by Erika Kelly
But then she came back on the line. “No, please don’t do that.”
Oh, fuck. That voice…that was Rosalina. Shit.
“Don’t do what? I’m coming with you.” He jerked the gearshift and headed towards the road.
Murmuring turned to shouting. “Don’t tell me what to do, you giant asshole.”
Okay, she wouldn’t talk to her driver that way. “Rosie, who’re you with?”
“I’m with Marcel. He’s arranged for us to get home. Brodie, listen to me.”
He would, but he could already feel his heart shriveling.
“You know what you mean to me, but it’s…I have to go home now. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“I hear you, princess, loud and clear.”
“Good. We can talk more in a few days, after things settle down. Thank you for being so understanding. I just can’t handle—”
“I said I hear you, not that I accept what you’re telling me. I’m the one who should be with you right now, not the douchenozzle. Now, listen to me, I know you’re upset, but I can be at the airport in fifteen minutes. Just wait for me. I got you, sweetheart.”
“Brodie.” Her tone turned sharper, as if to shut him up. “You must understand that you can’t come home with me. Please, just…I can’t do this. I can’t…it’s my father. There’s a very real chance he won’t make it through this surgery. Even if he does, he’s going to be in recovery for months.” She lowered her voice. “It’s over, Brodie. It has to be. When I get off the plane, I’m going to become the hereditary princess, and everything that entails. I’m going to do whatever I need to do for my family, the monarchy, and my country. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“I do.” He wanted to yell at her. Tell her to knock it off, let him come get her. But he knew it wasn’t what she needed. Not even close. Fuck.
He kicked a chair, but it was tucked in tightly against the table, so it didn’t go anywhere. That sense of helplessness turned into rage, and he grabbed it by a spindle and hurled it. The satisfying splinter of wood didn’t erase the image of her in that car with Marcel. A man who might one day be her husband. He wanted to tear it out of his brain and rip it to shreds.
She needed to hear about the lab. “After the vote, I’ll fly out there,” Brodie said. “We can—”
“No. We can’t. Please Brodie, please, don’t make this harder than it already is. Just…let me go.”
She didn’t need his shit right now. She needed to get home and see her dad. “Yeah, okay. But if you need me, I’m here.” Always.
“Thank you. Goodbye, Brodie.”
She disconnected, and like an asshole, he kept the phone to his ear, as if he could somehow hang onto her.
He paced to the French doors, thoughts swarming like bats. He got it—the implications of this news could be devastating. With her dad’s health in jeopardy just days away from the vote, they had to pull out all the stops for a show of continuity and strength.
They had no choice. Her mother couldn’t be Head of State, nor could Rosie or her sister.
They’d make her marry the douchenozzle. He knew it in his gut.
They were panicking, and in their anxiety, they were relying on the old playbook.
She’s going to marry Marcel.
She’ll have no choice.
Jesus Christ.
It’s over.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hurrying down the hallway of the hospital’s private wing, Rosalina’s heels clicked on the polished floor. The smells assaulted her—disinfectant, medicine, sickness.
Two of her father’s bodyguards stood vigil outside his room, and a cluster of royal insiders gathered in the waiting area.
Keeping pace with her, Marcel looked up from his phone. “Your mother’s in a private conference room.”
“I know that. I’ve been in contact with her this whole time.” But instead of finding her mother, she went to the nurse’s station. It would be better to get details from them. When Marcel followed, she said, “Stay away from me. When it’s time to put on a show, I will. But right now, in this hospital, it’s about me and my family.”
Reluctantly, he let her go.
At the desk, she said, “Excuse me?”
One of the nurses looked up. “Good morning, Princess.”
“Can you please fill me in on my father?”
The woman stood up. “Yes, of course. They repaired his mitral valve.”
“I don’t know what that means. Is he all right?”
“He’s in recovery right now.”
“Is that…did they have to…” Pain gripped her—the idea of cracking her father’s breastbone to get at his heart—it just hurt so badly to think of him that vulnerable. Tears burned, blurring her vision.
The nurse swung around the desk to stand beside her. “If you’re asking whether they had to open his chest, no. Fortunately, the mitral valve is the most common repair, and he only needed a chordal transfer. It’s far less invasive, and there won’t be any risk of blood clots.”
“Okay. So, that’s good?”
“It’s as good as it gets, and of course they’ve flown in the best cardiovascular team in the world, so he’s getting the very best care possible.”
“Thank you so much.”
“It’s my pleasure, Princess.”
When she turned, she found Harrison waiting for her. She ran right into his arms. The big man held her tightly. “He’s stable, Rosalina. He’s going to recover.”
“It’s my fault,” she whispered. “Why can’t I just be happy with what I have?”
“Because you’re so much more than what they need you to be.” He released her and led her to a small conference room. Before pushing open the door, he said, “Brace yourself.”
Inside, her mother stood with the staff, issuing orders.
“Why isn’t she with my father?” she asked him quietly.
“The doctors are with him right now. Trust me, she’s been by his side every moment. But, now, she’s doing damage control. They’re keeping his condition on lock-down. It can’t get out.”
Her heart seized at what her father’s heart attack could mean for Tuesday’s vote. “Mama.” She pushed through the crowd to get to her.
“There you are.” Her mother held her tightly, her slender body trembling.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry I’ve made it so difficult on you.”
“This isn’t your fault, sweet girl.”
“The nurse told me they did it the least invasive way and with the fewest complications.”
“That’s right, darling.” Her mother looked ravaged with worry.
“Can I see him?”
“Not yet. But as soon as they give me the word, we’ll all go in together.” Her mother glanced across the room to where Genevieve sat alone on a plastic chair.
“Vivi.” As Rosalina dashed across the room, her sister jumped up and into her arms. They held each other tightly, rocking slowly in place.
Her sister pulled back first. “Is he going to die?” Frustration warred with fear in her eyes. Streaks of mascara marred her pale, smooth skin.
“No. He’s not.”
“I can’t ask Mother, and everyone’s just giving me the, He’s going to be fine bullshit. I’m not a child. I can handle the truth. I just want to know.”
“I talked to the nurse on my way in. She said they flew in the best surgeons, and that he had the least invasive surgery. So, I choose to believe he’s going to be all right. Okay?”
“Yes. I’m going to choose that, too.” Her lower lip trembled.
“You can cry. It’s okay. We can cry together.”
With that permission, her sister crumpled against her, releasing big, heaving sobs against Rosalina’s shoulder. “It’s all my fault. I’ve been so self-absorbed.”
“What?” Rosalina stroked her sister’s hair. “No, you’re at university. You’re doing exactly what you should be doing.”
“I’m not even taking summer classes. It’s just that it’s such a stressful time, and there’s nothing I can do. I have no control over anything, so I just…stayed away. The vote’s coming, Mother and Father are a mess, you’re supposed to marry a cheating asshole…and I’m off having the time of my life in London.”
“Hey. Listen to me. It’s ridiculous for any of us to take the blame for Father’s heart problems. It’s a difficult time, for sure, but there really isn’t anything one person can do to fix the situation.” Saying the words to her sister—believing them—actually helped relieve some of her own guilt.
Harrison approached them. “Your mother’s going in. She says you can come in for a minute.”
“Oh, thank God.” She reached for her sister’s hand and, together, they followed him out of the room.
As they passed the nurse’s station, she flashed a grateful smile to the woman who’d answered her questions, before entering their father’s room.
Curtains drawn, monitors beeping, her father lay helplessly on the bed. A tube filtered fluid into the back of his hand. Her mother brushed the hair off his forehead and pressed kisses to his cheek.
Rosalina and her sister moved to the other side of the bed. She kissed his cheek. “Hi, Papa. I love you so much.”
“Love you, too.” His lips were dry, his skin gray. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m going to be just fine.”
“Of course you are.” But he didn’t seem fine at all. He looked older than she’d ever seen him. It was the first time she understood the impact of their laws of succession. Her father was truly alone in carrying the weight of the monarchy on his shoulders.
“Papa.” Tears glittered in Genevieve’s eyes.
It seemed to take a monumental effort for her father to lift his hand, but her sister grasped it. “Love you.” Her voice came out shaky and thin.
A doctor entered the room, picking up the clipboard at the end of the bed. “I know you’re worried about him, but he’s just come out of surgery and needs time to recover. Might I ask you to let him rest?”
“Of course.” The last thing Rosalina wanted was to leave her father, and her mother’s expression revealed the same reluctance.
But they each kissed his cheek, and she heard their mother whisper in his ear, I love you so very much.
The vehemence in her mother’s tone, the fierceness in her eyes, cracked Rosalina’s heart wide open. Unwelcome tears streamed down her face. She grew hot, restless. She wanted to crawl out of her skin. Instead, she led the way out of the room.
Harrison caught her expression, and immediately went into action. Instead of taking the three of them back to the staff, he ushered them into a private room and shut the door, his big shoulders blocking the window.
The moment they were alone, they fell onto each other.
“I’m so scared,” her sister said. “I don’t want him to die. Please don’t let him die.”
“He’s not going to die, Vivi.” Rosalina swiped the tears from her cheeks, her sister’s weakness forcing her to be stronger.
“It’s his second heart attack,” Genevieve said. “A heart only has so many beats.”
Rosalina pressed her hand hard on her sister’s back, reminding her that their mother didn’t need to hear this.
Genevieve immediately pulled away. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m just so scared.”
“I know you are.” Her mother patted their backs. “But let me tell you something, we are not going to talk about my husband dying. We have to be strong for him. More than ever before, he needs us to be strong.”
“I didn’t call him back.” Tears streamed down Genevieve’s cheeks. “He left messages all week, and I didn’t call him back.”
“Darling, he knows you love him.” Her mother’s voice tried to be soothing, but Rosalina heard the thread of fear.
“No, I should’ve called him back. He’s my father, and I love him.”
“Of course you do. You’re also only twenty years old, and we’ve expected so much from both of you.” Her mother stroked Rosalina’s hair. “I know you’re blaming yourself, darling, but that’s not going to help.”
Rosalina noticed her mother didn’t say it wasn’t her fault. “He has too much stress, and Marcel and I only made it worse.”
“As Head of State, your father deals with unrelenting stress and pressure,” her mother said. “This latest power play by Auguste is nothing new. The new variable is that we’ve discovered your father’s heart had an abnormal valve, and it’s now been repaired.”
Though she’d never say it out loud, no one could promise them he’d recover. It was his heart.
“All we can do is move forward,” her mother said.
A knock on the door jerked them apart, but it was only her mother’s press secretary. “Pardon me, Madam, but we’re ready to go.”
“Excellent. Thank you.” Her mother cupped Rosalina and her sister’s elbows and practically hustled them back into the conference room. “We have a plan,” she said in a low voice. “And I’m going to need you both to follow along with no resistance. Do you understand?”
The image struck of her father, the monitors, his gray pallor…his utter exhaustion. “Of course.”
When they reached the staff, the press secretary turned to her mother. “He’s here. Are we ready?”
Dread kicked in. Ready for what?
“Yes,” her mother said.
And then everyone turned to watch Marcel walk into the room. His gaze immediately found Rosalina’s, and he gave her a look that said, I know you don’t like this, but…it’s happening.
“What’s going on?” In the back of her mind, the truth blinked like a neon bar sign, but Rosalina blocked it, refusing to acknowledge it.
Because…Brodie.
Calamity.
Marcel…this isn’t the life I want.
In her mind, she screamed so loudly, she couldn’t believe no one covered their ears. Around her, everyone moved with purpose. Some talking on phones, others exchanging documents.
She was going to have to marry him. The douchenozzle.
She had no choice.
Her mother’s press secretary stepped forward, ushering her ex over. “The camera crew’s setting up at the castle right now. I need both of you to change…” She took in Rosalina from head to toe. “I’ll find a stylist who can meet you there right away. We’ll need to take care of hair and make-up before we go live.”
“What are we announcing?” she asked.
“Our engagement party,” Marcel said. “It’ll be held on the castle grounds.”
“This Saturday.” Her mother gave her a firm look. Don’t argue. “And we’re moving up the wedding to December twenty-seventh.”
All it took was that flash of her father lying in a hospital bed to shut down any protests.
She couldn’t even contemplate marrying Marcel, but she’d resisted enough. She would go along with anything they asked of her, just to keep her father healthy.
“Please go to the castle right away and prepare for the press conference,” her mother said.
But Rosalina’s legs felt sluggish, and her brain wasn’t connecting with her limbs.
Her mother and Marcel exchanged a look. He nodded and set a hand on her lower back, leading her out of the room. “Let’s go.” Harrison and Gustav followed.
For the sake of appearances, Rosalina let her ex touch her as they walked down the hallway and boarded the private elevator, but the moment they stepped out into the parking garage, she jerked away from him. “Harrison, can you get me home?”
“Of course.”
“Rosalina.” Marcel sounded exasperated. “We’re going to the same place.”
But she ignored him and followed her bodyguard to a different car.
Through tinted windows, Rosalina looked out on the capital city. The businesses looked right out of a fairytale with their wood and stone features, the window boxes bursting with colorful flowers and window panes of glass so old th
ey looked to be melting.
Villeneuve was charming, beautiful, and it looked nothing like the wild west town of Calamity. Her heart ached for Brodie, couldn’t bear how he would feel when he heard the news of her engagement party.
She thought about what he’d said, about working out of the old playbook. When crisis hits, that’s exactly what my family does. They rely on the archaic way of thinking.
But it doesn’t have to be like this.
Building a university on royal grounds was a move into the future.
Marrying Marcel was not.
Since boarding the plane, she’d lost all sense of time, so she picked up her phone. Friday at three PM. Parliament must surely be in session. She tapped out a text to her Uncle Girard.
I know this is highly unusual, but I would like to speak in front of parliament.
Girard Caron wasn’t really her uncle, but she’d grown up with him, and he and her father were close as brothers. He was also Prime Minister of St. Christophe.
He responded right away. And when would you like to do this? After the vote on Tuesday, we’re in recess until September first.
Her pulse quickened with purpose. I can’t wait that long. It needs to be done before the vote.
I’m in the middle of a session so I can’t call to find out what you’d like to speak about, but I suspect it has to do with your father’s condition?
We’re not releasing any information on that, but yes it has to do with this situation. Please trust me?
All right. When would you like me to put you on the docket?
In fifteen minutes. Twenty if there’s traffic.
Child. You are such a trial. And I love you dearly. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.
She leaned forward. “Harrison? There’s a change in plans. Can you please take me to the State House?”
He eyed her in the rearview mirror with a look that said, What’re you up to now? “Is your father going to like this?”
“If it goes my way, then yes. He’ll like it very much.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then I’ll…” She swallowed. “Do whatever I have to do.”
Including marry the douchenozzle.
