by S. A. Gordon
“I will always love you too,” she said finally, looking up at him as he lay on her, feeling the weight of him but realizing that he wasn’t at all heavy. She couldn’t imagine him ever being heavy. “Whatever happens now, whatever happens next, that will never not be true.”
David’s gaze was gentle and searching as he stroked one hand down the side of her head. Caitlin kept her eyes open as he brought his lips to hers, watching him watching her. She smiled into his kiss, then started laughing.
“What?” he said, lifting his head. “Did I do something wrong?”
“It’s not that,” she said, still laughing. “I’m just … so happy to see you. But it feels bad to say that, given the circumstances. It feels bad to be so happy when you must be feeling sad.”
“My love,” he said softly, “if I achieve nothing else in my life, making you happy is an achievement I’m proud to claim. But I hope …” He kissed her slowly. “To keep making you happy. Just the way you make me happy. And you do, Caitlin. Every single day, you do.”
He kissed her again and Caitlin knew that even if they stopped now—if some force greater than the two of them intervened—she could die content knowing that someone could hold her like this, that someone could desire her so much that he could kiss her in such a way that it felt like the universe was expanding inside of her, that she could desire him so much that all of her scars borne so bravely on the inside just didn’t feel like they even existed. Men had been cruel to her—that would never change. Now she knew that her friends could be cruel to her too. But she had never believed before now that one man could take that cruelty away, in a handful of minutes, and turn it to ashes. So it was that the ashes of her past disintegrated beneath them as he kissed her neck, as his hands ran along her legs, her belly, her arms, her face.
She held his face in her hands as tenderly as she could, feeling how much she loved him—despite his difficult life, because his difficult life had made him who he was, had given him this heart that was so open to hers now. He was so far from being the celebrity prince that she thought Prince David was perhaps some other person—some impersonator who looked like this David, and lived where he lived, but only existed when other people were around. This David—the David whose flesh was upon hers now, having removed her clothes and then his own, Caitlin watching him all the while—was a man. He wasn’t a job. He wasn’t a title. He was a man.
Caitlin moved her hands down the sides of his torso and fluttered the backs of her fingers against his hips. David shuddered and quickly nipped her bottom lip.
“I want to be inside you,” he murmured. “I can’t wait any longer.”
“I don’t recall asking you to wait,” Caitlin replied.
“That’s true.” He nipped her top lip now. “You didn’t.”
Without any further discussion, he thrust inside her and Caitlin’s back arched as she cried out. David pulled at the backs of her knees and brought her feet up to his shoulders. Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, his face intently gazing down at hers.
“Is this all right?” he said, his voice low.
“Of course,” she said. “It’s amazing.”
“Good,” he said. “I wanted to be deeper inside you.”
He closed his eyes and plunged into her.
“Sometimes,” he said, his eyes opening again, “a lot of the time, actually, I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
She smiled at him as he drove himself deeper, wanting him to stay there forever, if that’s what he wanted too, knowing that he couldn’t but also knowing that they could hold onto these moments in their memories for the rest of time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
David sat in the back seat of the gray Land Rover as it wended its way through dark London streets. The prince and his sisters had taken to visiting their father early in the morning to avoid the press—none of whom, thankfully, seemed to like being awake before 7 a.m.—and also so they could make the most of every day. They didn’t know how much longer their father would live but they’d been told it was unlikely he’d regain consciousness. David had realized—with a physical pang—that he’d had his last conversation with his father and not realized it at the time. At least with his mother they’d known; she had been awake toward the end, struggling sometimes to keep her eyes open, telling them that she didn’t want to miss a single moment with “her babies.” Even though his heart was breaking he had stayed with her, holding her hand, talking to her, even when his sisters and father slept at the end of the bed or in one of the nearby rooms. His mother had died at home; his father would not have the same chance.
Thinking of Caitlin, who had kissed him goodbye, David smiled to himself but then felt guilty. In the four days since she’d arrived he’d barely seen her. They made love at night and before he left in the morning. They might have one meal a day together if they were lucky. Then he had to leave her alone in his apartment while he went to the hospital. He’d encouraged her to go and explore London, except she’d have to do it alone—as she wasn’t his “official” girlfriend, she didn’t warrant a protection officer and she didn’t know anyone else in the city who could accompany her. He said his sister’s office was at her disposal, though, and they could help her with anything she needed: information, money, transportation. But it wasn’t the ideal scenario and he was aware of it—yet again she was here at his behest and he couldn’t even offer her much of his time.
Caitlin hadn’t complained, but nor would she discuss the fact that she’d taken leave without pay from her job—the magazine’s editor had allowed special circumstances because she declared herself a “royal fan” and thought it exciting that Caitlin was involved with Prince David, despite the fact that Caitlin only said she needed the leave for “family reasons.” All David knew was that Caitlin had four weeks’ grace from her employer and then she had to return or lose the job. A big part of him hoped he could return with her—that he’d be allowed some time, no matter how short, to just be in New York, to be himself for a while longer, but he knew that his father’s death would mean that wasn’t possible.
Once Alix ascended the throne, he would become the heir. That meant he would be a more valuable commodity to the country—and to terrorists who might look to make a point by harming him, so his movements would become more restricted and his security detail would be increased. It would only improve if—when—Alix had her first child. And that didn’t seem likely to happen soon. David couldn’t see Alix marrying Jack, no matter what she felt for him, and especially since the relationship now seemed to have the word “scandalous” permanently affixed to it by the press.
Alix would be “encouraged” to find a consort within her circle—by the same people who tried to “encourage” him to date certain young aristocratic women—not that there were many people eligible for the role. David was starting to think that Jack would be perfect, actually—so maybe Alix did have a point about him. Jack was loyal, steadfast and unemotional; his ego appeared to be in check and he seemed to genuinely love Alix. David realized that Caitlin had the same qualities and wondered if he shouldn’t just marry her already—if only it were that simple. She would have to go through a baptism by fire—her loyalty would be tested once she had more exposure to what the press could be like, and heaven help her if she encountered members of the public who thought that David belonged to them.
One reason why he had been so rarely publicly tied to someone else was that at one time, several years before, a group of particularly vociferous young women had tried to physically attack his girlfriend Marlena when they’d attended Ascot. The young women had all dressed up for the races—nice dresses, fluffy hats, too-high heels—so no one had suspected anything. Then they’d ambushed Marlena outside the ladies’ when she’d wandered around to see what other people were wearing, and it was only the quick thinking of another guest who was on his way out of the royal enclosure that stopped her being badly assaulted. David hadn’t been able to understand the logic of it—th
ese girls were in a group, so they couldn’t have been individually competing for his attention, but apparently they thought Marlena wasn’t worthy of him and had set about showing her how they felt. He could only wonder at what was being thought and said about him in households all over Britain. He could only wonder at what would be said about Caitlin should her place in his life become better known.
This was how Caitlin would have to prove herself, though: she’d have to learn what people thought and said about her and she’d have to keep her mouth shut, and she’d have to do it for long enough that Alix’s advisers—as they would be, once their father died—were satisfied that Caitlin wouldn’t embarrass the family should she become Queen, which was a real consideration, because Alix might not have children. Alix might not be able to have children—something that she had considered but which no one else outside the family had—which meant David could become the monarch and his eldest child would ultimately inherit the throne too. These sorts of considerations were persuasive reasons for keeping advisers around, even if they were enemies to the prospect of a relationship that was anything other than planned to the tiniest degree. David feared the fire that was almost consuming him and Caitlin now—when they were able to indulge it; when he wasn’t helping his sister plan her transition or sitting by his father’s bedside—would be completely dampened by the niggling details and protocol of his life. It wasn’t fair to Caitlin. It wasn’t fair to him. And it was worse for Alix. Only Margaret could really get away with things, but she was the least likely to want to. She’d probably happily marry Hal in a little garden ceremony and live the rest of her life opening primary schools with nary a complaint.
David had considered taking Caitlin to the hospital with him but the symbolism of that was too heavy—it would signal to the courtiers and the advisers the Caitlin was to be taken seriously as his girlfriend, and the consequences would be severe for Caitlin rather than for him. Then the scrutiny would start; that’s when her privacy would be even more compromised than it was, possibly forever. He’d already asked her to make several adjustments for him and she had made them; Alix had been right: there was a limit to how many he could ask her to make without giving her an indication that their relationship was more secure—perhaps more permanent—than it was now. He knew he’d made no adjustments for her; everything had come from her. But he also knew that any woman who had a relationship with him would find herself in the same position. David couldn’t shift his life back a gear and become a normal person; even if he chose to leave royal life—abandon his place in the line of succession, never head another charity or attend another engagement again—he would never be un-famous. And it was fame more than anything that would affect any woman he was involved with. Court life—abiding by the rules of it—was manageable, predictable even; fame was not.
The car turned into one of the hospital’s gates, heading toward one of its more discreet entrances. David felt his heart grow heavy, as it did every time he arrived here. He was losing his father; the country was losing its King. And there was nothing anyone could do about it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“The King is dead, long live the Queen,” David said as he bowed to his sister for the first time in their lives, then kissed her on the cheek and enveloped her in his embrace. He stepped back for Margaret to go next, then all three of them stood by their father’s bedside for the last time.
“Your Majesty,” said the Lord Chamberlain as he stepped toward Alix, who looked down at her jeans and plain black top.
“I hardly look like a Queen,” she said, sniffling. “What on earth do I do now?”
“Please come with me, Your Majesty,” the Lord Chamberlain said, ushering her to the door, where she was enveloped by people—some of whom David had never seen before—and she disappeared.
David and Margaret looked at each other.
“It’s you and me now, kid,” said David, clutching his sister to his side and kissing her cheek.
“Don’t say that!” Margaret wailed. “She’s still our sister.”
David looked at the door. “Maybe. But I don’t think she belongs to us anymore.”
*
Caitlin lay on top of David, her hair touching his cheek until he reached up and pushed it behind her ears. She kissed him slowly, carefully, as if he would break.
When he’d arrived home from the hospital he hadn’t said a word—he’d simply hurried to her and held her, his body completely still while his breathing raced and then slowed.
“Thank you,” he’d said at last, “for being here.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone,” she’d said quietly, not wanting the staff to hear. She was still getting used to having other people around; David didn’t even seem to notice them.
He had let her go then and silently taken her hand, leading her to his bedroom. They had made love—taking their time with each other, not speaking, both of them more gentle than they had ever been with each other before.
Since then they lain together, still silent, and Caitlin wondered if she should say something but it didn’t seem like her place. It was his father who had died; it was his life that had changed irrevocably. She couldn’t even really understand what was about to happen to them, but she had the sense that this was the last night of his old life and she didn’t want to ruin anything for him.
“I don’t know what the next few days will bring,” he said quietly. “None of us does. There will be the funeral, of course, but we don’t organize that. Isn’t that strange? We didn’t organize Mummy’s, and Papa’s will be taken care of by others as well. They don’t even need to practice. They’d been practicing for years. They’re always practicing. That’s my sister’s life now—knowing that the Household Cavalry are always practicing for her funeral.”
He let out a sound that traveled from a sigh to a sob and Caitlin caught him in her arms, wrapping herself around him.
“What can I do,” she whispered, “to help you?”
“Just be here,” he whispered back. “Just be you.”
But Caitlin couldn’t help feeling that it wouldn’t be enough. After the King’s funeral David’s life would take on proportions that she hadn’t even imagined: he was the heir to the throne now, and that came with so many more responsibilities, and dangers, than his old life contained. Over the past few days he’d been preparing her, telling her about the increased attention from the courtiers and the press, telling her that he loved her but he wasn’t sure exactly how much time he’d be able to give her for the next little while. Except the length of that next little while was indeterminate. And so, therefore, was their future together.
*
In the days between the King’s death and his funeral, David turned out to be wrong—there were things he had to do, things his sisters had to do, and they kept him away from Caitlin. Knowing that no one would be looking for her now, with the attention of the country on other matters, she slipped out and walked around the city. For hours, she walked. She went to galleries and museums; she ate alone, reading the newspapers and their ruminations on what sort of monarch Queen Alexandra would be. Occasionally she would see an item speculating on whether or not “the playboy prince” could handle being the heir to the throne and Caitlin just could not recognize the man she knew in those words. David was so bound by duty he was almost in a straitjacket; he might have projected an air of devil-may-care in the past but he was the most responsible man she’d ever met. He could not have been more well suited to a life of service to his sister and to the Crown—but as duty kept him away from her, Caitlin started to believe that there was no place for her in that life: not now, perhaps not ever. Duty would be his full-time occupation. In order to fit in with him, she needed to be part of that duty. But she didn’t want to be a duty. She wanted to be so much more than that for him, as he was for her.
On the day of the funeral, Caitlin kissed David goodbye and told him she’d be there when he returned home. London would be shut down for
most of the day and Caitlin didn’t want to be anywhere near the funeral—as strange as that seemed, because David was her lover, and his father had died, and in anyone else’s world she would be by her lover’s side at his father’s funeral. But this was David’s world; if anything told her how different their lives were, it was this funeral.
Feeling morose about things and self-indulgent because of it—what right did she have to mope about her relationship, if that’s what it was, when the whole country was in mourning?—Caitlin told the butler that she was going out for a while. She planned to take the Tube to some part of London that was nowhere near the funeral route. She’d walk. She’d have coffee, if anywhere was open. On this day of all days, she believed she could hide in plain sight.
*
“Where did you go yesterday?” said David the next morning.
“Hampstead,” Caitlin said, looking up from her breakfast. “Why?”
“What did you do there?” His face was pinched in a way that Caitlin had never seen.
“I walked on the heath. I sat down and read a book. Why?”
“Why did you go out?” He seemed angry and Caitlin didn’t recognize him.
“Because you were going to be gone all day. I needed to do something. I’ve been shut up here for days, David—I didn’t grow up like you, living inside a palace.” She heard her voice getting louder and realized that this was shaping up to be their first real argument. “I need to be in the world. I needed to do something.”
“Well, someone took a photo of you.”
Caitlin’s belly felt like it dropped to her knees.
“What do you mean?”
