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“But it’s my duty⁠—”

“It’s your expectation. Not your duty. Lock has those. I have those. You, Briar Anne, do not. You don’t have to be a part of this.”

“But I want to.” It’s all I’ve ever known about myself. That I’d grow up, get an education, and become queen to help people. Have a few heirs along the way and carry on my father’s charity.

Beau sighs but doesn’t push back on me. We’ve already talked about that. He knows where I stand, what I hope to do. “He’d never let me have you. He’s intending to marry you. That’s not going to change.”

I wring my hands together as desperate plans flit through my head, and I try to sort for the best one. Only there isn’t one, because the two things I want lead to two completely different paths. But I can’t think about anything rationally right now. Not with Beau standing in front of me. Not when all I want to do is have him hold me.

“What if you talked with him? Not tell him about us obviously, but tried to gauge his true interest? And if he truly doesn’t desire me as I believe he doesn’t, then maybe you can convince him…” I trail off, sounding crazier the more words that spill from my lips.

“Convince him to allow me to court you instead?”

I avert my gaze.

“And what of being queen?”

Some simmering spark in my chest blinks out.

“You can’t accomplish that with me. So even if he let me have you, even if our parents allowed that, and all the press that has been speculating about your budding romance could switch up and support the two of us instead of burning us at the stake, you can’t be queen with me.”

He’s right. I’d have a title with Beau. Could try to do everything I want to do with a position like that.

But it’s not the same. It would never have the same impact.

But is it truly my dream, or have I just been brainwashed into believing it is?

No, it is. I want that. I know I do.

But I also want Beau.

And admitting that to myself makes me feel ugly inside. How can I be courting his brother but craving his touch?

But he and I… it just doesn’t fit. It could never work. There’s already so many things working against us, and we’re not really even an us.

I don’t want to be done, though. Not with him. Not with trying to see if there’s something to be done.

“Hey,” he says gently, cupping my face. “Don’t drive yourself into madness thinking about all this right now. We don’t have to act rashly. Let’s just take it one day at a time. I’ll… I’ll try to talk to Lock and gauge where his head is at. He usually keeps to himself, but I’ll try. All I meant to show you today is that we need to be careful. I have no plans on avoiding you further, and I’m sorry that hurt you. I was just trying to do what’s best for you.”

That’s the same thing my parents always tell me. That they’re doing what is best for me.

“We just have to be careful,” he repeats.

My voice is small and shakes with anxiety gnawing at my insides. “It feels like we’re back on the cliff, and everything we know is hanging by a thread.” Our future, our duties, our families. “One strong gust of wind could throw us over into the abyss.”

He tips my chin up, forcing me to look in his eyes. I fall into them the way I did before. “Well, don’t look down, then. Just keep your eyes on me, alright?”

There’s hope behind those eyes, but resignation in that tone.

Summer is coming to an end, and with it, I think we might be, too.

Nineteen

September has arrived. We did our final event for the Caulfield-Penner Scholarship fund two weeks ago, to which we hit a record-breaking amount of donations. Both our fathers attended, bringing in even more money and attention. Juliette was thrilled, as were Beau and I. She even asked if we’d stay on permanently and assist them with the upcoming year of fundraising to keep the momentum going.

I agreed. Beau said he couldn’t commit to that amount of hours.

Which I would bet is partially true. But I think it has more to do with giving me space. Since that day we spoke in his office, we’ve barely interacted. We kept our distance at the last few events. He hasn’t tried to speak to me, so I took that as a sign to let things lie. Maybe the paparazzi photos were the scare we needed to stop whatever foolish ideas we were idling.