“All those people watching everything you do?”
I stop the ball with my foot. “Honestly? I’ve never been good with the press.”
“But she gets through. Every single time,” Ollie chimes in, pushing himself off the wall. He moves to stand next to me.
“How do you do it, Your Highness?” she asks.
Ollie frowns, looking down at the futbol. He falls quiet as he dribbles the ball from one foot to another. After a few moments, he looks up. “It’s like being in a play. Have you ever been in one?”
“Once I played a tree,” she answers.
“Did you like playing a tree?” he asks.
“I liked getting to be someone else for a bit,” she admits.
“There you go. Being in front of the press is just being someone else for a bit,” he says quietly before kicking the ball in the little girl’s direction. “It’s not so bad, really. As long as you have friends to remind you of who you are when they go away.”
I swallow down the emotion that lodges in my throat.
While I never excused myself from blame when looking back on everything that happened before I left, there was a long while where I blamed Ollie even more. It was easier to believe that he manipulated me. That I hadn’t made the choice of my own free will. That I was just another conquest. It’s why I read those tabloids.
But Ollie had never been those things. Not to me. He had always been the sweetest boy I’d ever known. He was fun and silly and a bit reckless, but he was always there. After I left, the stories about Ollie became wilder, more outlandish. I saw less and less of the Oliver I knew in them, and more and more of the Oliver the press loved—the one who sold papers, drove ratings.
I hadn’t been there to remind him of who he was.
“But I don’t have any friends here,” says Anna, her chin trembling.
I clear my throat, blinking away the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes. “You have us,” I promise.
Ollie throws his arm around my shoulders. “And we’re the best team around.”
Later, after the children have left, Ollie walks me to my room. I’m not entirely sure why he feels the need to, but I don’t question his motives. It’s been a long day, filled with a whirlwind of emotions, and I’m too tired to attempt to decipher any sort of meaning from it all.
“You’re really good at it, you know,” Ollie says once we reach my room.
“At what?” I ask.
“Coaching. Anna could barely connect her foot with the ball before you showed her how. Now, I suspect she could be the first female player for Manchester United,” he says, a smile spreading across his face.
“I think you mean the first female player for Liverpool,” I tease. My hand rests on the doorknob. I’m reluctant to open my bedroom door for all sorts of reasons.
He kicks my foot. “I’m being serious.”
“You? Being serious?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Ollie’s cheeks redden. “For once,” he says softly.
“I guess we all have to be good at something.”
“Ryans,” he says quietly, reaching up and placing a hand on my waist. “I hate when you do that.”
“Do what?” I breathe, finding it hard to concentrate on anything but the way his fingers feel against my body.
“Talk down about yourself like you’re not the single most amazing girl in all the world,” he replies. He places a finger under my chin, so I am forced to look at him. I reach up to run my hand down my hair, but Ollie catches it. He brings my hand up and places it over his heart. “You don’t have to be nervous around me, Ryans. I’ll never do anything you don’t want me to do.”
I look at the way his hand covers mine, so gentle, yet so protective. How safe the sight of our hands together makes me feel. “I don’t know what I want,” I admit.
Ollie squeezes my hand before letting it go. He takes a step back. “That’s all right, too,” he replies, offering a small, pained smile.
“Ollie.”
“Good night, Ryans. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says before turning away.
“Ollie! Wait!” I call out. “I want you to kiss me. I don’t know why I want it, or what it means to want it. All I know is that’s what I want right now.”
Ollie doesn’t hesitate. In a matter of milliseconds, he’s back in front of me, hands on my face, pressing me back against my bedroom door. His lips inches from mine. And then he stops. His eyes search mine, and I think I’ll die from waiting. “Ollie,” I beg, my voice all throaty.
“I’ve thought about what it would be like to kiss you again for three years. Let me have a few seconds to enjoy it, Ryans,” he replies, roughly. Three years? Had Ollie been pining for me for three years? Me? He licks once at his lips, and I groan. The side of his mouth twitches, and I’m about two seconds from punching him right in the gut for making me beg for it.
But then his lips press ever so softly against mine, and I melt into him. My arms reach up and wrap around his neck, and his go around my waist. Ollie’s lips move hesitantly against mine, like he still can’t believe it’s actually happening. I lick once against his bottom lip, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.
Our kiss is deep and long. It lasts an eternity and not long enough all at once.
Somewhere in the distance I hear the chime of a clock, and I can’t help but wonder if, for once, I kicked time’s ass.
Chapter Twenty-One
17 Years, 7 Months, and 8 Days
“The king wants to see me? Why?” I ask, hurriedly wiping the tears from my cheeks.
“One doesn’t ask the king of England why he wants something, Alexandra,” Mrs. Wright answers from the other side of my closed bedroom door. “Now, you come out this second before I come in there and drag you out.”
I glance at my reflection in the mirror. My face blotchy and streaked with tears. My hair matted from doing nothing but lying in bed for days wallowing in my mistakes. I couldn’t see the king like this. “I’m not fit to be seen. I’m not feeling well, Mrs. Wright,” I call out.
“Two minutes, Alexandra,” she warns.
I reach up and pull at my hair, rocking back and forth on my bed. Why couldn’t I have had a different life? There is only one reason the king can want to see me. He must have heard about what happened. Some staff must have overheard. Seen Aiden storm out of my room, listened as Ollie and I fought. Most girls got to make mistakes without having to answer to a king.
At least beheading isn’t still a thing.
There’s always the Tower.
“Please, Mrs. Wright,” I beg, my voice breaking.
Either she doesn’t hear me or she chooses to ignore my request because the only response I get is silence. Which means I have about a minute and a half to pull myself together. I quickly run a brush through my hair before pulling it back into a ponytail. I throw on a pair of clean jeans and the least wrinkled shirt I can find. There’s not much I can do about my blotchy face or the bags under my eyes.
Mrs. Wright and I walk in silence to the king’s private study, which does nothing for my nerves. Mrs. Wright is rarely ever quiet. She knocks gently on his door. “You may come in,” he calls out.
“You heard him. Go on, my child.”
“You’re…you’re not coming with me?” I stammer.
Mrs. Wright reaches out and takes my hand into hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Then she opens the door and ushers me in. I spin around to beg her to join us, but she quickly shuts the door behind me.
“Alexandra. Thank you for joining us.”
Us?
I slowly turn around to find both Aiden and Ollie sitting in the chairs across from their father’s desk. Aiden’s shoulders are slumped and his head hangs down while Ollie stares straight ahead, refusing to look my way. I think I manage to nod. I reach up and run my hand down the length of my ponytail not once, not twice, but three times before I clutch my shirt to stop myself.
“I was hoping you could help me clear up a little situation tha
t has arisen between my two sons,” the king explains.
I gulp. “A situation?” I squeak.
“Yes. It appears Aiden and Oliver are having a bit of a row. Which is normal amongst siblings I am told. I never had any brothers or sisters, so I was never privy to such a luxury. I wouldn’t think much of it except Mrs. Wright informs me that Liam had to pull them apart this morning.”
“You fought?” I ask, darting my eyes to the two boys who mean everything in the world to me. Tears pool in my eyes. Aiden hangs his head lower as Ollie clenches his jaw. Both still refuse to look my way.
“They did indeed, Alexandra. When I questioned them as to the cause, neither would answer. So, here we are,” he replies, standing up from his desk. He walks over to me, taking my hands into his. “As my sons’ dearest of friends, I was hoping you could help shed some light on what’s behind all this.”
His sons’ dearest of friends. I used to be that. Not anymore. And here is the king of England, looking down at me, begging me to help mend his son’s relationship when I was the one to shatter it. I open my mouth and then close it. He welcomed my father and me into his home, and I ruined it.
“She has nothing to do with this, father,” Aiden mumbles. “Please, let her go. Can’t you see this is making her uncomfortable?”
My heart tightens at the sound of Aiden’s voice. So dull and empty.
“So, now you’re worried about her feelings?” scoffs Ollie. Unlike Aiden’s hollowed voice, his rages and snarls. “Not all those months you were away at school without a word? Now, you care because maybe she doesn’t care back?”
The king drops my hands, turning his attention to his sons. I take a step toward them. Ollie and I had stayed up late once watching some cheesy science fiction movie about a black hole that sucked up an entire planet. That’s sort of how this feels.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Oliver,” Aiden replies, shaking his head. He still won’t look up. He stares down on to the floor as if he wishes he could fall through it.
I take another step closer. I don’t know why. I have no words to share. I have no idea how to make them stop. I just need to be near them. I can’t stand seeing them like this.
“Aiden,” I plead, begging him to look up.
“Of course you’re worried about him,” Ollie accuses.
Aiden bolts up from his chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. “Please, father. Just let her go. It has nothing to do with her.”
It has everything to do with me. I sneak a look over at Ollie, who glowers at me. I quickly dart my eyes away. “It’s all my fault,” I say quietly.
For the first time since I’ve entered the room, Aiden looks at me. “Don’t, Aly.”
“Would someone be so kind as to tell me why two of my sons are fighting and Alexandra is crying?” asks the king. I reach up and touch my cheek. When did I start crying? “Tell me,” he demands, “so we may all talk this out and fix it.”
How could he know there was no fixing it? I take a step away from the feuding brothers, nearly running straight into the king. He places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “What did you do, Oliver?”
“What did I do? Why would you assume this is all my fault?” Ollie asks, rounding on his father.
“Because it’s always your fault!” snaps Aiden. “The eternal screw-up. The boy who thinks everything is a joke and everyone exists to amuse him!” The emptiness of his voice is replaced with something new, less refined.
“Aiden,” his father chides. “Lower your voice, please.”
“Yes, Aiden, make sure none of the staff can hear you while you blame all of your life’s problems on me. Even the ones that’re your own doing,” spits Ollie, pushing himself into Aiden’s space.
“No, not all of my problems, Oliver, just most of them,” Aiden retorts, stepping up to Ollie’s taunt. The two boys stand chest to chest, and I wonder how long it will be before they come to blows again.
“You had your chance, and you didn’t take it,” Ollie retorts, jabbing his finger forcefully into Aiden’s chest.
“Please, make them stop,” I beg the king.
“Boys—”
“Is that why you chose me?” Ollie asks, suddenly looking in my direction. Were those tears in his eyes?
“Wh-what?” I stutter.
“Because he didn’t want you? And it would hurt him?” he charges.
His words nearly knock the wind out of me. That wasn’t why. At first, I thought I had chosen Ollie because he was safe. He’s my best friend. But now I am starting to realize that maybe I chose him for another reason.
Before I can attempt to explain, Aiden latches onto the fabric of Ollie’s shirt and pushes him across the room. I look up at the king, wide-eyed, willing him to make it all end, but he seems about as shocked as I feel.
“You manipulated her!” Aiden yells as he stalks over to Ollie. “You’re still just an immature little boy who always tries to steal his brother’s toys.”
“Your Highness,” I beg, the tears streaming down my face now.
“Boys,” he tries to plead, but it makes no difference. He’s never had to raise his voice. Never had to go without. Never had to fight for what he wanted. Everybody always listened and always obeyed.
Not anymore.
Feelings, the ones like these, don’t obey.
“No, brother,” Ollie says. “That’s where you’re wrong. She’s not some simpleton of a girl who doesn’t know her own mind. At least I think highly enough of her to know that. I didn’t have to manipulate her. In fact, she was the one who asked me to sleep with her!”
There it was. Right there out in the open.
The room falls silent. Aiden’s face crumples as he looks over at me. His shoulders slump back down as he trudges over to his chair. He drops into it, placing his head in his hands. I look over at Ollie, whose face has gone pale. Like any second he’s going to get sick. I try to catch his eyes, but he won’t look at me.
I spin on my heels and beeline it for the door. I don’t wait to be dismissed. It takes me several tries to turn the doorknob, my vision blinded by a downpour of tears. Once I manage to locate it, I yank the door open with all my might.
And I run straight into my father.
The chalky white of his complexion. The stiffness of his stance. The way he can’t look me in the eye. It’s obvious—he heard everything.
“Daddy?” I cry.
“Go to your room, Alexandra,” he replies in a low voice.
I don’t argue with him. What would be the point? Everything is already so messed up, so I simply nod. I’m not five feet from the room before the yelling starts. My father yelling at the king like he’s some bloke in a pub. Then he turns his wrath on Ollie.
As I move down the hallway toward my room, I’m less and less able to make out their words, but the ones I do mark me. Brand me. Damn me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
22 Years, 10 Months, and 7 Days
With only a few days until the wedding, activity at the palace goes from busy to frenzied. Every corner of the massive estate is filled with wedding coordinators, cousins of cousins, friends of friends, anyone and everyone who has some connection to the Crown. So, when Aiden tells me to pack an overnight bag and be ready at five, I’m surprised for a multitude of reasons. When I attempt to question him, he simply makes me promise, and then jets off to some meeting he insists can’t be put off.
Ollie and I haven’t had much of a chance to talk since sharing that kiss. The kiss that keeps me up most nights. The kiss that is like playing a game of Russian roulette with my life. He’s been occupied with the duties of a groomsman, and I’m trying to spend every available moment I have with my father. Especially since I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be hanging around. The wedding will be over soon, and as far as my father knows, I’ll be headed home to go back to school.
Staying would be all kinds of complicated. It would mean fessing up to my father, and I certainly have a lot to confess. It wou
ld also mean confronting this thing between Ollie and me. Even if I somehow manage to convince myself that we could keep it casual, I am walking a tightrope with a thousand hungry sharks swarming underneath me. All it would take is one reporter to break the story, and my mess would affect everyone else. Because when you date a royal, you are, in fact, an extension of the Crown itself.
I am so screwed.
I blow air out through my lips as I spot Aiden waiting by the car. Where are we going, and why do I need an overnight bag? Why does the thought of being alone with Aiden make me so anxious? And not in the same way the thought of being alone with Ollie does? Years ago, I’d give up just about anything for time alone with Aiden, but now I feel guilty.
“Let me get that for you, lass,” Liam says before taking my tattered book bag from off my shoulders. He frowns as he holds it up. “You’d think the daughter of a former ambassador and best friend of a couple of princes could afford a nicer bag.”
I shrug. “You know me, Liam. Never did quite care about appearances.”
He gives my faded jeans and Nike athletic shirt a once-over. “Can’t say I disagree with you there.” I open my mouth to let him hear all the curse words I remember from that summer the Dudley boys and I took Spanish, curse words being the only vocabulary I remember, but Liam grins. “Don’t worry, Aly. You’re still my favorite lass.”
“Watch it, Liam! I’m pretty sure she could take you down. You should have seen what she did to poor Henry during the stag party.” Ollie laughs from behind me.
I spin around to find him holding a duffel bag over his shoulder. I can’t stop the smile that crawls across my face. “Ollie! You’re here!”
“Of course I am,” he replies back with a grin. His eyes dart over to Aiden, and his smile falters. “You didn’t think it was just going to be you two, did you?”
“I’d like to point out that I could stop anything Aly throws my way,” Liam interrupts, reaching for Ollie’s bag. “But even if I hadn’t, well, I know quite a few strong men who’ve been brought down by the likes of Alexandra Ryans,” he says, shooting a glance between Aiden and Ollie.
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