Adrian waited outside the doors. The suit felt super tight on him—like it was going to squeeze the life out him bit by bit. He slumped into the chair. There was no one around so he could act however he wanted and right now, well, he wanted to be invisible.

So far, the plan had worked—and Adrian had gotten the chance to speak to parliament. He stood in front of them—all of their eyes boring into his soul. This was all business for them—they needed proof. He displayed Cressida like she was a slideshow presentation, talking about her status and what positive things she would bring to the throne. His brothers and father watched as well—staring at them from across the room. Their faces were darkened with shadows—they didn't like Cressida. Adrian didn't like her either—but, that was for other reasons. Cressida had left right after—yapping about wedding plans.

He closed his eyes thinking about the engagement announcement ahead. He ran a hand through his hair—pulling at it. He recalled Veronica's hand in his hair, as she gasped and moaned under him. His body tingled in response. His body ached still—from their last time. Although it was terrible, walking away with Cressida—his mind lingered on the way she opened herself to him, and how perfectly he fit inside her.

"They said yes," Megan's voice startled him.

He jumped up, "Whoa—don't scare me like that." He was breathing fast.

She cocked an eyebrows at him, "Daydreaming, are you?"

He felt his face blush— he got up and smoothed his tux, changing the subject.

"So what's next?"

Megan eyed her tablet—flicking her fingers through his schedule, "You have a gala tonight, a charity in a few days, and finally—since they said yes, the announcement."

His stomach turned, "So soon?"

Megan eyed him, "The public also needs confirmation, remember sir?"

He nodded—he never thought this his public image would be so exhausting—so draining. Megan led the way out of the ornate hallway, through the centuries old building—and Adrian looked back one, wondering how all this happened.

The hours swirled around him—the countdown had spun quickly out of his control. The days had passed, and it was time for the announcement. Adrian awoke in his room—the sun shining into his eyes. He had dreamed about Veronica, about the time she had slept in his arms.

The sun shone brilliantly—which felt ironic—on his most doomed day, the sun shone the most beautifully.

His eyes went to the painting on his wall. It was a portrait that his mother had made for him. It was the two of them—when he was a teen, embracing in a hug, smiling at the painter. It wasn't like the other paintings in his home—adorned from floor to ceiling with thousands of pounds in paintings. Those were all formal—with stoic expressions.

Nope, this was a special one—it didn't show Queen and Prince, it only showed a mother and her son, smiling.

There was a knock on his door and Megan entered with her tablet in hand. Adrian got up and began to get ready.

"You'll address the nation with a short story—talking briefly about tales of romance, this will make the public feel nostalgic," Megan began to dissect his speech. He had to make it sound like he was in love—right now, that sounded impossible.

"When you're at the end—Cressida will join you as you wrap up your 'story'," Meg put up air quotes.

"What story is that?" Adrian couldn't possibly imagine how he could fake falling for Cressida.

Megan looked away, "Well, we decided that you two met on the yacht—and she was there too, and there was in an instant connection," she coughed, "Then you fall in love as you sailed through the coast."

Adrian looked at her baffled, she was summing up his week with Veronica, not Cressida. He groaned and put his cuff links on—he has to dress his best today.

"And then?" he prompted, he just wanted to get this over with.

"Then you'll pull out the ring...you do have the ring right?" Megan stared at him, reminding him of her warning only a few days ago.

He rolled his eyes, "Yes, of course."

He headed toward his dresser, opening one of the drawers.

"Sir—I thought you were going to put that in a safe?" Megan's tone was disapproving.

He grabbed the small box from the corner of his drawer—it was far too precious to him to leave it in a cold safe. The small wooden box was carved elegantly—it fit in the palm of his hand. It was carved with smooth, hand crafted vines and was outlined with small shining jewels. It wasn't a huge or million-pound box, it was a simple one. His mother's memory stung into him. He had never opened it.

When she handed it to him, he had hoped they could open it together.

He felt his throat tighten, "Can you give me a minute Meg?" he called over his shoulder.

There was a beat, "Certainly, sir." He heard the door close behind him.

He brought the small box with him as he sat on the edge of the bed.

He rolled it in his hands, the memory of when she gave it to him.

Slowly, he pulled at the small latch, and box broke open.

He felt the heat in his throat—he eyed the small piece of jewelry, a shining ring with a soft blue tint. It looked like the ocean. He brought the box up to his face, admiring the shining glow.

Then, he noticed something. There was writing on the inside of the box—scribbled in his mother's small handwriting. He could tell it was her. He pulled open the lid—exposing a single written sentence. The words curved elegantly in small loops. His chest tightened—the message was clear.

You deserve love, my son.