out my cards. She’s fucking hot, and I would totally sleep with her. But I wouldn’t do that, because she’d hate me for it. Honest. Up front. No bullshit. Get the awkwardness out of the way.

Turns out I should have gone with the head-in-the-sand approach. Impossible for me. Maren wasn’t ready to face the fact there is something between us. Whether it’s merely pent-up sexual frustration or something else, we’ll likely never find out. But I certainly didn’t expect her to go work out her frustrations with her fucking good-for-nothing husband.

Just the thought causes me to clench my jaw.

“You’ll get it,” Brent says.

“I don’t understand why she’d go to Boston for a week,” I burst out. “Or longer. She’s still not back. He left her. He left.” I fling out my hand, flicking the water in annoyance.

Brent rears back on the board. “That’s…unexpected. Okay.” He draws out the last word. “Is there something going on between you and Maren?”