by S. L. Scott
I reach over and rub her leg. “The game’s recorded from earlier this week. We can fast forward.”
“What? Why have you been holding out on me? I can’t handle any more of those macho men pill commercials that air during every break.”
Tempted to make a joke about her handling things, I know I shouldn’t. Like she said earlier, we’ve become masters of avoidance when it comes to certain topics. I click off the TV. “We can watch that later. I’d like to come back to our earlier conversation.”
Angling my direction, she keeps her body covered with the blanket as she rearranges. This is the first time I feel like our relationship isn’t teetering on the next thing I say, and we have space to air our thoughts without any interruptions. That’s a good start.
Sitting forward, I hold her ankles and run my hands up and over her calves and back down. “Let’s talk about you being queen. I think decisions can be made based on that answer.”
“What’s the question?”
“If you have the choice, I can only assume you’ll take the throne.” I try to be careful on the next part, but I think being direct with her is best. “Whatever you decide, we’ll handle it together. You’re my future, Ally. I love you.” She smiles and nods, but I’m not truly sure what is going on in her mind yet. She hasn’t denied us for the first time, so, should I feel relief? “What if you don’t become queen?”
As if the idea has never occurred to her, her brow furrows. “I don’t understand what you mean. It’s my born right to claim the crown.”
“Unless—”
“Unless nothing, Hutton.” She sits up, the blanket slipping down. Gripping it as if she finds security in the fibers, she says, “I will be queen, even if I have to fight for it.”
“Your father said—”
“My father called me a whore. They’d have to prove I’ve broken the law to keep me from the crown.”
Feisty has always been one of my favorite qualities of hers, but when it comes to this sensitive topic, I worry that she’s hiding behind it instead of dealing with the possible repercussions. “Can they do that?”
“Do what? Prove that I’m a whore? That I’m not a virgin?” Even saying it makes her eyes change, amusement filling them.
“No.” I move closer and take her hand between mine. “We both know you’re not a whore. What the fuck? Who even thinks like that about women? Says a lot about your dad.”
“Father. Anyway,” she replies, seeming to shrug it off, “I guess they could if they wanted. One visit to the doctor could confirm their suspicion.”
“Would they do that?”
She pulls her hand back. “I doubt it. The throne is mine, Hut. Why are we talking about this? We can watch more of the football game? Or . . .” Getting up, she crooks a finger for me to follow. “We can have fun in the bedroom.” She spins on her bare heels and heads down the hall, the blanket trailing like a train behind her.
I follow because yeah, I would go anywhere when it comes to her. The thought makes me pause. In the space between the living room and the master bedroom, I stand and ask myself the question I didn’t realize was a real possibility until now. Would I?
Would I follow Ally anywhere? Give up my life in the US to live out hers?
I blow out a push of air. Somehow in the past few days, my life hasn’t just flipped upside down, but it has also jumped the rails. I start walking again because these questions seem to come secondary to the ones I’m asking of her.
I open a drawer and pull out a pair of underwear and a shirt, slipping them both on. I hand her a T-shirt as well and then move farther into the room, clicking the blinds open again and standing in front of the windows looking out at the nightscape. Not knowing how much room I should give her, I let her decide by staying put. “It’s important for you to take a minute to look at your options.”
Turning toward the middle of the room, she pulls on the shirt that hangs mid-thigh, and asks, “What are you talking about?” I have a feeling she knows what I’m talking about, but as usual, she’s pushing the fear away instead of facing it.
“I understand this is a tricky and touchy subject, but it needs to be discussed. We both need a plan in place.”
“There’s only one plan for me.”
“Then what about me?”
“Are you going somewhere?”
“No, but when your life leaves the station, I don’t want to be left on the platform.”
Her shoulders fall with her expression. “I wouldn’t leave you behind like that. It’s confusing. We’re making life decisions as if we’ve dated for years. I shouldn’t have hidden who I was from you once we started seeing each other exclusively, but do you understand why I did? Why I had to?”
“I do understand, but I didn’t like it. I still don’t. That last night we had in Austin, you should have told me. You were leaving. Your heart was already gone, so you could have spared mine.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s the reason when I see you, I can’t stay away. I don’t just see you. I feel you inside me.” Even now, she struggles to maintain the five feet of distance that divides us, but then she comes to me, winning her own battle. With her hands on my chest, she asks, “Do you feel the heart that beats inside you? That’s mine. That’s mine because I left it with you in that hotel room.”
I cover her hands with mine. “If I would have known, I would have taken better care.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve taken the best care. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Hutton, but what if . . . what if I’m never crowned queen?”
Reality starts to sink in, and I hate that I was the messenger, even if she did need to consider all possibilities. Bringing one of her hands up, I kiss the tips of her fingers. “Then you’ll be the same person. You’ll be Ally.”
The room seems bigger with her in it. Her frame appears smaller in her sadness as if she’s shrinking away. “Ally was only supposed to be temporary.”
“I think you’re more Ally than you ever were Arabelle.”
Backing away, I hate it, but I’ll let her go if she needs the space to think. She balls the hem of the shirt in her hands. “Because you don’t know that side of me, but that’s who I am.”
“I only know who you were with me. I like to believe you gave me the real you. Did you?”
“You know I did,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “But that’s not who I want to be forever. I would choose Arabelle any day over being plain ole Ally.”
The insult burns. “How can you hate what I love so much?” I strike back. My words cause her to jerk her neck back in response.
“Hate? I don’t hate being Ally. Ally is quite freeing from my daily pressures, but I was born to be—”
“I know what you were born to be. I get it. But you were Ally of your own accord. Choice. That’s the difference here. Deep down, I believe Ally is who you really want to be, but because all your life you’ve been groomed to be queen, you’ve never thought any other option was a possibility. And I get that too. But what if you now have a choice?” Her mouth hangs open, but I keep going because it needs to be said. “What’s this bad reputation everyone keeps talking about? What did you do that got you exiled the first time?”
Standing in defiance, she gasps. “I’ve never been exiled. I went to school in England because my horizons needed to be broadened. I went to Texas to further my studies to help my country.”
“Help your country or spare your parents the embarrassment?”
She turns toward the bathroom but stops and drops her head. When she looks back at me, conflict is warring in her eyes. “I thought you were different.”
“I am. That’s why you haven’t run away.” Coming closer, I say, “I’m team Ally. I’m team Arabelle. I’m team you. Whoever you want to be, I’m rooting for you.”
“Then why are you arguing with me?”
I like that she’s been bold, standing her ground, standing up to me when it’
s something she believes in. But I also like that she’s not running from me or hiding. “I’m not. I’m trying to make you see that no matter what you say to me, I’m still not your enemy. So when you mistakenly think I’m here like every other person in your life, looking to gain from you or to judge you, you’ll be wrong. You can trust me.”
“I know.”
“Don’t you see, Ally? I’m the one with everything to lose.”
She does trust me, and I can still hear the softness of her tone when she asks, “What do you have to lose, Hutton?”
“You.”
25
Ally
Me.
With the mess I’ve caused him and the loss of a billion-dollar deal, how does Hutton Everest still only care about me? “You mean that?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” In business, I imagine the man before me is a force to be reckoned with, but to me, he’s always so endearing. I don’t know what it is about this moment—maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me or because I know I can trust him—but I spill the only other secret I’ve been keeping from him. “I need to tell you something.”
While he sits on a bench under the window, I move to the edge of the bed. “You’ve heard about the press trying to ruin me in Brudenbourg through bits of conversations that shouldn’t have been spoken in front of you.”
“But you could’ve, and I wouldn’t have told anyone.”
“I know, but I didn’t want Jakob or anyone else saying anything because I didn’t want you to think less of me, but being with me means certain things won’t remain secret. Being with me, you should know what you’re getting into—”
“I’m already in too deep to turn back now, princess.”
“I love your spunk.”
He suddenly looks traumatized. “What?”
“What?” I volley back unsure why he’s reacting that way.
“You love my spunk?”
“Yes. What am I missing?”
His handsome features relax, and he starts chuckling. Rubbing his hands over his face, he replies, “I thought . . . Never mind. My thoughts are in the gutter. Sorry.”
Why do I feel like I’ve missed something big here? I make a mental note to research spunk later.
Getting us back on track, he asks, “Why did the press make up lies about you?”
“They didn’t. I never said the press was wrong. I said they tried to ruin me. I was so good, always keeping up appearances, but on the inside, I was unsettled. I liked to challenge my parents, as they call it. But I wasn’t challenging them. I was challenging the world I lived in. No kissing. No dates. No boys. Dress a certain way. Wear my hair pulled back. No jeans. No shorts. Don’t show my legs. God, it was a nightmare. And when I say that, I realize I sound spoiled, and that some people have real-world problems. But as a teenager, with my hormones out of whack, everything is emotionally bigger than it really is. So I rebelled.”
“Against?”
“The system. The laws. My parents. My country’s traditions. I snuck out to go on dates. I kissed boys until my lips were swollen and hickeys had to be hidden by turtlenecks in summer. I would go to the beach and wear a bikini and hang out with my friends. I’d drink and party, but you know what I never did that was thrown into their gossip column without regard to how it might affect me?”
“What?”
“The ex that I caught with Sabine Rosalie finally got his revenge after I broke up with him for cheating on me.”
Hutton takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, then he flexes his fingers and stands, bracing his arms to his sides. My injured heart hurts him. That’s how much he loves me. With every fiber of his being.
“He told everyone I had sex with him,” I say, and then shrug like it didn’t affect me when, in reality, it destroyed my reputation . . . and me. “Doesn’t seem like a big thing, but in my country, we have a law—”
“The chastity law.” Closing the distance between us, he rubs my upper arms. “And then your father called you a name.”
“Whore. That was part of the headline. Princess Whorabelle. It’s quite clever, don’t you think?” I try to lighten the mood, though I feel the same pain as the day I read it.
“No. It’s cruel.” His eyes don’t leave me, and although I want to put on a brave face, when I raise my chin, it quivers, so I lower it again, sucking in a stifling breath.
“They sold the story worldwide, but I was soon forgotten when a European royal stepped out of line, but it still hurt.”
Settling between my legs, he stands before me and holds my arms. “They’re assholes. Regardless if the attention shifted, they hurt you. If I could fix it, I would. I’m sorry you had to go through that. I take it your father sided with the article.”
“And put me on a plane to England for university. You can’t throw a stone without hitting a royal over there. Then later to Texas. I was told to blend in, keep my head down, and study.” I sighed. “I did. Until I came home. Some wild ways can’t be tamed. The name came back as soon as I landed on Brudenbourg soil. Why fight fate?”
“Because that wasn’t your fate. That was bullshit made up about you. Only you determine your destiny.” If only that were true. My country determines my destiny. It always has. And for some reason, I’ve believed I wasn’t really to blame for having to leave, that it was the stupid laws at fault.
He takes a step back when I stand. “I’ve been lying to myself.”
“About?”
“I tried to pretend I wasn’t exiled, but you’re right. I was. Even if it was for a short time in the scheme of my life, I was forbidden from returning. I should start using the correct terminology. It’s going to be the only way I will heal from that betrayal.” I stretch my neck to the side, noticing some of the normal tension is gone. “Acknowledging the truth is kind of freeing. I already feel lighter.”
“Share those truths and free your whole being.”
“I have one for you.”
I like his smile—kind, trustworthy, friendly. “Hit me with it.”
“I’m not a whore.” I shrug for an entirely different reason this time. “I may act like one when I’m in bed with you, but that doesn’t define who I am to the world.”
“No, it doesn’t.” With his head tilted down, he chuckles to himself while rubbing the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip. Peeking up, he says, “I have a secret.”
My body stills, having no clue what he’s going to say. “What is it?”
“I looked up the chastity law.”
“Oh. Okay. This is not where I thought this conversation was going.”
“Did you know we’ve broken not only the chastity law about a hundred times over?” Seriousness belies his expression, then he starts laughing. “But we’ve violated at least eight other of your laws.”
I burst out laughing. “Oh my God,” I say with a smile so big on my face that my cheeks hurt. So much so that tears form in my eyes. I try to catch my breath, but my laughter causes me to bend over. “And here I was only worried about the one.” Finally catching my breath, I say, “I needed that.”
“Yeah, you did.” He comes over and hugs me again. “Let me know what I can do for you, or how I can help, and I will. Anything.”
My head is kissed. “Same goes for you.” I lift up to kiss this awesome mountain of a man on the chin. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
“I think I’m going to take a bath. Want to join me?”
“You. Naked. Water. Me. Hell yes, I want to join you.”
Moving into the bathroom, he starts the water to fill the tub. We’re okay in the silence because we’re good. Team us. I pour bubble bath in and slip my hand under the water as I sit on the edge of the tub.
When it’s more than half full, Hutton takes my hand, helping me to balance so I don’t slip while I get in. The heat of the water feels so good to my sore muscles from traveling.
Hutton strips down again and steps in, settling opposite from me, our leg
s tangling. He asks, “I might be the reason you’re not the queen?”
“You’re not. It will be all on me. I knowingly broke the law with you.”
“When you say that, you make it sound like you were a virgin when we slept together.” He laughs, but when I don’t, he stops and stares. Understanding sinks into his melty chocolate eyes. Water splashes over the edge when he bolts upright. “Why aren’t you laughing?” The question is asked with a serious edge.
I bite my lip, knowing I have to be honest and expose the truth just as we’ve been doing since we arrived. I should have been honest from the beginning, but it felt so good to be someone else when we first met. We were drawn together as if destiny played a hand in bringing us together that night. The right place at the right time. The short version of us meeting in a bar will never capture the magic of how our great love story started.
Gliding through the water, I sit on his lap and bend to kiss his neck. He grows between my legs. His hardness feels slick beneath the layer of bubble bath and I move enough to let him know what I want. “You taught me everything I know.”
His shoulders are tense, so I massage the muscles while I rub other parts of his body with mine. I close my eyes as the sharp points of his five o’clock shadow scrape against my cheek. The pleasure of this pain takes my mind off anything except him. My hips are stopped, held in place, and he says, “Look at me, Ally.”
“I am.” My gaze goes from his eyes to his mouth, then to his chest and his forehead until my jaw is captured and angled, so I look into his eyes.
“Were you a virgin?”
“Everyone’s a virgin before having sex.”
“I’m serious.”
“What’s the big deal anyway?”
When he lowers his eyes to the water, I see the conflict written in his forehead. His hands dip under the water and seem to find my ass on their own accord, holding me still on his lap. After a heavy sigh, he says, “The big deal is that we did things I don’t normally do. With you, sex isn’t sex. It’s an experience—mindful and deeply connective on another level from physical. You push me for more, and because I want to please you, I do whatever you need. But then I become selfish. I didn’t treat you right that first night, for your first time. Had I known, I would have done things differently.”
