by Holly Rayner
Tossing the phone onto the bed, I push my fingers through my hair and tug at the roots. The only logical thing to do now is leave. For the time being, everything with my family is soiled.
Leaving the bedroom, I go down the hall and find Poppy in the kitchen. She’s poured herself a cup of coffee, but she doesn’t drink it. She only stands at the window holding it, looking out at the backyard.
“Poppy.”
She startles and turns. Somehow, she didn’t hear me coming into the room.
“Who was it?” she asks.
“Sacha.”
Her eyes widen slightly. Other than that, it’s hard to read her face.
I hate that this is how she met my brother—while he is showing the worst side of himself possible.
But there’s nothing I can do about that. Sacha has made his own decisions. It’s time for me to do the same.
“What did he say?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I try to smile. Her eyes narrow. “It is not important,” I add.
“Max…”
I kiss her on the forehead. “We’re leaving.”
“What? Where to?”
“Where would you like to go?”
She runs her tongue along her bottom lip, thinking. “I would really like to see my sister and her family. I know I was just there, but I miss them already.”
“Perfect,” I say with a squeeze of her shoulders. “We will go to New Jersey. That is, if you don’t mind me meeting them.”
“What? Oh, my God, no, of course I don’t mind. Laura will be thrilled.”
“Excellent. I will call the hotel and have them send over your belongings.”
I walk for my bedroom as I continue. “And after New Jersey, we can go anywhere you please. We need a honeymoon, after all. A proper one. A Pacific island. Mountains. You name it, and I will take you there.”
In my bedroom, I take my suitcase out from under the bed and begin packing as swiftly as I can. My phone is still on the bed, but I don’t spare it anything more than a glance. Whether Sacha has tried to call again or not doesn’t matter to me. It’s getting to the point where I need as much space from him as I do our father.
“Why did I mention islands?” I ask, grabbing a handful of socks from the dresser drawer. “You wouldn’t like that. Surely, you wish for a honeymoon somewhere with a cooler climate. The mountains? What do you think of Switzerland?”
There’s no answer. Dropping my socks in the suitcase, I turn and find Poppy standing in the doorway. Hands laced in front of her, she eyes me.
“What is it?” I ask.
“We can’t leave.”
It’s like bricks have been placed on my shoulders. I can barely stand up. She can’t be saying this. Not after what we experienced at the palace today.
“We have to leave,” I tell her. “They don’t want me here, Poppy. They barely know you, and they did not give you any of the respect you deserve.”
She blinks at me. “We hurt them, Max.”
I open my mouth, but I don’t know what to say.
They hurt me, but that’s such a painful truth, I don’t want to give breath to it.
“We can’t stay,” is all I manage.
It is an awful explanation, but what I am having trouble comprehending is her desire to stay. This is my flesh and blood I am walking away from, but they’re near-strangers to Poppy. Departure should be a hundred times easier for her.
She comes into the room and takes my hands in hers. “I know you’re mad at Otto…”
“Do not say I will forgive him,” I warn.
“What do you plan on doing?” she asks. “Never talking to him again?”
“Unless he apologizes and treats us the appropriate way, yes. That is conceivable.”
She saddens further. “You’ll regret this, Max.”
“What? Leaving?” I shake my head vehemently. “I am sure I will not. Poppy, do listen. My whole life, I have been beholden to my father. It has always been this delicate balance of trying to put the right amount of space between us and it never being enough. This is the last straw. I won’t do this any longer. We must go.”
Her chin trembles, and I can see in her eyes the emotion she’s trying to hold back.
“You’ll regret it,” she says.
I rub my brow. “Please…”
I don’t have the strength to argue. Nor the heart. Not when she is so close to tears.
“Hear me out, Max.”
I nod and smooth my fingers down her cheek. “All right. Yes. I’m listening.”
She takes in a long, deep breath. “If we leave today, the distance between you and Otto will only grow greater. Every day it will get a little harder to reach out. Not just for you. For you both. You’ll get more and more set in your ways, and neither one of you will want to be the person to make the first move toward repairing things.”
I twist my lips. The argument there is strong, but I also do not care if it is the truth. If leaving today means pushing Otto from my life until the day one of us dies, fine. I can live with that.
Poppy’s eyes well with tears. A big, fat one rolls down her cheek, and I wipe it away. My chest aches. Seeing her cry is destroying me.
“I miss my dad every day.” Her voice cracks. “Every day.”
My throat is thick with emotion. “It was different between you and your father. Mine and Otto’s relationship… it’s too difficult. It is something better dropped than lived with.”
“What if you could change it, though?” She sniffles. “What if you could make it better?”
I guffaw. “That’s not possible.”
“Have you tried?”
That throws me off. I press my lips together, at a loss for words again. No. I haven’t tried.
I have run away. Again and again.
And then, when running quit working, I began lying.
“You’ve seen how Otto is,” I press. “Everything must be his way.”
“Yeah, in most cases. This is special, though. This is big.”
“Poppy, do not do this. You are looking at this from the perspective of a healthy, happy father-child relationship. One that is nothing like what I have with Otto.”
“No. That’s not entirely true.” There’s a sharpness in her voice. “Everything wasn’t sunshine and roses with me and Frank. Before he died, there were months where I didn’t talk to him.”
That stops me in my tracks. “You didn’t tell me that. I thought you were close?”
“We were, mostly, but there were periods when we weren’t. It wasn’t until he got sick that our relationship solidified. It became strong in a way that there was no going back on.”
We look into each other’s eyes for a long time, and I feel what is on her mind before she says it.
“Max. Don’t wait until a disaster strikes to make things right with him. You might not get the chance to tell him what’s really in your heart. You could wake up one day and discover he’s not there anymore. I would give anything for one more moment with my father, and I knew for years that the end was coming. Don’t just brush yours off. Your dad and stepmom are here now, alive and well. If you walk out on them, you’re throwing something special away. I know you love Otto, and I know he loves you.”
“How?” My throat burns. “What on earth makes you think he loves me?”
“He wouldn’t be so worked up about all of this if he didn’t love you,” she says.
My head hangs.
I don’t know what to do. I’ve never felt so torn.
My whole life, I’ve felt weak for not doing a better job at standing up to my father. Many times I’ve thought about walking away from him and royal life for good, but I’ve never made the move to do that.
Now I’ve finally found the strength, and the woman I love the most in the world is asking me not to use it.
“Oh, Poppy.”
I take her into my arms, and I cannot get her close enough. I want to press her into my chest, lock her into my heart, and kee
p her safe and happy there forever.
Arms tight around her, I kiss the top of her head.
“I understand what you’re saying, and the last thing I want is to make you unhappy, but we have done all we can. There is no way that Otto will ever bless our marriage. We are fighting a losing battle here.”
Poppy wiggles free enough from my embrace to look up at me. “How about we go and talk to him one more time? That’s all I’m asking, Max. Just one more time. If it doesn’t work, we’ll go, and we don’t have to come back here again.”
I hesitate. “There is no telling how he will treat us. I do not wish to subject you to his anger again. It is truly a gamble going up there.”
“A gamble, huh?” She grins. “You took a gamble on me before, you know, and it turned out pretty well.”
“Yes,” I chuckle. “That it did.”
“So take another one.” She jerks her chin at me. “Please.”
I’ve tried as hard as I can to resist, but it is impossible to say no to this woman.
“All right. You’ve won me over. We will go to the palace one last time.”
Chapter 22
Poppy
My hands shake the entire way to the palace. Twice I almost tell Max to forget about it, that this was a bad idea and he’s right: we need to get our butts out of Stromhaer and start living on our own terms.
But I don’t say anything at all, because what I told him back in the cottage is true. If I could have my dad or mom back for a minute, I would be the luckiest person alive. I would tell them I love them over and over, and it would be the best minute lived since time was invented.
It’s true what they say about not knowing what you have until it’s gone.
Max called Henrik, who promptly picked us up and is now driving us to the palace. Right before we left the cottage, someone arrived from the hotel with my things.
“Just in case,” Max said, which made me shake my head at him.
I don’t want to think there might be a “just in case.” This handing over of an olive branch has to work.
Granted, I don’t know what I’m going to say once we get in there. It’s not a guarantee that Otto will talk to us at all. For all we know, he’s already pulled Max’s inheritance and has issued orders for our deportation.
That last one wouldn’t surprise me at all. Otto’s not the type that plays games.
The car pulls up to the palace, and I swallow down my fear and step out. Max takes my hand and gives it a squeeze, and I smile at him.
This was my idea, and I’m not backing down.
Side by side, we enter the palace.
At the sight of us, the butler’s eyebrows rise slightly. He’s clearly surprised to see us, so I guess either he heard the shouting or news travels fast around here.
He hides the shock quickly, though, and bows low.
“Prince Maximillian,” he purrs. “So good to see you have not departed yet.”
“We need to speak to my parents.” Max’s lips tighten, and he tugs me closer to him. I’m glad for it. It’s getting hard to stand up on my own, I’m so nervous.
“Certainly,” the butler answers. “And where would you like to wait?”
“The front sitting room is fine.” Max’s arm loops around me, and he takes me to a room I haven’t seen yet. It’s small, with rows of books and a TV in a corner.
It’s still so crazy to me that Max can’t just walk into his home and talk to his father. He has to ask a butler to make it happen.
I go to take a seat on a couch, but my butt’s barely hit the cushion when I’m up again and wringing my hands.
“We can go,” Max says.
“No!”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Poppy. If this—”
There’s a sharp rap on the door, and we look at each other, my heart racing.
“Enter,” Max says.
The doorknob turns, and I start panicking. I don’t know what to say to Otto. All I know is that I love Max and I want everyone to get along, and life should really be that simple!
Instead of Otto, it’s Sacha who enters.
Max folds his arms. “No.”
Sacha and I look at each other, and I think it’s the first time his gaze has been on me when he hasn’t been wearing a scowl.
“You came back,” he says.
“Yeah.” I nod. My hands are clasped, my palms sweaty. “We couldn’t leave like that. After the, after that fight.”
His lips twitch. “What did you come here for, then?”
Max turns his back to us and looks out the window. “This was a bad idea. It’s hopeless.”
“It’s not,” I argue. “We want to make things right with Otto,” I tell Sacha.
He sucks in air between his teeth. “I doubt that is possible.”
My stomach twists. “Please don’t say that.”
“No offense to you, Poppy, but you do not know our father.”
“Poppy,” Max starts.
I hold up a finger, asking him to please be quiet.
“I understand that,” I say to Sacha. “But I know Max. I love him. That counts for something.”
Sacha studies me. “You and Max truly fell in love after a week?”
“Yes,” Max and I say at the same time.
Max continues on. “Even if you don’t—”
“I believe it,” Sacha cuts in.
Max’s mouth drops.
“You have never been this adamant about any person or thing,” Sacha goes on. “You’ve never stood up to Otto in this way. I didn’t want to believe it at first, because this being a real marriage would mean that I did wrong in exposing you, and, shameful as it is, I didn’t want to believe that. I wished to argue for my indecent behavior.”
He looks at me. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh,” I say, shocked. This wasn’t what I expected from him at all. I work my tongue around, gathering my scattered thoughts as I do so. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. And you were only doing what you felt was right, I’m sure.”
“Yes,” he says. “That’s exactly it.”
“Thank you.” Max shakes Sacha’s hand and claps him on the shoulder.
“Yes.” Sacha clears his throat. “As I said, I was in the wrong.”
“I was, too,” Max says, making me gawk at him. He gives us each an apologetic look. “Lying to Otto was not the wisest idea.”
Sacha laughs. “I would have thought you had learned that years ago.”
Max runs his palm over his face, looking tired. “Apparently not.”
We fall silent, and there’s a dismal air in the room.
“What are you going to say to him?” Sacha asks.
Max and I lock eyes, and it’s pretty clear we’re each looking to the other for an answer.
“Right.” Sacha grimaces. “Good luck, then.”
The doorknob starts to turn—this time without a knock preceding it—and I freeze up. Again, though, I’m faked out. It’s not Otto coming in, but Greta.
Which, the moment I catch sight of her face, I realize is even worse.
Greta was so nice to me last night, and from the very beginning. She welcomed me with open arms while her husband and stepson treated me with due skepticism. And when everyone else was peeved to hear Max and I are already married, she never said a harsh word. She only set about planning a ceremony.
Shameful tears sting my eyes. I don’t want to face Greta, but I have to. I’d be a despicable person to not at least apologize to her.
“Your Majesty,” I start as she closes the door, “I’m so sorry.”
She folds her hands in front of her, the corners of her mouth pinching. She looks more hurt than angry, and that’s worse. It’s better when someone yells at you, because then you feel justified to yell back at them. But when you’ve hurt them and all they do is stand there and quietly accept it, that’s a knife to the heart.
Greta stoically looks at Max and me, as if there’s one last secret hidden somewhere on our faces and she’s w
orking on ferreting it out.
“I was wrong,” Max says, his head hanging.
“We should never have lied,” I say. “But Max and I are in love, and we intend on staying married.”
“That is correct.” Max pulls me into the side of his chest.
Greta’s eyelashes flutter. “Is that true?”
“It appears to be,” Sacha says. “I didn’t want to believe it myself at first, but observe the way Max looks at Poppy. Have you ever seen him so happy?”
My face warms, and, feeling Max’s gaze on me, I turn my face to his. His eyes are soft and full of admiration, and I immediately grin.
The world could be up in flames all around us, and he’d still be able to make me smile.
“I’m happy to hear that,” Greta says. “We have long feared that Max would never find anyone.”
Max makes a face. “Come now, Greta.”
She remains solemn. “Oh, yes.”
“You don’t have to worry anymore.” I lock my arms around Max’s torso. “I’m not letting him go for anything. I want Max in whatever way I can get him, royal or not. That being said, I don’t want to create problems in your family.”
Greta hesitates, weighing my words. I’m worried what I’ve said isn’t enough, but I also don’t want to say too much and ruin this apology altogether, so I hold my tongue and wait.
“I appreciate you not wanting to create problems for us,” she tells me, “and I accept your apology. However, I am sure the king does not.”
My stomach drops.
“Where is he?” Max asks, cutting a glance at the door. “We sent word that we came to see him.”
“He is in his study,” Greta says. “He will not be joining us.”
I close my eyes.
He won’t even come out to let us try and explain ourselves?
Crud.
“We came here to speak specifically to him,” Max says, each word clipped.
I tighten my fingers around his hand and open my eyes to catch his gaze. At my imploring look, he softens and takes a deep breath. He knows losing his temper will do no good. Especially when Otto’s absence isn’t Greta’s fault.
It’s ours.
“We thought about leaving Stromhaer,” I say, “but we can’t. Not with things so wrong between us all.”
