Scarred Crown (Bellerive Royals Book 2), page 32
“Yes,” she breathes out, and a smile blooms on her face. “One hundred percent yes. After it took you three days to thank me for the donation in your name when we were teenagers, I figured I’d never get the chance.”
I suck in a sharp breath. The memory of that Christmas rises to the surface. “I’m sorry I was such a dick back then.”
She shrugs, but some of the playfulness has gone out of her. A quick subject change is in order.
“Kids?” I ask.
“How many do you want?”
“As few or as many as you want. I’m open to whatever makes sense for you and for us.” Before Tanzania, kids were an abstract idea. I figured I’d have a child someday, but I’d never longed for a family. But since we returned to Bellerive when I see pregnant women or parents with their children, my mind strays to Jules, to what we could build together.
She stands up and holds out her hand, her expression soft. “Come here.”
I set down my wine glass and take her hand. She leads me over to the bed, and while I’m tempted to throw on the brakes, I’ve got no willpower. She glances at me over her shoulder. “I just want to lie with you,” she says.
I chuckle when she slides her robe off at the side of the bed. “Is lie with you a euphemism?” Cause if it’s not, she’s in for a surprise when my robe falls.
She undoes the belt and pushes the material off my shoulders.
It pools around my ankles.
When she gazes up at me, there’s no hint of teasing in her depths. “Does this feel surreal to you?”
“You and me?” My voice is gentle.
She scans my face. “Sometimes I look at you, when we’re out somewhere or just now, and it’s like… it’s like I’ll never get enough.” A thin sheen of tears coats her blue-gray eyes. “I’ve missed you, this you, so much. I missed us so much.”
Those words and her tears make my heart feel too big for my chest, and it’s more than ample to break my fragile willpower.
“There is no enough.” My voice is husky. “I’m always going to want more of everything with you.”
There’s nothing playful about what happens between us next. The intimacy is real, soul shatteringly real. We’re so connected my chest aches, as though I’m missing her, even while I’m swallowing her soft sighs with my kisses, burying myself so deep inside her it’s impossible to remember a time we weren’t like this. We can’t possibly get any closer, and it’s not enough.
Later when we’re lying facing each other, not saying anything, just tracing each other’s bodies in wonder, Jules circles the inscription on the outside of my upper thigh.
“Is this for your gran?” Her voice is quiet in the semi-dark room.
“How’d you guess?” I brush a loose strand of her hair back behind her shoulder.
“The two of you seemed to become really close leading up to her death.” She follows the two lines, which are almost too small to read. “My heart broke for you at the funeral. I wanted to talk to you so badly. So badly,” she murmurs.
Jules and I made eye contact for the briefest moment at the family graveside service late in the day, after all the public mourning was done. Then Alex moved to stand beside her, which made my losses so much worse. Her tear-stained face coupled with his presence was too much with my own heartbreak. Even though I longed to go to her, I spent the rest of the day avoiding her at every turn.
“Why here?” she asks. Her fingers are light against my skin.
“It’s just for me. Hard for the paparazzi to get a pic of it there. I’ve never told anyone who it was for or why I got it.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked?” Jules lets out a soft laugh.
I lace my fingers with hers, and she meets my gaze. “I’m glad you asked. I don’t want to hide anything from you.”
Her expression is stricken for a moment, and then she kisses me. When she draws back, she searches my face for a beat, her hesitation obvious.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I love you.” Her voice brims with sincerity and conviction. “I love you so much.”
A searing warmth blazes across my chest, and I place my forehead against hers, nuzzling our noses together. “I love you too.” My voice cracks. “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you.”
“Oh, Nick,” she breathes. She presses her body against mine and kisses me deeply.
Then we’re getting lost in each other again, so lost I’m not sure I’ll ever find my way back. Doesn’t matter because I never want to.
Julia
I told Nick I loved him last night because I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been holding the words back since we returned to Bellerive. Whatever happened between us in Las Vegas before we got married shifted something inside me. What changed? I’m not sure, but I’m not quite as afraid Nick will grow tired of me or that we’re not strong enough to withstand whatever storms blow our way. Maybe we will be okay. He hasn’t given me any reason to doubt his love, but old habits die hard.
We had so much faith in each other once, and we ruined it.
There’s a chance I’ll ruin it again by dividing my loyalty between the king and Nick.
“What do you think?” Merida’s afro bounces, and one clearly defined spiral curl falls across her forehead.
“Sorry,” I say with a shake of my head. She’s going to think I’m a total flake. I haven’t been able to focus for more than five minutes on any of the royal wedding details. My phone keeps buzzing with coronation details, Nick is in my head, and I’m worried about when the king will finally tell Nick and Brice the truth. The last thing I want to be doing right now is planning a wedding. Not an acceptable response when a wedding planner, a very expensive wedding planner, is standing in front of you.
“The only thing I really care about is the dress.” I give her a sheepish grin. “Do you know who can pull it off in the timeline we’ve got?” I have a few Bellerive designers I love, but so many of the bigger names work months or years in advance.
“Nandi Lawson and Kira Mensah are keen to present designs.”
“Both of them?” I can’t help the shock in my voice.
Merida grins. “It is a royal wedding. The first the island has seen in over thirty years.” She flicks through things on her phone. “Your husband is popular around the world.”
“Yes,” I say dryly. “I’m aware of Nick’s international appeal.” He’s left few countries unmarked by his behavior, but he’s so charming that even the most scandalous stories have tended to include a pinch of humor.
“Not just him, I suppose,” Merida says, glancing up. “There’s something for everyone between those three men.” She winks.
I can’t help my chuckle. When my mother produced Merida this morning without a scheduled appointment in my calendar, I wasn’t sure how I was going to feel. We just discussed hiring her yesterday. My mother doesn’t like to waste time when big events are looming.
“The three of them are very different,” I agree.
“You’d like design ideas from Nandi and Kira?” Merida steers us back on course.
“Yes,” I say. “That would be amazing. Is there anyone else you’d recommend?”
“Philip Squire isn’t technically a native Bellerivian, but he does have a holiday home here. I can approach him, if you think that’ll be acceptable?”
I bite my lip. Philip Squire would be amazing, but he dresses mostly American and British celebrities. “Do you think he’d even be interested?”
“I think you’re underestimating the importance of your wedding. Have you been on social media since the royal family announced the date last night?” She raises her carefully arched eyebrows.
I didn’t even realize we announced the date last night since we only set it yesterday afternoon. A small frisson of unease darts through me. It’s all happening so fast.
“No,” I say in a quiet voice. “I’ve been busy this morning.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Merida says. “Secretary Jensen mentioned the family is preparing for a referendum or something? The political maneuvering on that must be quite a task.”
I frown, and then I try to smooth out my features. Referendum? What in the world would require an island-wide vote? Alex didn’t mention anything the other day. My mother’s insistence on taking the political load makes more sense now. Are they planning this behind my back? Why wouldn’t anyone tell me? Or Nick?
Does Nick know? He’d tell me, wouldn’t he?
But I haven’t told him about his father.
“I feel like I’ve said something wrong.” A wisp of a smile crosses Merida’s face. “I don’t know what the referendum is about, if it’s supposed to be top secret. Actually, now that I think about it, your mother glossed over it fairly quickly.”
I bet she did. But why?
“Yes,” I agree. “It’s top secret. Until it’s announced to the public and we’re sure we’re moving ahead, there’s no need to engage in public debate.”
“Makes sense.” Merida passes me her phone. “I was thinking something like this for the dress. Do you have any inspirations I can give to the designers as references?” She settles into the seat around the conference table, opening her laptop.
Then we’re down a rabbit hole of dresses and styles, royal protocol, and other timeless considerations. Before I realize it, we’ve been talking about dresses for an hour, and Merida has a list of notes and photos saved on her computer.
“It’s a good start.” She gathers all her materials. “I have a team working with me, so you might hear from someone else. If you’re not sure they work for me, the code word is Arusha.”
“The Tanzanian city?” A small smile blooms.
“I always try to pick something that’s significant to the couple getting married but that would take a lot of guesswork on the part of the public or press.”
“I’ll let Nick know.” Nick’s weekly schedule is relatively consistent. Today is his correspondence and signature day. He told me this morning when he left to play tennis that he only needed to know where to show up for the wedding. In some ways a typical, and in other ways a surprising, response.
Once Merida is gone, I try to track down my mother via text and good old-fashioned footwork. But she’s either ignoring me, or she’s too busy to respond. I don’t tell her Merida spilled the referendum beans in case she is trying to hide the subject from me.
Then I’m drawn back into royal business when the cleaning company that specializes in limestone calls me back. Since the last coronation and this one are going to take place uncharacteristically close, I’m not even sure the outside of the church needs another cleaning. But I’ve been instructed to spare no reasonable expense, so I might as well get some quotes. If it fits in the budget, I guess I’ll book it.
At least the coronation date is a year away. While some details will take months of advance planning, others, by necessity, will be more last minute.
I’ve just finished speaking to the secretary at Limrock’s Limestone Cleaning about having a quote sent over when Alex’s office door opens ahead of me. Without meaning to, I slow my pace as a bunch of politicians file out.
Usually, they meet at the Great Hall in the center of Tucker’s Town, not the palace.
Part of me wants to confront Alex about the referendum, but I don’t have the right to use our friendship as leverage anymore to get answers. Nick and Alex got into a physical fight yesterday. From where I’m standing, the blueish hue of a bruise on Alex’s cheek is visible while he watches the group of politicians leave.
Before I can duck into another room, make myself scarce, or pretend to be on an important phone call again, Alex sees me.
I can’t talk to him. I shouldn’t. Nick wouldn’t be happy to hear I went to Alex for information. Maybe Nick does know about the referendum and assumes I know too. I’ll speak to Nick, and we’ll go from there.
I waltz past Alex on my way to my own office. The heat of his laser focus sears me, and I make the left hand turn away from him and my curiosity, and toward my own desk.
Maybe my mother will be there, and I can ask her.
When I get to my office, I don’t bother to close my door, but my mother isn’t there either. I check my phone again to see whether she’s responded, and when I verify the information in our joint secretary calendar, I see her whole day has now been coated with the light green. She’s with the king. That wasn’t there before.
I rub my face in frustration. My gut is telling me they’re keeping something big from me. I can’t ask Alex. Nick. I’ll talk it through with Nick.
With a renewed sense of determination, I spin on my heel and head for the door, focused on my phone.
I plow into a firm chest, and my phone clatters to the rug. Thankfully it didn’t hit the tiled floor, or I’d need a new one.
“You all right?” Alex’s voice is gruff.
“Fine,” I grit out. I rise and straighten my fitted dress.
He eyes me warily, and I return the look.
“Nice bruise,” I say.
His expression softens a touch. “Nick is right this time—I probably deserved it.”
“Were you fighting over me?” I can’t dance around the truth if we’re all going to co-exist.
“Is there someone else we’d fight about?” Alex leans against the bookshelf, and his hot gaze runs over me.
I hate when he examines me like that. Can I claim sexual harassment from a look? “Why would you fight at all? You and I are friends, and you’re sort of my boss. He’s my husband. Those are the facts. Nothing to fight about.”
“In the hallway just now, it seemed like you wanted to ask me something.” He crosses his arms and ignores my assertion.
I freeze and search his face. For all the talk of Alex being poor at reading people, he often reads me better than I’d like. Another reason why I don’t understand his refusal to accept Nick and I are together, staying together. How can he not see Nick is who I want?
“What’s the referendum about?” I ask. Maybe Nick knows, but I’m positive Alex does.
“Who told you?” His eyes narrow.
“Doesn’t matter. I caught wind of it. I can’t believe I haven’t caught wind of it before. Are you all trying to hide it from me?”
He runs his fingers through his hair and then shoves his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “Not you so much as Nick and Brice. Your mother thought you’d want to tell Nick if you knew. So, we’ve opted to keep it from you as well.”
“Will you tell me?” I hedge.
“You can’t discuss it with Nick until the topic is out in the public.”
I hold up a hand. Another secret between Nick and me is two too many. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”
“You might as well know, Jules. You can’t plead ignorance at this point. You realize there’s something big coming. What are you going to tell him? I knew, but I didn’t know?” He stares me down. “He’ll call bullshit. He’ll want to know why you didn’t tell him either way.”
“Maybe I will tell him.” I raise my chin.
“Yes, I’m sure. You’re being so truthful about everything else you know.” His tone is biting.
“Your father asked me—my mother asked me—”
“They come before my brother?”
“It’s not that simple and you know that. You of all people understand the weight of duty versus doing whatever you want.” My voice thickens at how black and white Alex is painting everything. The gut-wrenching part is that Nick will paint my choice in these colors too.
“The referendum is on assisted suicide. The king would like to legalize it.” He lets the bomb drop and then he studies my reaction.
“What?” I whisper. “No. No. No.” Legalizing assisted suicide? He’s trying to sign his own death warrant. Not that his condition can be reversed, but… tears spring to my eyes in earnest, and I close the distance between me and Alex. “Because of what’s happening to him?”
“You can’t even say it?” Alex’s voice is low, and he stares down at me with a mixture of tenderness and frustration.
My mind turns over the revelation. Nick and I haven’t spoken about the issue for years, maybe since the debate club, but he wasn’t in favor of assisted suicide then. Given his reaction to Bahati and Elena, I can’t imagine he’ll be on the pro side now either. He’ll fight The Crown in their efforts to ram this through.
“Nick will be—”
“Which is why you can’t tell him,” Alex says.
“Alex,” I breathe out, a tear slipping down my cheek. “Nick and Brice deserve to know what’s at stake. If the king isn’t going to tell them, you need to. Or Queen Helen needs to. Or I will.” My chest tightens unbearably, and I press the heel of my hand to my breastbone.
“I’m in favor of legalizing it, Jules. I’m on my father’s side.” His gaze is tender and pained. “Brice might come around, but I agree with you. I’m not sure Nick will.”
“I won’t have Nick finding out about his father’s illness when the referendum is announced. I can’t do that to him. I won’t. He’d never forgive me. Either you tell him, or you get one of your parents to tell him or—or—I’ll tell him.”
Tears stream down my face, and there’s a creeping desperation in me now. Before when I was keeping the king’s illness from him, that was bad. But this? Knowing the king intends to use legislation he’s running through the court of public opinion without telling Nick and Brice? It’s unacceptable. How can the king’s judgment be so impaired? Why is everyone enabling this?
“I’ll talk to him,” Alex says. His thumb grazes my cheek, catching a tear. “Give me twenty-four hours. If our father won’t tell them,” Alex takes a deep breath, “I will.”
“Oh, thank God,” I murmur. Without thinking, I throw my arms around Alex in a desperate hug. “Thank you. Thank you.”
He squeezes me tight and sighs against my hair. “Jules,” he murmurs.
“Jules!” Nick calls from the hallway.
I draw away from Alex and run my fingers underneath my eyes, averting my gaze from Nick when he appears in the doorway.
