by Noelle Adams
He arched his eyebrows. “Let’s just say it’s not the best vacation I’ve ever taken.”
“It hasn’t been all that fun for me either.”
“So let’s go back,” Jack said, reaching out to take my hand. “Let’s go back home. If neither of us wants to be here, let’s just go back home.”
Very gently, I pulled my hand out of his. “Jack, you know I can’t.”
“I know you won’t. It’s not the same thing.”
Seven
When I went down to breakfast the following morning, my mother was the only one present.
I was tired and depressed. It had been three days since Jack and I had had sex, and emotionally I felt farther from him than ever. The faint hope that had flickered in the back of my mind for the last month—wondering if there was some way to make a relationship work—had almost completely died now. I hadn’t slept, and a headache was pulsing just under my right eyebrow.
My mother looked as lovely and polished as ever. Her hair was the same pale gold as Victoria’s, and her eyes were silver gray like mine. There were traces of silver in her hair now, which was pulled back in a perfect bun, and her face was immaculately made up—as perfect as her pale green morning dress.
I’d never seen her less than perfect. Not in my whole life.
Standing there, exhausted and on the verge of tears for no reason, I wondered if there had been any moment in my life when I’d almost been who she’d wanted me to be.
“Well, don’t just stand there like a piece of furniture,” she said, arching her eyebrows at me. “Get yourself some breakfast.”
I turned toward the sideboard and took a plate, placing a croissant and some fruit on it. As always, a full breakfast had been laid out, but at the moment the sight of the eggs, bacon, and ham made me feel rather queasy.
“Sit down,” my mother said, after I’d poured myself some juice and coffee. “We need to talk.”
“No, we really don’t. There’s nothing to talk about.” My voice wasn’t tart or defiant in any way. It was mostly just tired.
“Of course there is. This Jack Watson is not just a friend. You can’t possibly think I believe that.”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe.”
“Pardon me?”
“Whatever happens between us is between me and him.” My voice was scratchy, aching.
“Relationships are always larger than just two people. You know that. You think your family and your country don’t matter at all?”
“Of course they matter. But he matters too, you know.”
“Naturally, he does. I never said he doesn’t. But there’s a very real question about whether or not he belongs here. You’re the one who brought him with you. What did you think would happen?”
“This,” I admitted, staring blearily down at my plate. “This is what I knew would happen.”
“Then why would you have brought him here, if you knew he wouldn’t belong? Are you trying to punish me?”
I almost choked. “Punish you? You think I’m trying to punish you?” I turned away from her for a minute, fighting to keep my composure. Then I said very softly, “Maybe I was still holding onto ridiculous daydreams that what I want might actually matter to you.”
My mother didn’t respond. She just stared at me for a long time. I had no idea what she was thinking.
Finally, she said, “You’re a princess of Villemont, Amalie Rothman. It isn’t a truth you can just toss away.”
“I know that.”
“But you want to?”
“No,” I replied on a raspy sound. “I just wish my life was big enough to hold everything I want.”
“Our lives are never that large.” Her voice was softer now, almost gentle. “No one can have everything they want. Sacrifices are always made.”
I nodded, still staring down at my untouched plate. “I know.”
Before my mother could say anything else, voices sounded down the hall. I looked up to see Jack come in with Lisette behind him, and then a young man I didn’t immediately recognize.
It took me a moment to realize it was Alexander Georgeson, the son of Francis Georgeson, the family administrator. The last I’d seen Alex, he’d been in college and had looked like a boy.
He didn’t look like a boy now, with his strong, lean body and square-cut jaw. He was working with his father now, I vaguely remembered, so he was on staff at the palace.
The voices I’d heard were him and Lisette arguing about politics.
“Not at the breakfast table, children,” my mother chided.
Neither Lisette nor Alex were children anymore, but they didn’t object to the instruction. They just gave each other looks that promised the argument wasn’t over and went to the sideboard to fill their plates.
Jack stood for a moment, looking down at me with an expression I couldn’t understand.
“Good morning,” I murmured, my voice hoarser than I expected. It almost hurt to see him like this, big and handsome and sober and not at all like himself—like he was almost already gone.
“Morning.” He looked like he would say something more, but instead turned away to make his way through the line of chafing dishes. He didn’t take nearly as much food as he normally would have, so I knew he wasn’t feeling well either.
When he sat down beside me, my mother asked, “So what are your plans for the day?”
In her own way, I knew she was trying to be generous by not assuming she could plan our day’s schedule herself.
“I don’t know yet. We haven’t made plans,” I said.
“We’re having lunch on the lawn, followed by croquet, if you’d like to join us.”
I glanced over at Jack with a silent question.
“Sure,” he said. “That sounds like fun. Although I’ve never played croquet before.”
“You’ll pick it up quickly,” Lisette said with a smile, clearly trying to break through the tense mood in the room. “If your stores are for sporting goods, I guess you probably played sports yourself.”
“Yeah,” Jack said, smiling at Lisette with close to his normal warmth. “I played football in high school—and other sports for fun.”
“American football, right?” Alex asked, clearly just for clarification.
“Oh. Yeah. Right. I played a little soccer, but American football was the thing in my hometown.”
Jack had told me about his small rural hometown, but I had a hard time visualizing what it would be like. I wanted to visit it sometime, know more about it, about him.
Although, that wasn’t likely ever to happen.
“Such a crass, uncivilized sport,” my mother murmured.
The worst thing was she wasn’t even trying to be mean. It wasn’t a personal comment—just her normal snobbery.
Jack blinked in surprise and opened his mouth to reply, but immediately closed it again.
He was holding back, the way he had for the last two days. Cutting off what he wanted to say so he didn’t offend my family—even when they were incredibly rude to him. It spoke to the strength and kindness of his heart, that he wasn’t mouthing off just to make himself feel better.
It just wasn’t right, though, for him to be treated that way.
“Mother,” I chided quietly, giving her a significant look. “Jack likes American football. I thought we didn’t offend our guests. Isn’t that rule one?”
“Of course, dear,” she said with a slightly surprised smile, as if she hadn’t realized anyone could actually like the sport. “I’m sorry, Mr. Watson. I’m sure there’s more to it than I’m aware of.”
I met Jack’s eyes, and I could tell he wanted me to just let it go, so I didn’t say anything else.
He was miserable here, and it wasn’t getting any better.
***
After breakfast, I suggested to Jack that we take a hike in the morning, since that was the only activity I could think of that wouldn’t surround us with other people. He looked pleased with the suggestion. I we
nt upstairs to change my shoes and came down to join Jack, finding him staring at a portrait in the main hall.
“That’s Henry, the first king of Villemont,” I explained, coming over to stand beside him. “He was a devoted hunter and insisted on being painted with his dog.”
Jack peered closer, looking interested. “It’s not a very big crown.”
“None of the kings of Villemont have ever worn large crowns. Humility has been a moral imperative for them. It’s part of our history, after becoming a sovereign nation. It’s the whole smaller-is-better idea.”
Jack chuckled. “That’s a good motto for a country of this size.” He moved down to look at the next portrait on the wall. “Is this the second king?”
“Yes, that’s Henry II. He was a musician, which is why the pianoforte is included. Look at the flowers behind it. Those were the favorite of his wife. She died just two years after they married, giving birth to their son, and he never got over it. The green, purple, and silver of those flowers became the national colors for Villemont. My mother still presents people with bouquets just like that whenever she is trying to be diplomatic or extend a hand of grace.”
We moved through the rest of the gallery, looking at the portrait of each king of Villemont, ending with the painting of my father that had been done ten years ago.
And I was almost surprised to realize that I was having a good time, talking about the history and lineage of Villemont to Jack, who seemed genuinely interested.
“You really love this stuff,” he murmured as we finished.
“What stuff?”
“Your history. These paintings.”
“Of course,” I replied, surprised by his comment. “I’ve always thought this portrait gallery is the best representation of the history of Villemont we have in one place. Art can convey so much more than a litany of events. These are real people. Living, breathing men. Who devoted their lives to a country and all the ideals it was built on. You can see it in them, can’t you?”
I hadn’t intended to say so much, especially since Jack hadn’t had a very good time in this country. But he was gazing at me with something in his expression I couldn’t quite pin down. It was almost a question and almost awe and something else unnamable.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head, as if dispelling his thoughts. “Nothing.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay. Are you ready to go then?”
I was hoping we could get out of the palace on a good note, but that hope was in vain. My mother caught us before we left and gave us directions to the paths we should hike and strict instructions about being back in time for lunch on the lawn.
I kept telling her we would be fine, and Jack kept holding back whatever he wanted to say.
So the good moment between us didn’t last very long.
***
It was a pleasant day for a hike, with clear skies and vibrant sunshine. We trekked up a fairly easy mountain, and I was relieved by the freedom and the quiet. I figured Jack was too, since he didn’t say anything as we hiked.
When we got to the top, we sat down in the grass against a rock and ate the snack I’d brought with me—water, apples, and mixed nuts. I closed my eyes to enjoy the sun, and when I opened them I saw that Jack was staring out at the blue-gray mountains on the horizon, stark against the vivid blue of the sky, the higher ones still peaked with snow.
I could read his expression very easily, and my heart sank again as I processed it. “You’re not having a good time here,” I murmured.
He turned his head quickly to face me. “It’s fine, Amalie.”
“No, it isn’t. My mother is rude and condescending to you.”
“Well, yeah, but that’s not the end of the world.”
“You aren’t able to say what you want or be who you want, for fear of offending people. You can’t…be yourself.”
“I can deal with that for a week. How often do people get along with the families of their significant others? It’s always a practice in biting one’s tongue.” He reached his arm out to pull me against his side.
I leaned against him, feeling exhausted again and sadder than ever. “But it’s more than that with us. Isn’t it?”
Jack exhaled deeply. “Yeah. I think it is.”
I closed my eyes. “We’re just too different. Two different worlds.”
“That doesn’t make it impossible.”
I tilted my head up to meet his eyes. “Then what does make it impossible?”
“That you still want to be part of this world,” he said, very gently. “That, no matter how much they try to force you into a role that doesn’t fit you anymore, you won’t make the decision to be who you really want to be. You’re still too scared to live without a safety net.”
The words hurt—so much I lost my breath. He made it very clear that the impossibility of our relationship was my fault. And he was probably right, which hurt even more. “I keep telling you it’s not that easy.”
“And I keep telling you it’s easier than you think.”
I shook my head, pulling out of his arm since something else was joining the pain in my heart. Something sharp and almost angry. “Do you hear what you’re saying, Jack? What you want me to do? You want me to give up my home, my country, my family—for you. You want me to sacrifice my identity to be with you. You keep saying I’m afraid to live without a safety net, but you’re doing the same thing in your own way. You won’t give up who you think you are and who you want to be, but you’re asking me to do just that. I know it happens in romantic stories, but in real life it’s not something anyone should ask of someone they care about. Do you hear how selfish that is?”
Jack groaned. “I’m not asking you to sacrifice everything, Amalie. How can you think I’d do that? I’m not asking you to give up your family and never come back here again. I’m asking you to be who you really want to be—which is a graduate student in art, living in Minneapolis.” He paused before he added thickly, “With me.”
In so many ways, it was what I wanted—but it was only part of what I wanted. “What I truly want,” I finally said raspily, my eyes starting to blur with tears, “is for my heart not to be so hopelessly torn.”
Jack’s features twisted, and he pulled me against him again, wrapping both arms around him. “I’m sorry it’s so hard,” he said at last. “But you’ll have to make a decision eventually. And I hope, for my sake, that it’s sooner rather than later, because I’m in too deep with you as it is, and there’s no way I can be part of this world. If you’re not going to decide for me, then I’m going to have to…break things off.”
I shook against him, trying to hold back sobs and failing utterly. I’d known this was coming—from the first day we’d arrived here. Jack would never want to have even a little of his life dictated by my world, by my family, and I just couldn’t cut them out of my life the way he wanted me to.
I’d never believed in star-crossed lovers in the world today, but I’d been wrong. I was living out one of those doomed scenarios right now.
And the worst thing was I’d known it from the beginning and had still let it happen to me.
To us.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” I managed to choke out. “I just can’t…do what you want me to do. I can’t give up them—and all of this.”
I could feel something shudder in his body for just a moment. Then he said gruffly, “Okay. Okay. I do understand. But I think it’s probably smarter for me to go. Staying the whole week would just make it worse.”
I knew he was right, but it was a terrible thing to hear him say. He was leaving. Going back home to his apartment in Minneapolis—where we’d spent so much time together.
And I somehow knew I would cancel on the seminar and send for my belongings, so I wouldn’t have to go back again, so I wouldn’t have to see him and experience everything I’d lost.
“Yes,” I finally murmured. “That makes sense.”
He kissed my temple very gently. “I’l
l check on flights this afternoon. There should be something leaving tomorrow.”
***
The rest of the day passed in a blur. The hike back. Lunch. Croquet. Tea. Dinner. I managed to make it through everything, but I was barely aware of what was happening. The ache in my heart was too consuming to focus on anything else.
When it was finally bedtime, I took a bath and changed into my nightgown, telling myself it was better this way. Jack had found a flight for tomorrow morning. After he left, it would get easier. I could remember who I’d been. I could find a place in my world again. I could be a Rothman, a princess of Villemont.
I wouldn’t have to be Amalie, hopelessly in love with Jack Watson.
Maybe I could take art classes online so I wouldn’t have to give up everything.
It would be okay. I would recover. A month-long fling with my next door neighbor wasn’t likely to be the only love of my life.
It was okay. I didn’t regret being with Jack for the time I’d had. Even hurting this way had been worth it.
I would move on. And always look back on these weeks as a rich, passionate mountain-top experience—too high and too intense to sustain over the course of a lifetime.
But I couldn’t quite let it go yet. If I was going to say goodbye to Jack, I wanted to genuinely do so—not leave it to the silent, aching looks we’d been sharing.
It was dark outside and quiet in the palace when I left my room and walked down the empty hall until I was standing in front of the door to his suite.
He was in there, probably in bed. Big and handsome and strong and warm and funny and clever and human.
And after tomorrow, I’d never see him again.
I shook with silent sobs for a moment, letting the truth of it wash over me.
When I’d recovered my composure, I knocked on his door. Jack opened it after a minute, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants.
There was a silent question on his face.
“I needed to be with you,” I explained, trying to sound normal and utterly failing. “One more time.”
His face twisted briefly, all the proof I needed that he was just as torn up about our decision as I was. He pulled me into the room, glancing down the empty hallway before closing and locking the door.
