Chapter Eleven
Christian
The sound of my phone ringing wakes me up the next morning. It's so dark outside beyond the windows that when I first open my eyes, I'm not actually sure it's morning yet. Piper’s naked body is warm and welcoming in bed next to me, and I want nothing more than to ignore the phone and drift back to sleep while holding her. It eventually stops ringing and I tuck myself back under the blanket, curling around her. Seconds later, though, it starts again. Piper murmurs in her sleep and tilts her hips back toward me. My cock twitches in response. Even though we just had sex a few hours ago, I'm more than ready to bury myself deep inside her again. I never get enough of her. I can feel spent, sweaty, and even exhausted, but I'm never entirely satiated. The hunger for Piper is always there.
A new round of ringing starts, and I finally relent to it. Spitting profanity under my breath, I climb out of bed over to where my phone is charging on Piper's dresser. My mother's name flashes across the screen, and I feel my heart drop. This isn't an accident. She knows the time difference, and has never called this late at night before, even if it is late morning or early afternoon in Cambria. I take the phone and quickly step out of the bedroom, attempting to not wake Piper.
"Mother? What is it? What's wrong?"
Part of me waits for a snide response. I want her to be sarcastic. I want her to be dismissive, maybe even rude. I want to tell myself she's calling at three in the morning because she is sitting down for tea, something I usually join her for when I'm at home and misses me. I desperately want all this to be true, but I know it's not. Something is wrong. Worried for my father, I pick up the pants I tore off on the way into the house last night, and step into them. I don't bother with a shirt before carefully opening the front door and stepping out onto the porch.
"Christian, you need to come home this instant."
"What is it?" I asked.
My first instinct is to snap at her, remind her that we've had this conversation countless times before and that I'll come home when I want to. The sound of her voice, though, tells me this isn't a nagging phone call. She's not calling me to judge my life decisions or lecture me on proper behavior. She's calling in what feels like a profoundly official capacity.
Fuck.
"It's your father," she says. "His condition has considerably worsened in the last few days."
I’m struggling to breathe. It feels like my heart is lodged in my throat. I have to know.
"Is he OK? Am I too late?" I asked.
"Christian, please," my mother says. "For now, he's alive. But to be honest with you, his condition could change at any moment. His doctors are with him, but they don't seem optimistic. They're the ones who told me I should call you this morning. You need to come back here as soon as possible. We must prepare for the worst."
She sounds so incredibly strong and determined. I don’t think I’ve ever admired her more. I know this is a horrifying situation for her. Not only does she have to prepare for the death of her husband – the man she loved literally her entire adult life – but she also has to watch her only surviving child prepare to step into a role never intended for him. A position I never wanted in the first place.
"I'll get back as fast as I can," I say. "I'll look at flights right now."
"I've already sent the plane for you," she says. "You're to meet it in Boston in exactly three hours."
"Boston is two hours from where I am right now. That barely gives me enough time to pack up and get there in time."
"Then I suggest you hurry. If you tell me the address, I'll arrange for a ride to come and fetch you."
This latest turn of events sinks slowly into the pit of my stomach. I think about Piper sleeping so peacefully inside. It's only been a few short hours since we finally gave in to sleep, and I don't want to disturb her, especially if it's only to say goodbye. A long, drawn-out goodbye won’t do either of us any good. She would want an explanation that I can't give her, not now. It would be too hard on both of us and could ruin what we had together. I should just leave. I move through the house as quickly as I can to pack. I had been planning on staying another couple of days with her, and maybe even trying to stretch it out a little more than that. My belongings are strewn across the house. If I wasn't packed, I didn't have to acknowledge I was leaving. Now it means that I have to frantically gather everything while trying not to let my brain obsess on the dark places it wants to travel. I can't think about what my father's going through right now. Not until I get home and see him.
Finally packed, I take a moment to stand by the bed and look down at Piper. She's on her stomach, the sheet crumpled around her exposes the graceful slope of her back and the dip of her waist. Her thick brown locks are spread around her pillow in a mass of curls and tangles, a testament to the wild streak I haven't been able to get enough of the last two weeks.
That thought makes my chest ache painfully. How is it possible that it’s only been two weeks? We packed as much into those days as we could, living them with the constant reminder that time was running out. The deadline was chasing us, and we ran ahead of it with more adventures, more laughter, more sex. It was supposed to be easy. When it was over, we were supposed to just walk away from each other. Now I'm struggling to walk out of the room, much less her life.
I grab a pad of paper and pen from the table in her hallway and write her a note. Until now, we haven't exchanged numbers or any other way of getting in touch with each other. It was by design, meant to isolate the time we had together. I don't want to be cut off from her. The note gives her a way to communicate with me, and maybe we can see each other again. I know she has another trip coming up soon, but when it's over, we can find a way. If I’m not the King of Cambria by then…
Piper,
Please forgive me for leaving this way. I had no choice. Call me. There's something you need to know.
I add my number to the bottom and sign it.
Leaving the note on the nightstand among some of the souvenirs and silly reminders of our adventures together, I lean down to kiss Piper goodbye before rushing out of the house to the car waiting for me.
* * *
Piper
I start to wake up, and I roll my hips back like I have every morning, expecting to feel Christian there beside me. Instead, the bed is cold and empty. Rolling over, I look around, trying to listen to see if I can hear him somewhere in the house. An unsettling silence surrounds me, and I notice something has changed about the bedroom. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something different from how it was before we toppled into bed last night. Climbing out of bed, I reach for Christian's shirt where he tossed it. When my hand hits the floor and nothing else, the realization of the situation sinks in. Everything of his is gone. Christian isn’t only missing from my bed. Every trace of him is gone. All his clothes, his bags, his shoes, his phone.
He's gone.
He was supposed to be here for three more days. I was going to bring him to the airport, so he could go home, and we could part ways. Instead, he disappeared in the middle of the night while I was sleeping. He didn’t even have the decency to let me know he was leaving, much less tell me goodbye. Now I'm standing here in the middle of my bedroom, completely naked, still smelling like his body, and he's long gone. I've never felt so used and thrown away in my entire life.
Grabbing a box from my closet, I go to work stripping my surroundings of any reminder of Christian and the time we spent together. I don't even want to acknowledge he was there. I pull pictures from the edge of my vanity mirror and toss them in the box, followed by the ridiculous t-shirt I bought at one of the tiny roadside tourist stops we found. Finally, I stalk over to the nightstand and use one arm to sweep everything unceremoniously into the box. I don’t even want to look at it. I want it gone, out of my sight.
Yet, I can't seem to bring myself to throw it away. I chastise myself for my sentimentality. I should just toss it out and forget about it. He was never going to be a permanent
fixture in my life, anyway. But I can't do that. Not yet. I might get to a point later on when it's not as fresh and doesn't hurt as much, but for now, I just want it out of my sight. Shoving the box into the back of my closet, I grab clothes and head to the bathroom to shower. At least there I can pretend my tears are just droplets of hot water and nothing more.
Two days have passed, and Tabitha is finally home from her father-in-law’s. I'm sitting in her backyard on the white-painted wooden swing built by my father. It’s anchored in a flower-covered arbor and is one of the few reminders of my father she still has. He made it for her when they first got married so they could sit out in the garden together. They spent countless hours in it together, and when they weren’t using it, I often took it over with a blanket and a good book, enjoying not just the movement, but also what it represented. As abstract as it is, sitting in the swing always made me feel close to my dad and Tabitha, like they were there with me even if I was home alone. When I became an adult, the comfort and reassurance the swing gave me didn't go away either. When my father died, and Tabitha moved out of the house, it was one of the few things she insisted on bringing with her. Though I hated to see the swing go, I knew it was only right for it to be with her. He crafted it with her in mind, and he would want her to continue to enjoy it, even after he was gone. In the early days of Glenn being in her life, I often wondered how he felt about the swing. I couldn't imagine it was easy for him to look out into her backyard, and see this beautiful, heartbreaking reminder of a perfect marriage that was torn apart in an instant.
When Tabitha told me Glenn not only didn't mind the swing, but commented on how well it was constructed, and what a good man my father must have been, I knew he was the right choice for her. It was like my father had picked him to step in and take care of her in his place.
Now I'm curled into the swing, one hand gripping a sweating glass of lemonade while the other picks aimlessly at the seam of my jeans.
"Maybe it's better this way, you know?" she says.
I nod.
"Maybe. I still feel like an idiot. How could I be so stupid?"
"You're not stupid. Why would you say that?"
"I've always been the strong one. I don’t trust people or let them in, and I don’t get hurt. Then I go and act like a fucking middle school girl. I barely even knew the man, and I had him staying with me, in my bed, for some sort of absurd whirlwind vacation. What did I think was going to happen?"
"Piper, not trusting people doesn't translate to strength. Sometimes being strong means being willing to trust, even if you might get hurt."
"But that's the point. I wasn't supposed to get hurt. That wasn't the plan."
"Was crashing into him and falling down in the middle of the airport part of your plan?"
"No, but, again, that's the point. From right then, we knew we weren't going to be a part of each other's lives for long. I didn't think I was going to see him again after taking my panties back. The whole thing was impulsive and ridiculous. It was built on nothing. There was always an end date. It was supposed to be fun, and then end."
"Really?" Tabitha asks, tilting her head to look into my face. "Piper, be honest with yourself for a second. Is that really what you thought?"
"Yes."
She looks at me incredulously.
"You seriously thought you were just going to be able to go about your life and never think about him again after he went back home?"
"Yes."
"So, that's why you had him stay at your house? That's why you brought him to all your favorite places? That's why you took pictures and bought souvenirs? So, you could forget about him?"
I hate that she knows me so well. As an adult, Tabitha is much more of a friend than a motherly figure but are there are still times that I feel like a little girl when talking to her. I know she's right, even if I won't admit it to her. At least not now. I had fallen for Christian completely and irreversibly. What had started as a game before shifting into incredible sex, had changed into something I hadn't expected, and didn't want. I can't deny that I miss him and that just the thought of being without him hurts so much, it takes my breath away. But I have to remind myself that this is ultimately for the best. It hurts now, but maybe him leaving that way was like tearing off a Band-Aid. It hurt like shit, but it would have hurt so much more if we tried to part slowly. This way, I can use the anger I feel toward him to mask some of the pain. Soon it won't hurt anymore, and I'll be able to move forward with my life like always.
* * *
Five weeks later…
I'm always late. I'm always fucking late. Yet again, this is a problem for me. Usually, it’s just a minor inconvenience that means having to run, or narrowly missing a flight, or sometimes pissing off a couple of people. Not this time.
This time it means I'm pregnant.
How could this happen? We were so careful every single time. Aren't I the one who gallivants around promoting safe sex, and sprinkling condoms on people? One of the first conversations I had with Christian was about my goodie bag full of don't-get-accidentally-pregnant implements. But here I am, sitting in a clinic in Guatemala, trying to wrap my head around the fact that I'm carrying his baby.
What am I going to do? This is definitely not something I was planning on. I was supposed to come here for the longest trip I've ever done and establish a flagship agriculture program in one of the smaller, more rural communities. This was supposed to be a massive accomplishment for me. I was specifically selected to take part in this program, not only to help with the establishment of the agricultural system, but also to cover a major story on it. How am I supposed to concentrate on either commitment if I'm pregnant?
The doctor smiles at me, and I realize I'm grinning right back at her. My brain might still be having issues processing this new information, and everything that it means for my future, but my heart has already made the most critical decision of my life so far. I'm going to have Christian's baby. This will be my new plan.
* * *
Christian
"How is he?"
I look up to see Frederik, a royal advisor who has served my family my entire life, coming down the hall toward me. His face has the calm, controlled expression expected of royal staff. He's not supposed to show any emotion, even at a time like this. But I can see the strain behind his eyes.
"He's doing better," I say. "The doctor was just here, and he said Papa's vitals are looking much stronger. He seems to be stabilizing."
"That's wonderful to hear," Frederik says. "He gave us quite a scare."
I nod.
"I know," I say.
It's been five of the longest weeks of my life since leaving Piper back in the States and coming home to Cambria. I've been dividing my time between sitting at my father's bedside and helping Mother keep up with his responsibilities while he is unable to. It's kept me distracted, but not enough to not think about her. When I do, the emotion of leaving her behind hits me hard. It seems to build up throughout the day when I’m too busy and distracted by my responsibilities to think about her, but the moment she flashes in my mind, it all comes crashing down on me.
"You don't look happy," Frederik says.
"I'm sorry," I say, shaking my head. "I am. I'm happy Papa is doing better. It looks like he’s going to pull through."
"But you're still thinking about that woman back in America."
I let out a long, slow breath as I stare at him.
"Piper," I say. "Her name is Piper."
I start down the hallway, and Frederik falls into step beside me even though I was obviously trying to walk away from him.
"When are you going to get over her, Christian? She hasn't reached out to you at all in over a month. She didn't contact you when she realized you were gone, she didn't call you when she left for her humanitarian trip… she hasn't done anything to reach out to you. Don't you think you should just take the message? It's better this way, in the end."
"How is it better?"
/> "She's not the woman for you. You know that as well as I do. You need to get married, Christian. To a noble, Cambrian woman. You need to settle down and take your responsibilities more seriously."
"I don't need you to lecture me about what I'm supposed to do," I snap.
"Actually, you do," Frederik says. "That's my job. I’m here to warn you when you're not on the right path. You are many years older than any monarch before you was when they married. You were introduced to countless women, and you rejected all of them, only to run off to the States. Your wild behavior and international reputation for being a playboy might have been endearing when you were younger, but not now. Especially not since Nicholas' death. It's time to get your life together. For the good of the country."
"Frederik… back off," I say, trying very hard to keep myself from lashing out.
I quicken my steps, but he steps in front of me, turning to face me.
"You can't run away from this, Christian."
"Get the fuck out of my way," I growl. "Do not make me tell you again."
The words reverberate off the marble floors and gilded framed pictures of my ancestors adorning the hall, and there is a moment of awkward silence. Frederik steps away from me, and I stalk down the hallway toward my bedroom. I need to get away from everything for a while. I'm furious with Frederik for bringing Piper up. I talked to him about her when I first got back, but I hadn't intended on him using her like a bullet point during a lecture about my future. I know what's looming ahead of me. It hasn't changed since the day Nicholas died. In fact, the reality of it has become much more serious now that my father's health has considerably worsened. Even though he's recovering, and the doctors are somewhat optimistic, it doesn’t change the fact that those first few days, when his survival was uncertain, everything crashed down on me.
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