by Mia Taylor
“Your Highness, I do not mean to be pushy, but the king himself—”
“Did you not hear me?” Isadora snapped, whirling to face him. “I am in the middle of something!”
Jacques bowed apologetically.
“Yes, Your Highness,” he murmured, backing out of Vivier’s suite where Isadora seemed to be spending more time.
The queen barely heard him shuffle away and for a brief moment, she completely empathized with her son.
I cannot get a moment of peace in this place, she thought with some anger. I’m the queen and I’m constantly hassled. It’s preposterous.
Logically, Isadora knew that she should have been at the meeting twenty minutes earlier, but she could not bring herself to leave her son’s suite.
It had been two months since Vivier had vanished, left without so much as a word after selling his pride and joy. The only thing that Isadora had gleaned for certain was that Vivier had gone willingly and without threat of violence.
“I am shocked, Your Highness,” Pierre told her when she informed him that Vivier was missing. “I mean, I suspected that something was amiss, of course, but I never imagined that he would leave the country. He didn’t mention anything like that!”
Isadora could read the surprise in his face and the disappointment had been overwhelming.
At first, she had been certain that her son would simply return after a few weeks of sulking. After all, how far could he get with two hundred thousand Euros? Vivier had no concept of money or frugal spending. Even after being alive as long as he had, he couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to live on his own.
Isadora was sure that once he ran low on funds, he would be back at the palace with his tail between his legs, just as Emile had said.
But as the days passed and she did not hear one word from him, nor did any reports of his whereabouts surface, Isadora began to feel uneasy.
It was not that she necessarily believed he was in danger. Vivier was a vampire, after all. He wasn’t going to hurt himself or die, regardless of what trouble befell him, but those facts didn’t diminish Isadora’s uneasiness.
He was not a small boy who needed coddling, but he was a male who had no experience in the real world.
“I want to know where he went, Emile,” she told her husband after a month. “I don’t feel good that he has simply vanished into thin air.”
Her husband had snorted.
“He is the Prince of Luxembourg, Isa. I assure you, he will be spotted sooner or later.”
“Make some calls, Emile,” she insisted, but he waved at her dismissively. “Call Interpol and the CIA if you must. I want to know where he is!”
“I will not waste another second chasing after your son while he is in the middle of a temper tantrum. If you want to run after him, be my guest, but do not bring it to me again! I have a kingdom to run, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Isadora could not believe how cold her husband was being, but she did not bother to argue her case anymore. It was pointless and she was getting increasingly angry at having to convince Emile that her son was worthy of his pride.
Instead she sent for Jacques.
“Find out where Vivier went,” she told him flatly. “And make sure that no one knows we are looking for him. If word gets out that he has gone without royal leave…”
She inhaled sharply, thinking of the shame it would bring to the house if people learned the prince had gone AWOL.
“You do not need to say more, my queen,” he assured her. “I will make calls and find out where he has gone.”
True to his word, Jacques learned her son’s whereabouts the very same day.
“He took a flight to San Diego on July 16th,” Jacques told her and Isadora felt her heart sink.
Of all the places to go…
“America?” she whispered. “Why?”
She idly wondered if Vivier was trying to humiliate them by going there, particularly when their immigration policies were so confusing. Getting him to come home would be a political nightmare.
Maybe that’s why he did it.
The advisor didn’t respond but he did not need to; the answer was clear.
Vivier wanted distance and space.
“You’re taking Vivier’s place as being a sulking brat now?”
She spun to stare at her husband as he stormed into the room, his chocolate brown eyes furious.
“Excuse me?” she hissed in disbelief. “What did you just say to me?”
Instantly, Emile’s eyes shadowed as if he realized he’d gone too far, but he didn’t recant or apologize.
“You are leaving the council to wait while you daydream?” Emile demanded, closing the space between them. “Everyone is waiting on you.”
“I think you have forgotten who you are speaking to,” Isadora snarled icily. “You may be able to bully Vivier with your words, but do not begin to think you can speak to me in such a vile way. Mind your tongue, Emile, before you say something you truly regret.”
The king’s face paled more than usual.
“I’m sorry, Isa, but this meeting is very important. I am under a great deal of stress to—”
“I am well aware of what needs to be done in the trade sector,” she retorted. “It does not give you the right to use that tone with me.”
“Yes, liebling. Forgive me. Please, tell me what I can do to ease your suffering right now.”
“You can find my son,” she replied flatly, turning away from him, but not before she saw the flash of anger in her husband’s eyes.
“You are doing no one any good by moping around like this, Isadora. He is a grown male who is capable of making his own choices, no matter how dismal they may be. If he cannot handle the responsibility of being a prince, let us see how well he fares in America without any money. I promise you, they are much crueller to our kind in the new world than they are in the old.”
She whirled to look at him, her eyes almost slits as she studied his face.
“What?” Emile demanded. “It’s true!”
“How did you know he went to America?” she asked. “Do you know where he went?”
Emile scoffed but his eyes shot downward to avoid meeting her eyes.
“Of course not. Jacques is my advisor first and foremost. If you believe that anything happens in the palace without my knowing, you are more delusional than Vivier. I demand that you stop this madness once and for all. If your son wants to come back, he will be met with strict terms and I assure you, he will not like the life he is coming back to, not after this drama.”
Isadora’s mouth became a slash of anger.
“You are impossible,” she told him coldly. “It is no shock that Vivier finds you unbearable.”
Emile chortled mirthlessly.
“Yes, he has been terribly abused. You know, Isadora, your enabling has not helped make him a better person. You would do well to remember that even mother birds toss their young from the nest in order to watch them fly.”
Emile spun and she watched him storm from the suite, her mind whirling, her husband’s words reverberating through her mind.
What if he’s right? What if this journey is beneficial to Vivier? Maybe I’m being too protective. I can’t expect him to prove his worth while I coddle him simultaneously.
Sighing, Isadora adjusted her sash and exited the suite to join the council.
Emile was right about one thing, even if he was off about everything else; she was doing no one any good by letting her duties fall through the cracks. She was still Queen of Luxembourg and she had responsibilities to tend to, regardless of what was happening in her heart.
She had warned Vivier about the importance of maintaining a solid, unified front for the people. She would be a hypocrite if she didn’t uphold the same decorum.
Still, she could not simply banish Vivier from her thoughts as easily as Emile, even if that was exactly what the prince was hoping for.
I am his mother, after all.
Chapter Eight
The Plot Darkens
“Hey, Quinn. Can I join you?”
She glanced up, brushing a stray piece of blonde hair from her forehead. It was Betsy, a seasoned nurse from intensive care.
Quinn nodded eagerly, smiling, and waved a hand cordially.
“Sure,” she agreed. “I’m just grabbing a quick bite before heading to the maternity ward. They’re short-staffed today.”
Betsy snorted, plopping onto the orange plastic chair unceremoniously.
“What the hell else is new?” she grunted, rolling her hazel eyes skyward. “Actually, I was hoping they would send you my way, but, of course, God never listens to my prayers. I should probably go to confession more often.” Betsy grinned wickedly. “Or maybe I should stop sinning as much.”
Quinn laughed. She liked Betsy. The girl was as down to earth as they came and Quinn felt an affinity toward her.
“I can try to sneak away if it’s not terribly busy,” she offered, stuffing a French fry into her mouth. “But I can’t promise anything. It’s a full moon tonight and you know what that means.”
Betsy snorted again.
“Do I ever. Nah, I can manage. I’ve done it more or less alone for ten years. I shouldn’t spoil myself by thinking that I’m going to get any help anytime soon.”
Again, the nurse grinned at the aide to show she was joking, but just as quickly as the smile formed on her mouth, it froze into a look of shock.
“Oh, hot damn!”
Betsy’s face registered stunned shock and Quinn whipped her head around to see where she was looking.
Her eyes were fixated on a custodian making his way through the cafeteria, pushing a cleaning cart almost lazily.
It seemed that every second step he took, a female would stop and demand his attention and it took a moment for Quinn to understand why everyone was paying so much attention to the janitor.
Yet when he turned his head to the side, her breath caught in her throat.
“Is that what janitors look like these days?” Betsy gasped. “Well, hose me down and spank my ass! I take back what I said about sinning.”
“You sound like you could use a cold hosing,” Quinn laughed, turning back to her meal. Her eye was on her pager, knowing it was apt to go off any second. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by anyone, gorgeous or not.
“I haven’t seen that hunk of meat around here before,” Betsy muttered and Quinn wondered if she was even aware she was speaking aloud.
Or if she knows she’s drooling.
Quinn swallowed a smile as her pager vibrated against the table.
Sighing, she stuffed the rest of her chicken Caesar wrap into her mouth, trying desperately to chew the too-large piece as she collected her tray. She felt like she hadn’t eaten anything in days.
She waved at Betsy, gesturing at her pager, and the nurse waved her off in understanding.
Still choking down her sandwich, Quinn whirled, tray in hand, and ran directly into the custodian who was passing behind her.
The tray flew to the ground and she began to choke as a piece of tortilla lodged in her throat.
Her eyes bugging, she stared at the shocked staff member, but only for a second.
Before even Betsy could register what was happening, the janitor spun her around, placing his fists beneath her ribcage, and began performing the Heimlich maneuver on her, pressing himself firmly against her from behind and forcing the piece of food from her esophagus.
The morsel dislodged, flying halfway across the room and landing with a sickening splat on a table where three attendings sat, watching the scene with morbid fascination. For a moment, time seemed to freeze and everyone stared at the duo in confusion.
Coughing and wheezing, Quinn doubled over as the man released her, patting her back gently.
“Oh my God!” Betsy laughed, a near squeal to her voice now that she realized that disaster had been averted. “Are you all right?”
Humiliated, Quinn nodded, regaining her breath as the people in the cafeteria burst into admiring applause.
“Imagine that!” Betsy chortled, wagging her fingers condescendingly at the doctors and nurses in the room. “A room full of medical staff and the janitor had to save her life. Shame on all of you!”
“I didn’t see you get off your ass, Bets!” someone yelled indignantly, but Quinn ignored everyone but the man who had saved her from a most embarrassing death.
“Thank you,” she breathed. She suddenly realized how close she was to the handsome stranger.
He held her gaze with piercing emerald eyes and smiled.
There was something inherently familiar about him but the recognition was gone before Quinn could identify it.
“Are you okay now?” he asked and she heard the thick Germanic undertones to his accent. She nodded quickly, shifting her eyes downward. She was feeling increasingly uncomfortable and was grateful when her pager went off again, giving her an excuse to leave.
“I’m sorry,” she said, gesturing at the device. “I have to go, but, uh, thank you again.”
He nodded, refusing to break his intense stare, and Quinn got the distinct impression that he enjoyed making women uneasy.
He's one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen, she thought. I bet he knows that too.
“She’s gotta go, honey bunny, but I got all the time in the world,” Quinn heard Betsy coo. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what it’s like to be a hero.”
Wasn’t she just complaining that she’s so busy in intensive care? Quinn thought with some annoyance. But Bets can always make time for a hot guy, can’t she?
Quinn rolled her eyes, but to her surprise, she found herself glancing back to see if the man had accepted Betsy’s offer.
To her mild irritation, he claimed the seat she had been sitting in a minute earlier and Betsy leaned in, giggling.
Yeah, he knows he’s hot. They always do when they’re that attractive.
She pushed the incident out of her mind, still embarrassed it had happened at all, and made her way to the maternity wing.
Soon, she had all but forgotten about what had happened, her day consumed with the comings and goings of parents and babies as she struggled to keep up with the flow.
At five o’clock, she bolted out the front of El Cajon Family Health Center and started up East Madison Avenue for home before someone could talk her into staying later. She was lucky she’d been able to get out before being cornered.
She jogged against the fresh evening air, determined to eat something before starting her shift at the call center that night, but as every other night, it was likely wishful thinking.
Instantly, the memory of the last thing she’d eaten came flooding back into her mind, staining her cheeks crimson.
You’ve never seen that custodian before and you probably won’t see him again, she reminded herself optimistically, but the thought only filled her with familiar guilt. She owed the man her life, after all.
You’ve got to get to work. Never mind the janitor now.
Her plans of quitting the call center and moving into a smaller, less expensive apartment had been dashed when Quinn had sat down with Spencer two months earlier.
She had spent hours rehearsing the conversation in her own mind, preparing a solid speech that would end with a warm, heartfelt hug, but when the time had come, God had mocked her again.
“We need to talk,” they said in unison. Quinn had bit on her lower lip and stared at him warily.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “You go first.”
“I have cancer,” Spencer blurted out as they sat down. “Stomach. Three tumors.”
Shock and terror filled Quinn as tears flooded her eyes.
“What?” she gasped. “How? When did you find out?”
He sighed deeply and shook his head.
“I’ve known for a while but I didn’t want to tell you anything, Quinn. You have so much to worry about as it is.”
She h
ad stared at him, mouth agape.
“You ass!” she yelled, smacking him. “Who have you told? How could you keep this from me?”
He shook his head miserably.
“No one,” he murmured. “I don’t want to tell my family, Quinn. I’m scared.”
She nodded and threw her arms around him.
“Don’t worry about anything, Spence. Everything is going to be all right,” she assured him, blinking her eyes in rapid succession so he would not see her cry.
“I won’t be able to work for a while,” he told her after a long moment. “There will be surgery, chemo, radiation…”
“The only thing you need to worry about is getting better,” she told him sincerely. “Everything else is secondary.”
“Quinn, you’re going to die if you—”
“Don’t say that word!” she snapped with more force than she intended. “No one is going to die. I can carry us for a while. Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
She did not believe a word of what she said but she knew for both of their sakes, she was going to find a way.
Quinn couldn’t afford her own bills, let alone Spence’s half also.
He was scheduled for surgery the following week and over the past month, he had become much weaker and lethargic.
“Quinn, call my mom,” Spence murmured one night as she rushed home from the hospital and dressed for the call center. “Tell her I need to move home.”
“Well, that is shitty notice to give your roommate,” she joked, trying to keep the pain from her voice.
She knew there was a less than fifty percent chance that Spencer’s very devout Catholic mother would allow her gay son to return home, despite his illness.
And if she does let him home, what will she say to him? What rhetoric will he be forced to hear when he is supposed to be recovering?
No, there was no other way. Spencer had to stay with her.
“You can’t do this alone,” Spencer whispered weakly, half out of it on pain medication. “I can’t ask you to do this by yourself.”
“I’m doing pretty damn well, if I do say so myself,” Quinn retorted. “Anyway, you barely eat and I never have time, so groceries are a cinch these days. See? One less problem to worry about.”
