Page 99 of Fallen Crown

“I’m not leaving,” Brice says.

I close my eyes and throw my forearm over my eyes. The two of them are exhausting, like squabbling children.

“Are you okay?” Brice asks. “Should I call a nurse?”

“No,” I say. “No. Can you give me and Enzo a minute?” I lift my arm and crack an eye to see how he’s taking my request. His expression tightens, but he gives me a curt nod.

“Celia wanted to know when you woke up. I’ll step outside and call her.”

He’s been talking to my mother? It doesn’t seem like the right time to ask, but to say I’m surprised is an understatement. The Tuckers and Summersets don’t have that sort of friendly relationship, mostly because my parents have always been too eager to cultivate it. My mother must be gleeful that my involvement with Brice has given her an in with them, even if I’m in the hospital.

The door clicks closed behind Brice, and I realize I’m still staring after him.

“I’m not giving up on our marriage without a fight,” Enzo says. “Whatever has been going on between you two, it stops now.”

I drag my hands down my face, and I try to gather my thoughts. If we stay together, I’ll have cheated on Enzo, and I’m not sure I can stomach that. Beyond that, I don’t know if I’m capable of recovering my feelings for Enzo. When I look at him now, I can acknowledge that he’s an attractive man, but the butterflies and the softness I once felt when I looked at him are gone. Can people fall out of love and then back into it? Would I even want to?

“I’m back, and I’m okay with the terms you laid out in your ultimatum.” He swallows. “You don’t want to put yourself through any of the emotional or physical turmoil to have kids, and I can—I can accept that.”

That is what I told him, what I’ve been telling him for months, and it was the argument that led to him leaving. Not just that I couldn’t physically have kids but that I didn’t want to pursue any of the options to have them. Not surrogacy, not adoption, not anything. Granted, I was not in a good place physically or emotionally when I made that decision. But I’ve stuck to it with him, even as I’ve contemplated other options or paths in my head with someone else.

It occurs to me that we may have gotten married too young and for the wrong reasons. For months I’ve avoided that exact thought, but there it is.

“No kids. Just you and me,” Enzo says. “I want our marriage. But no more competing. I can’t do this”—he gestures to my hospital bed—“over and over again.”

“Enzo, I—” I stare at my nails, unable to make eye contact. “I filed for a separation. In my mind, we were getting a divorce.”

“You slept with him.” Enzo’s voice is flat.

My heart thuds, and I don’t know what to say. Saying the truth out loud feels cruel when he’s standing here asking for us to make our marriage work.

“I wasn’t perfect in Boston,” Enzo says. “We were going through a rough patch, and we both made mistakes.”

“What?” My blood runs cold.

“After I got the separation papers,” he says. “Once, and as soon as I did it, I realized I didn’t want another woman. I want what you and I can build together.”

His revelation is hard for me to process. Although he didn’t do anything differently than me, the conclusions we’ve drawn are divergent. The idea that we can go back when we’ve done what we’ve done doesn’t make sense. Wouldn’t we be just like my parents? Ignore the indiscretions and forge ahead? For me, cheating has always been a hard line. The fact that I did it when I kissed Brice was the moment when I realized my marriage had to be over. If I wanted my relationship with Enzo, really wanted it, I would never have let anything happen with Brice.

“I don’t know what to say,” I admit.

“We can get what we had back, M. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe that. Neither of us has to quit this marriage. We don’t have to fail.”

Before I left for the race, I would have said there was no way we could salvage our marriage. It seemed like neither of us wanted to stay together badly enough to make it work. His conviction that we can recover is throwing me off. The words “quit” and “fail” bounce around my mind, but I’m no longer sure that a fear of failure should be what drives me.

“He’s got a different woman in every country, just like your dad,” Enzo says. “Do you really think he can give you what you want? That he’s capable of giving you what you need? You’ve never been one to be swayed by a bit of charm before.”

Not entirely true. At one time, I was swayed by Enzo’s charm. I’m not finding him particularly charming right now. “That’s not who Brice is,” I say, and it comes out with a surprising amount of conviction. There are pressure points Enzo could hit, but Brice is loyal, and he’s taken care of me in ways Enzo never has. “Don’t slander him to make your offer look better.”

“Fine. But he’s a fling not a future.”

There’s a knock on the door to my room before I can formulate a response. I don’t know what I’d say anyway. Based on everything Brice has told me, Enzo’s statement is true, even if it feels unfair for reasons I can’t pinpoint.

My mother pops her head in the door. “Brice said you were awake.” She doesn’t wait for me to invite her in and instead comes to my bedside, pointedly ignoring Enzo. I also noticed she called Brice by his first name rather than by any of his formal titles, and I wonder if she’s already given him half of a heart necklace that says “best friends” in bold letters.

“You had us all worried,” she says, and she lays a cool hand across my forehead. The scent of her hand lotion takes me back to my childhood. “I’m glad you’re on the mend. Brice was beside himself when Enzo wouldn’t let him in here to be with you.”

“What?” I turn toward Enzo.