by Tara Wylde
I clap my hand to JoJo’s shoulder. “One more piece of advice.”
“Yeah?”
“Find a good woman and make her your own.”
JoJo laughs and glances back at Alexis. “You got it, man,” he chortles.
Sensing a private moment pending between me and my wife, he balances on his crutches and swings away.
The widest smile I’ve ever seen spreads across Alexis’s face. It touches something deep inside of me.
An image flashes across my mind: Alexis, her hair falling around her shoulders, the same smile on her face. She’s reading a book, probably one of the Stephen King novels she loves, and her hand is resting on the curve of a swollen belly that I know contains my child.
Joy, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before, shoots through me. My knees nearly buckle.
I want, no, need to make that image a reality. And the only way I can do that is by terminating our wedding contract and making our marriage real – in the forever and always kind of way.
Every fiber in my body ones that the sooner I do, the better. Or else.
She places her hands on my shoulders and kisses me. Her mouth tastes like sweet tea and sunshine.
“Hi,” she murmurs against my mouth.
“Hi, yourself. I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it.”
“I got hung up at the museum. That woman who threw the dinner party … Martha …”
I supply the name. “Hembroke.”
Alexis nods, her face lighting up with recognition. “She called just as I was leaving. She has some antique perfume bottles I admired when I changed into the dress I borrowed from her. The one I liked is missing. She wondered if I knew anything about it.”
The last thing I want to do is talk about the old relics Alexis loves so much but I don’t see any way around it. “Do you?”
“No. I’m sure she simply misplaced it.” Her brow furrows. “Though she seems really organized.”
“I’m sure it'll turn up.” I run my hand up and down her arm, drawing her attention away from her thoughts and back to me. “Hey, do you want to go somewhere private-”
Desire sparks in her eyes.
“-to talk. There’s something I want to run by you, and I’d …” From the other side of the room, Roderick catches my eye and jerks his thumb. I groan.
“Or not. Let me see what he wants and can we talk.”
Having a serious conversation about changing the terms of our marriage might not be the most sensible idea, but there’s no way I’ll be able to concentrate if I don’t share my thoughts with her beforehand.
“Sure.”
I turn away from her.
“Hey, Lucas?”
I look over my shoulder and Alexis nods at my heavy equipment bag. “How ‘bout you just leave that thing here with me instead of dragging it around with you?”
273
Alexis
When Lucas told me that his family had a private box at the arena where the fencing competition was taking place, I’d anticipated something like an opera box. Or perhaps small, glass encased, utilitarian boxes that major sporting arenas have that have a few folding chairs and a mini-bar.
I should have known better. When am I going to learn?
This private box is nicer than most apartments. One-way mirrors make it possible for the family to see everything, while spectators and journalists can’t see a thing. Although a bit short on floor space, it's tastefully decorated. I even recognize the work of some up and coming painters hanging on the wall. Best of all, there's an elegant selection of over-stuffed leather chairs and couches that are as comfortable as they are beautiful.
The box’s position provides a perfect view of what’s happening on the floor and as if that’s not enough, cameras have been set up so that a live video is beamed directly to a huge flat screen television that dominates one entire wall. A camera pans across the crowd, and shows a mass of people larger than most college football games easily taking in the view.
Lucas won his first round. It only took him a few minutes. His opponent simply didn’t know how to handle Lucas’s all-out war approach to fencing.
“Well,” Queen Lynnette pursed her lips and watched both her son and the man he’d defeated return to the areas where their respective teams had gathered.
“That was a bit anti-climactic. Hopefully he’ll meet someone who’s more evenly matched in the next round and we’ll see a real performance.”
I get to my feet. “I think I’m going to go down and see Lucas.”
His father – who had been half asleep in one of the private boxes over-stuffed chairs cracks an eye. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Because – well he’s not always at his most polite during a competition. He can get … snippy, with loved ones.”
“I think I can handle his mood swings,” I grin. “And he said he wanted to talk to me about something.”
Plus, I just really want to be with him.
I know that the more time we spend together now, the more it’s going to hurt when he sends me away at the end of our agreed upon time frame. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been throwing myself into work, to put some distance between us, hoping it will make the break easier, but the entire time I’m away from Lucas, I can’t stop thinking about him and wondering what he’s doing.
Missing him.
The door to the box swings open and, as if conjured by my thoughts, Lucas appears in the doorway.
Heart hammering, I bounce to my feet. “Lucas!”
I’m half way across the room before I notice his expression. It’s not his usual stone face, but it’s not good.
His mouth is a tight, dark slash against pale skin. Fury smolders in his eyes. His rigid body radiates tension.
My steps falter. “What’s wrong?” A million possible scenarios, each one more horrifying than the last, flit through my mind.
Lucas’s gaze roams the private box, taking in his parents and sisters. “Come with me.” His voice is stilted and missing the warmth I’ve grown accustomed to. “We need to talk.”
For a split second, I’m tempted to dig in my heels and refuse to leave. I don’t know what’s upset him, but every instinct screams that it’s not good, that my fairy tale bubble is on the edge of implosion.
Lucas’s stare bores into me.
“Alexis,” he spits the word out from between clenched teeth. “This is not a conversation you want to have with me in public.”
Seeing no other solution, I follow him from the private box.
Lucas leads me down a large, empty hallway. Each time my shoes squeak against the linoleum tiles, my mind makes another U-turn, exploring one possibility after another as to why he’s so angry at me.
None make any sense.
He makes a sharp right into a room, holding the door open so I can proceed him into an empty conference room. Lucas’s equipment bag, the same one I watched earlier while he met with his fencing team, sits on the middle of the table, the contents are scattered around it.
I walk to the table and curl my fingers into the high back of a chair, using it for support as I turn to Lucas.
His expression hasn’t cleared.
“Why’d you do it?” he spits.
My blood pounds in my ears. My throat feels strangled, but I squeak out a response. Somehow. “I can’t say until you tell me what this is about.”
“The fencing figurine. The one my grandfather gave me. I use it as a talisman.”
It takes a second before I remember the lovely jade statue he keeps above his bed. I’ve admired it many times and on more than one occasion considered asking him to donate it to the museum.
“What about it?”
“Why would you take it?”
“Take it? What are you talking about?”
“When I changed after my first round, I realized it’s not in my bag.”
Realization dawns. For the first time, anger stirs deep in my stomach. I lift my chin and meet his furious gaze. “And y
our first thought was that I stole it? Nice.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Damn it Alexis – you’re the only one who could have taken it. I left you along with my bag.”
“So of course, I rifled through it and stole the silly little statue you keep with you for luck?”
“You told me it’s valuable.”
“Nearly everything in your life is!”
My voice climbs with each word. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. It’s all so surreal. “I haven’t stolen any of those things.”
“Really,” Lucas bellows, “what about those miniature paintings Tessa said turned up missing?”
“What?” He can’t possibly think I took them, can he? It has to be some sort of terrible joke. He can’t actually think I’m stealing from him.
“There weren’t many people there, Alexis, but you were.”
“As were you,” I remind him.
“And Martha Hembroke’s fancy perfume bottle.”
“It was a party. You were there. Lots of people were. Even if she didn’t simply misplace it, which is probably what happened, there were lots of people there who could have walked off with it.”
I can’t believe I’m standing here, trying to defend myself. I feel like I’m stuck in a bad mystery novel. I’m torn between wanting to scratch his eyes out, the need to throw up, and the desire to run away.
“I called her,” Lucas says, his voice so cold, so steady he could be a robot. “She said you were the only guest who entered the house that night.”
My hands curl into fists. My fingernails dig into my palms.
“I didn’t take anything. And I’m not a thief.” I speak slowly and carefully, thinking about each word before it falls from my mouth. If I focus on talking, then I won’t break down and cry. But it’s damn close.
“I have never been and I never will be. I’ve done nothing wrong. Lucas, you know me. Think about it, in all the time we’ve been together, have I done anything, one single thing, that makes you think I’m anything but completely honest?”
Some of the anger drains from Lucas, leaving fatigue in its wake. “Alexis, I can help you, I want to help you, but only if you tell me the truth.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t need your help because I haven’t done anything wrong – and you’re a bastard for thinking I have.”
“Alexis, the evidence-”
“No,” I snap.
I close the space between us, not stopping until we’re toe to toe, “don’t call it evidence. That’s not what you have. This is nothing but accusations created by something twisted inside your mind.”
Tears burn my eyes, but I blink them back. There’s no way in Hell I'm going to give him the pleasure of seeing me cry.
“Alexis…” Lucas repeats, his voice faltering now.
I shake my head and hold up the flat of my palm. “Shut up.”
It feels like the walls are closing in on me. I need to get out of here, now. But before I can, there’s something I have to do.
“Here!”
I wrench my diamond wedding band off my left ring finger. “You can take this and your stupid wedding contract and shove them for all I care. I’m done with you.”
I throw the ring at Lucas. It bounces off his chest.
The last thing I hear as I run out of the room is the tinny rattle of it rolling across the floor.
274
Alexis
Tears blur my vision, making it difficult to run through the crowds near the main entrance. As I weave and crash through people, I hear a few call out. A few angry about being rudely shoved aside, some concerned about my well-being.
I ignore them all.
I don’t want to be comforted. I just want to put as much space between myself and Lucas as possible. Maybe, if I do that, the pain his words caused will fade.
I hurl myself into a waiting taxi and order the driver to take me to the museum and to drive as quickly as possible.
I use the back of my hand to wipe my eyes. It takes all my self-control to hold the sobs in. There’s time for crying later. Right now, I need to plan. I need to come up with a way to get out of the country as quickly as possible.
“Ma’am, are you okay,” the driver asks in a heavily accented voice. At least he speaks English.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’m just having a bad day.”
“’Kay, but if there’s anything I can do to …” He brakes for a red light and uses the opportunity to look at me in the rearview mirror. “Hey, you look an awful lot like Prince Lucas’s new wife, Princess … um, Alexis. Yeah, that’s it – Princess Alexis.”
“I’m not her.”
“Really? Cause based on the picture of her. And, isn’t there a fencing competition going on at that place I picked you up at. Prince Lucas has always fenced.”
I can’t handle this conversation right now. Just the sound of his name drives a knife of hurt and betrayal into my heart.
I jump on the first idea that passes through my brain. “I look like her but I’m not. I was hired as a kind of doppelganger to draw the press and fans away from her so she can watch her husband fence.”
It’s a good story, or at least a good enough one to appease the cab driver. He returns his attention to the road just in time for the light to turn green.
I lean back against the seat and watch the scenery flicker past.
The pain of betrayal isn’t constant. It comes in waves, each one crashing into my soul with such force that I’m afraid the next one will shatter me.
I won’t let that happen.
The contract I signed when I got married stated that I’d stay with Lucas and be his wife for six months. Well, that’s not going to happen. I can’t stay in the same country – much less in the same castle with a man who thinks I’m capable of walking off with someone else's treasures.
My mind rattles through my options – settling on a plan instead of focusing on the overwhelming hurt crushing my chest like a vise. There’s not much cash in my purse, but I still have my credit cards, so I have enough to buy the first available ticket back to Boston. I don’t care what it costs.
All of my contact information, including Tessa’s number, is stored in my cell phone. Which is currently sitting on a chair in the royal family’s private box, so I can’t even call Tessa and tell her what happened. I decide to shoot her an email after booking a flight.
And I’ll have to stop at a department store or something and buy a few changes of clothes. All of mine are in Lucas’s bedroom and I’ll be damned if I’m going there to fetch them. God only knows what else he’d accuse me of taking.
The cab glides to a stop in front of the museum. I thank the driver and hand him all of my cash, and make a mental note to withdraw some more when I find an ATM machine.
The museum is empty today. It’s the construction crew’s day off, thank God. The last thing I want to do right now is run into anyone.
I dig out my keys and unlock the front door and let myself in.
I take two steps into the foyer and stop in my tracks.
I love this place. I’ve poured my entire heart and soul into it, and the results are just becoming evident. Pealing wall paper has been replaced with fresh paint. The team of construction workers have repairs damaged glass, chipped walls, and the million other problems the building had.
I step into what used to be a fancy ballroom, and where we planned on displaying most of the treasures. Freshly installed shelves and half-finished display cases greet me.
How many times have I stood in this exact place and imagined what it will look like once it’s finished? Just this morning Tessa and I stood there, beside the handcrafted display case that still needed its glass inserted, and talked about how magical it was going to look and how excited we were about seeing our vision become reality.
Now, I never will.
The realization is the last blow. I run to the bathroo
m, drop to my knees and empty the contents of my stomach into one of the brand-new toilets, before curling up on the floor and giving into the sobs I’ve been fighting since fleeing Lucas.
275
Alexis
I don’t know how long I cried for.
Even now, with my body incapable of making any more tears, I can’t muster the energy to get up. I don’t have the energy to do anything.
It’s like I’ve been transported to a place that’s nothing but a vast emptiness. After the emotional roller coaster of the past few hours, perhaps emptiness is exactly what I need.
Maybe I won’t get a plane ticket and return to Boston. Maybe I’ll stay right here, my cheek pressed against a cold tile floor, and die of a broken heart.
A sound, like a door closing, tempts me out of my stupor.
No one’s supposed to be here. Aside from myself, Tessa is the only person with a key. Knowing she’ll freak out if she finds me like this, I drag myself to my feet and splash some cold water on my face. It washes away the tear tracks, but doesn’t do a thing for my splotchy skin or swollen eyes.
Oh well.
I follow the sound of banging and dragging to the back rooms where we keep the cataloged and verified antiques. I push the door open.
I’m several steps into the room before what I’m seeing truly registers. I skid to a stop a few feet from Duran Perren – who is in the process of pulling a large cart loaded with boxes towards the same door I entered through.
My gaze bounces from him to the other person in the room.
“Duran? Eileen? What the heck are you doing?”
276
Lucas
I crawl under the table and eventually locate Alexis’s discarded wedding ring by the leg of one chair. I hold it on the flat of my hand and study it. When it had been on her hand, the ring always surprised me. It seemed to shine brighter and brighter each time she moved her hand, as if it was reflecting her smile.
