“I’m just trying to get to know the new duchess.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or are you only interested in princes?”
“I’m interested in men.” I stood up. “Not slugs.”
I looked around for Cathy but didn’t see her anywhere. Taking a deep breath, I walked toward the bar. If nothing else I could order a soda or bottled water until she showed back up. My phone vibrated in the tiny purse I was carrying and I pulled it out, thinking it might be her.
“Where are you?”
“Sam?” Patricia’s voice made me freeze in place.
“Hey. It’s me. I’m sorry I thought you were someone else.” I put a finger in my other ear. “Are you okay?”
“Can you talk?” She sounded tired.
“Hold on.” I looked around for somewhere quiet but didn’t see anything. Becca wasn’t standing at the stairs, so couldn’t ask her either. I took the steps down and found a bathroom where the music was much more muted. “I can hear you now. What’s wrong?”
“It’s your dad, sweetheart.” I knew it was bad for her to be calling me, but my heart still stopped.
“What’s happened?” My throat tightened. “Is he—”
“No! No, but it’s not good.” I could hear the strain in her voice. “It’s worse than we knew.”
“I don’t understand. Where is he?” Panic filled my chest and I saw one of the girls look at me in the mirror.
“Sam, I didn’t know it was this bad. He never let us go in with him to the appointments, remember?” Her voice choked up and she took a minute before continuing. “He’s at the hospital. I couldn’t wake him up.”
“He’s dying?” My voice came out on a sob and I covered my mouth with my free hand. I was standing in the bathroom at a club while my father was dying in a hospital.
“Yes, baby. I think he knew but didn’t want us to worry.”
“He knew and didn’t tell us?” I whispered the words. “Why would he do that?”
“I can only guess he didn’t want us to spend all our time focused on him.”
“I’m coming. I’ll have to get a flight, but I’ll leave as soon as I can.” I dragged the back of my hand across my nose and the girl that had looked at me handed me some tissue. I mumbled a thank-you as she left but wasn’t really paying attention. I needed to go.
“Okay.” She sniffed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just didn’t know.”
“It’s okay, Patricia. I’ll call you soon.” I hung up the phone and took a couple of deep breaths. It didn’t help. The tears running down my cheeks wouldn’t stop. How had I not known it was this bad? Why did I leave him?
I turned on the sink and splashed water over my face. I needed to get out of here—needed to get to the airport. Rubbing my shaking, wet hands on my dress, I left the bathroom and shoved my way through the crowd. Someone elbowed me and I tripped but got right back up and kept going. The bouncer at the door said something, but I didn’t hear him. There was too much noise in the club. Too much noise in my head.
I practically fell out the door and into the line of people waiting outside. Our car was gone of course, so I looked for a cab. Reporters had gathered outside, the bright flashes of their cameras blinding me as I tried to decide which way to go.
“Samantha! Duchess Rousseau!”
“Rousseau! Look here!”
“Are you upset? Did someone do something?”
“Samantha!”
“Where’s Alex?”
“Where’s Cathy?”
“What happened?”
“Look here!”
“Sam!”
I shoved through the people and tried to put some distance between myself and the reporters, but they kept pace. One of them reached out and grabbed my shoulder. I shrugged him off and kept walking. I had no idea where I was or where I was going. The farther I got from the club, the more my fear fed my anger.
“Tell us what happened!”
“Leave me alone!” I glared at the reporters, but they continued to snap pictures, not caring how upset I was.
“Why are you crying?”
“Samantha! Sam!”
The guy who had grabbed my shoulder reached out and tugged on my purse while pointing a camera in my face. Something inside of me snapped and fury raced down my spine. Turning around, I shoved the camera out of his hand and kicked him in the nuts as hard as I could. He went down with a groan and I turned back around and started walking away. My entire body was shaking and I couldn’t stop.
“Samantha! Why did you do that?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Do you miss home?”
I turned a corner and the heel of my left shoe wedged down into a grate. I couldn’t regain my footing and fell. My body slammed against a metal trash can in a loud explosion of noise. The metal was rusted and a jagged edge gashed my leg. I gasped when I hit the ground, my head slamming against the brick wall and more tears pooled in my eyes. I tried to stand up but my feet wouldn’t work; a sharp pain shot up the leg that wasn’t cut while the bleeding gash on the other throbbed. A few of the photographers put down their cameras and moved to help me, but I shoved their hands away. I didn’t want them touching me. These were the people who had been chasing me.
I heard scuffling in the crowd and I looked up just in time to see Alex slam his fist into a photographer’s face when he wouldn’t move. The man went down with a thud and his camera exploded into a hundred pieces on the concrete. A few of the photographers protested over the treatment of their colleague, but most of them just took more pictures.
“Samantha?” The panic in his voice made my tears come faster.
Alex leaned down, his eyes checking my leg quickly before he scooped me up in his arms. The photographers went wild but gave him room. I buried my face in his shirt and tried to get control of the sobs that were trying to break free. Everything was wrong. My father was dying and I was here, being chased by the paparazzi. Even with my eyes squeezed shut I could see the bright flashes of the cameras.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered in my ear as he walked through the crowd. When someone moved to block his path, he practically growled. “Get the hell out of my way.” No one argued with him. I don’t know if that was because he was the prince or because he had laid a guy out.
Becca and Duvall were there, shoving reporters and spectators away from us so we could get to the car idling at the curb. Becca had disabled a large man and he was on his knees in front of her. One of the members from the detail opened the car door.
“Call the palace.” Alex slid into the seat, cradling me in his lap. “Samantha’s going to need a doctor.”
“There’s a first-aid kit.” Duvall was in the front passenger seat and began rummaging in the glove box.
The car pulled away from the curb and sped through the streets. I kept my face pressed against Alex’s shirt, unable to stop the tears. When he pressed gauze against the cut on my leg, I hissed between my teeth and tried to jerk away. He mumbled reassurances but didn’t let go.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I hiccupped and tried to calm down.
“What happened?”
“Patricia called.” A sob broke free and I had to take a second before I could finish. “Dad’s dying. I just panicked and ran out. I was going to go to the airport.”
“Samantha.” Alex’s voice was laced with pain.
“He’s dying, Alex. I left him and he’s dying.” I pressed my face against his shirt again. How could I live with myself? “I left him.”
Cancer Doesn’t Care Who You’re Related To
—New York Reports
Every light in the palace was on and there was a crew of people waiting for us when we pulled up. Alex refused to let anyone take me from him and carried me straight to his room. He laid me on his bed but refused to leave my side, telling everyone that wasn’t required to get the hell out.
A petite older woman followed us, issuing orders. “Samantha, I’m Dr. Rains. We’re going to get you fixed right
up.” She patted me on the shoulder before moving to examine my leg.
Chadwick burst into the room and ran straight for the bed. There were tears in his eyes but he didn’t say a word, just reached out and squeezed the hand Alex wasn’t holding.
“You’re going to feel a pinch. I’m giving you a shot to numb the area. You need stitches.” There was a sharp stick, but I didn’t care. I don’t know if I was in shock, but my mind felt frozen.
Someone handed me a tissue and I realized it was the queen. Her eyes were gentle as she looked at me, her calm voice reaching through the haze that had filled my head. “We’ll take care of everything.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and tears slid out. The one thing I cared about, no one could fix. When I opened my eyes again, everyone was gone but Alex and the doctor. He was sitting next to me, his face stone as he watched her work. I didn’t look, didn’t care about my leg. When she finished, she checked the ankle of the foot that had been stuck in the grate and wrapped it with a bandage.
“Take this.” She handed me a pill and glass of water.
“What is it?” I opened my eyes and tried to sit up. The stitches pulled and I winced. Alex reached down and helped lift me.
“It’s for the pain. You might not feel it right this second, but that was a very nasty tumble you took and your leg is going to be sore for days.”
“No. I need to get to the airport.” I shook my head and felt dizzy. She leaned forward and looked at my eyes.
“Did you hit your head when you fell?”
“I don’t know.” Nausea built in my stomach and I swallowed. “I don’t feel right.”
“I think you have a concussion.” She dug through her bag and pulled out a flashlight. She waved it in front of my eyes and I groaned and held up a hand. With gentle fingers she felt along my head. “No cracks or blood, thankfully. You’ll need to have someone wake you every hour. I don’t want you flying until I’ve checked you in the morning.”
“You don’t understand. I have to leave now.” I tried to move but a wave of queasiness had me lying back against Alex.
“I do understand. Wait until the morning and I’ll do a quick check. Take the medicine and get some sleep.” She handed me the glass of water and watched as I took the pill. Once I had, she stood up and looked at Alex. “You understand how important it is that she not leave?”
He nodded his head and I knew I was defeated. When the doctor left, Alex scooted me farther in the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
I laid there on my side with my fists tucked under my cheek and tried to make sense of what had happened. Alex came back with a warm washcloth, a T-shirt, and a bowl. After locking his door, he helped me slide the dress off before wiping up the blood. I hadn’t realized how much there was until he had to go get another washcloth. I watched his face as he worked and reached out to wipe a smudge off his cheek. When he was done he slid the T-shirt over my head and situated me back under the blankets. I heard him slip out of his shoes before he crawled into the bed next to me.
He didn’t say anything while I cried. I was riddled with guilt and grief. I was scared I wouldn’t make it back in time to see my dad again. And the tears felt never ending. Alex stroked my hair through all of it. I had no idea how long I laid there and cried, but eventually I had nothing else in me. I felt hollow, like a piece of me had been scooped out and thrown away.
“Where’s Cathy?” I should have asked before now. One more thing to feel guilty over.
“She’s here.” He sighed. “She had gone downstairs to grab a friend and Becca had followed her. Neither of them thought you’d leave the VIP room.”
“I’m not mad. I was just worried.”
“You’re worried about them.” He snorted. “They’re fine. I doubt Cathy will ever go back to a club. I’ve never seen her so upset.”
“I’m sorry.” My voice was so hoarse I had to clear my throat and say it again. “I’m sorry I caused so much trouble.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He nuzzled my hair.
“I kicked a photographer in the nuts.”
He grunted a short laugh. “That’s my girl.”
“I really need to get to my dad.” I squeezed the hand of the arm he had wrapped around me. Even though I thought I’d cried all my tears, I got choked up again. “I left him when he needed me most.”
“We’ll leave in the morning.”
“You’ll come with me?” I whispered the question.
“Samantha, you’re never going anywhere without me again.”
“What about the bathroom?”
“Okay. You can go some places without me.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“You were busy.” I hiccupped again.
“I have something for you.” Carefully, Alex dislodged me from his arm and walked across his bedroom. When he came back he was carrying package tied in string. “I was going to bring it to you this weekend but couldn’t get away like I’d intended.” He placed the package on the bed next to me.
“Is this the drawing?” I shifted so I could reach the strings and tugged it open. Under the brown paper was the sketch I had waited so long to see. Tears filled my eyes and I took a deep breath. “It’s me.”
He reached out and tucked some hair behind my ear. “It’s okay if you don’t like it. I’m not really an artist.”
“I love it.” I ran my fingers along the handcrafted frame. It was simple and elegant; he had captured my face and all the emotion I was feeling. “This was when I got out of the car at the airport.”
“There was so much going on in your eyes. You were scared and sad, but there was determination under everything else.” He lifted my chin so I was looking in his eyes. “That was the moment I knew I was lost. You were so strong and beautiful.”
“I’m sorry I tried to keep us a secret.” I hiccupped again. His words made me want to cry, but for a new reason. “If I hadn’t, this might have worked out really differently.”
He took the framed picture from my hands and set it next to the bed. “I understood. I didn’t like it, but I understood.” He snuggled closer. “When I saw you covered in blood…”
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I have never been more afraid and angry in my life.” He pressed his face in my hair and took a deep breath. “I don’t want to lose you and I just knew this was the end. I wanted to kill all those people standing there and taking your picture while you bled.”
“I don’t want to lose you, either.” Tears sprang to my eyes. “I lose everyone.”
“Is that why you were so stubborn?” He rolled me over gently so he could see my face.
“I didn’t think I would make it if you broke my heart. Not with everything else.” A sob caught in my throat. “I guess a part of me always knew it was a long shot for Dad. And I just didn’t think I could lose him and you.”
“Why would you lose me?”
“You have to be king! You have to make little baby heirs.” I sniffled again—the more I spoke, the more tears threatened. “I know I’m stupid for worrying about that, but I knew I’d end up falling in love with you. How could I not? And then you’d have to get rid of me for someone you could marry. And you can’t marry me… I’m just an American. And I know that’s really getting ahead of myself, but why start something if you know it’s going to end? And, and, and—”
“I’m not getting rid of you.” He framed my face in his hands. “You’re it for me. I knew it the moment I saw you tell off the maître d’ at the restaurant. Do you understand? You’re it. I love you. That sketch was of the moment I fell in love with you.”
“You love me?” My brain was mush and I wasn’t sure if it was from his words or the pain pill.
“Yes, I love you.” His eyes bored into mine.
“I love you.” I traced his cheek with my fingers. “Can you tell me again when I’m not on pain medicine?”
“I’ll tell you every day.”
“Maybe twice a
day?” I felt my eyelids growing heavy.
“A hundred times a day.”
HRH Prince Alex and the Duchess of Rousseau Leave for the States
—Lilarian Daily
The next morning came quickly. I felt like I had barely fallen asleep before the sun was streaming through the windows. The palace was bustling with activity and it felt surreal to understand the majority of it was because of my family. There was extra security around the gates and the photographers and journalists had been pushed farther away.
While the doctor checked me out, Alex delegated his tasks to other people. Cathy took the brunt of it, her eyes red and watery whenever she looked at me. Even though I told her it wasn’t her fault, I knew she blamed herself. Becca had offered to resign, which I thought was ludicrous. When I told her to shut up, she laughed weakly and promised I would never be out of her sight again. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Alex refused to leave my side and since walking was out of the question for now, we didn’t leave his room until it was time to go to the airport.
The queen had arranged for their jet to take us back to the states and it was waiting at the airport. Chadwick had gone to Rousseau overnight in the queen’s helicopter to retrieve more of my clothing for the trip. Stanley and Margie had sent food, which amused the queen, but I appreciated it. That’s what you did when someone was having a hard time. You fed them. It was a tradition that crossed all cultures.
I called Patricia on the way to the airport and was relieved that Dad had finally woken up. I spoke to him briefly; he was still too tired for much. Jess and Bert were with him as well and that helped ease some of the frustration in my heart. The doctors weren’t sharing much information with them because they were technically not family, but at least he wasn’t alone. That seemed like such an odd thought to me. Patricia, Jess, and Bert were the closest thing I had to a real family. I did speak with one of the physicians on the way to the airport, but there were no good answers.
The cancer cells had been spreading and nothing they tried had helped. Dad had refused more chemo and had decided not to tell anyone the extent of the trouble. It was very like him to not want anyone else to worry about him, but it made me angry. I felt like he had robbed me of time with him. I confronted Dr. Bielefeld about my father’s health, but his hands had been tied. He had never passed on false information, but under doctor-patient confidentiality, he had only been able to share what Dad told him he could. He apologized for not being able to do more and I believed that he was sincerely sorry.
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