BRIAR WAS ABOUT to give in to despair when there was a knock on the door. She knew immediately that it wasn’t Prince Felipe, as she had a feeling he didn’t knock. Ever.
She was proven correct when a servant came through the door after she told her to come in.
“This phone is programmed so that you may call your parents,” the woman said. “I will give you some privacy.”
She turned and swept out of the room, leaving Briar there with the phone. The first thing she tried to do was call 911, which was stupid, because she knew that it wasn’t an emergency number in Santa Milagro. The phone wasn’t connected to the internet, so she couldn’t search any other numbers, but she had a feeling that even if she could it was programmed to only connect to one other number.
She should dial them immediately. After all, except for when she was at school, this was the longest she’d gone without contact with them. And even when she’d been at university it had been...different. She’d been in an approved location, doing exactly what they’d asked her to do.
Right now she was...well, somehow rootless, even as she learned the truth of where she’d come from. On her own, in a way she never had been before, even while she was being held captive.
For one moment, she thought about not calling. It was a strange, breathless moment, followed by her stomach plummeting all the way to her toes, even as she couldn’t believe she had—for one moment—considered something so selfish.
They were probably sick with worry. And it was her fault, after all. She was the one who had approached Felipe. She was the one who had opened herself up to this. She had failed them. After trying so hard for so much of her life to make sure she could be the daughter they deserved to have, now they were going through this.
With shaking fingers, she dialed her parents. And she waited.
It was her father who answered, his tone breathless in rush. “Yes?”
“It’s me,” she said.
“Briar! Thank God. Where are you? Are you okay? We’ve been searching. We called the police. We’ve called every hospital.”
“I know,” she said. “I mean, I knew you would have. But this is the first chance I’ve had to call. I wasn’t... I’ve been kidnapped,” she said. As much as she didn’t want to cause her parents any alarm, kidnapped was what she was; there was no sugarcoating it.
Her father swore violently, and a moment later she heard the other line pick up. “Briar?” It was her mother.
“I’m okay. I mean, I’m unharmed. But I’m in...”
“Santa Milagro,” her father said, his tone flat.
The world felt like it tilted to the side. “You know? How do you know?” He had told her they would. But she realized that up until that moment she truly hadn’t believed him.
“Perhaps it was a mistake,” her father said slowly, “to keep so much from you. But we saw no other way for you to have a normal, happy life. It wasn’t our intention to keep your identity from you, not really. But we didn’t know what kind of life you would have if you knew that you were a princess that couldn’t live in a palace. If you knew that you had parents who had given birth to you across the world, who didn’t want to give you up but had felt forced into it.”
“It was selfish maybe,” her mother said, her tone muted. “But your mother and father did agree. They agreed that it would be best if you knew only us. They agreed it would be best if you didn’t feel split in your identity. But we all knew it couldn’t go on forever. We simply hoped this wouldn’t be the reason.”
Briar felt dizzy. “Am I Talia? Princess Talia. That’s what he keeps calling me. Is that true?”
“It is true.” Her father said it with the tone of finality.
“How? How can everybody just keep something like this from me? This is my life! And yeah, you were always overprotective and everything, but I didn’t realize it was because I was in danger of actually being kidnapped by some crazy prince from half a world away.” She took a deep breath. “I didn’t realize it was because I was...a princess.”
It felt absurd to even think, let alone say.
“It lasted longer than we thought it would,” her mother said, her voice soft. “And I can’t say that I’ve been unhappy about it. You’re all we have, Briar. And to us, that’s who you are. Our daughter. We wanted so badly to protect you.” She heard the other woman’s voice get thick with tears. “We failed at that.”
Briar felt...awash in guilt. A strange kind. They were distressed because of her. Because they had been embroiled in this and probably hadn’t a clue what the best way to handle it was. Of course there wasn’t exactly a parenting book called So You Have to Keep an Endangered Princess Safe While Raising Her as Your Own. It might hurt, to find all this out now, but she certainly couldn’t blame them.
“He says I have to marry him,” she said, her voice hushed.
“The king?”
“Prince Felipe,” she said.
The sound of relief on the other end of the phone was audible. “At least he’s not... His father is a devil,” her father said. “That was why your birth parents, the king and queen, sent you away from your country. Because they knew a life with him would destroy you.”
“I don’t want to marry Felipe, either, though,” she said. “I don’t want to be a princess. I just want to go back home.”
There was a pause. A silence that seemed to stretch all the way through her.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. Now that he has you... It would be catastrophic to your birth parents...if any of this were to get out. The money that was borrowed by Verloren. Because any business done with King Domenico would be considered a blight on your mother and father. They would never recover from it. And the consequences to the country would be severe if Santa Milagro decided that the terms of the deal had been violated. The national treasury would be drained. People would have nothing. No food, no housing. No healthcare.”
As he spoke those words, she felt weight settling on her shoulders. A new one added with each thing he listed would be denied to the citizens of her home country—a home country she couldn’t even find on a map—if she chose not to comply.
“So I have to... I have to marry him?”
“Unless you can convince them there is some other alternative,” her father said. “I’m not sure what else can be done. You are beyond our reach. This is something we never wanted for you.”
Fury filled her anew. “But you knew it could happen. You knew all along, and I didn’t.”
“We never wanted you to be afraid of your own shadow,” her mother said.
“Well, I don’t want to be afraid of my own shadow. But I should have been warned to be afraid of charming Spanish men who tried to talk me up on the street.” She hung up, and as soon as she did the door swung open. And there was Felipe.
Immediately, she was filled with regret.
He crossed the room, taking the phone from her hand. Why had she hung up? Who knew how long it would be before she was able to speak to her parents again.
“I assume everything that I said would be confirmed was?” he asked.
“I assume you were listening in, based on your perfect timing.”
He smiled. “You know me so well already. We’re going to be the perfect married couple.”
“I don’t understand. Marry somebody else. Why does it have to be me?”
He reached out then, grabbing hold of her hand and tugging her up out of bed. She was still wearing nothing more than the hospital gown, and she felt a breeze at her backside. She gasped, realizing that there was nothing but a thin pair of white cotton panties separating her from being bare back there.
His golden eyes were blazing then, blazing with that kind of fire and intensity she had sensed was inside him. And more than that. Fire, and brimstone. She had the sudden sense that there was hell contained inside this man. And whether it was just the shock wearing off, or a sudden connection with the reality she found herself in, for the first time she was afraid of him. Really afraid.
She found herself being dragged over to a window. Heavy drapes obscured the view, and he flung them back, roughly maneuvering her so that she was facing the vista before them. A large, sprawling city, nothing overly modern. Villas with red clay roofs, churches with tall steeples and iron bells hanging in the towers. And beyond that, the mountains.
“Do you see this?” he asked. “This is my country. For decades it has been ruled by a madman. A madman more concerned by power—by shoring up all of the money, all of the means through which he could blackmail—than caring for the people that live down there. And in that time I have spent decades doing what I can do in order to change things once I assume the throne. Working toward having the military on my side. Toward earning as much money as I could personally to make a difference the minute I had control. I have been making contacts and arrangements behind the scenes so that the moment my father’s body is put into the dirt a new dawn will rise on this country. I never wanted to take it by civil war. No, not when the cost would be so dear in terms of life. At least, I didn’t want to take it in an open civil war. But that is exactly what I have been fighting for years. Playing the part of debauched playboy while I maneuvered in the background. You are part of that plan. And I will be damned if I allow you to do anything to mess it up. There is no amount of compassion that could move me at this point, Princess. Nothing that will stir me to change my path. I will be the King of Santa Milagro. And you... You can be the queen. You can help fix all the evil that has befallen my people, and you can improve the lives of yours, as well. Or you can go back to life as a bored sorority girl in the city. I’m sure that’s an existence, as well. And all of these people... Well, they can slide into the sea.”
She had to smooth her fingers over her eyebrows to make sure they hadn’t been singed off during that fiery tirade. “Am I really so important to your plans?”
“Everybody knew that you were supposed to marry my father. And the things he would have done to you... But if you marry me, and you do so willingly...it will mend the fences between Santa Milagro and Verloren. It will do much to fix the image of my country—and me—in the media. I need everything in my power. Absolutely everything. All the pieces that I have set out to collect. I will let nothing fall by the wayside. Including you.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I didn’t think I could possibly make that more clear. If you don’t there will be destruction. For everyone. Everyone you love. Everyone you will love.”
She blinked. “Are you going to have people killed?”
“No. I’ll only make them wish they were dead.”
“And how will that help your improve your image attempt?” she asked with a boldness she didn’t feel.
“I’m not so stupid that I would go about it in the public view. But your New York parents...they are vulnerable. And suitably low visibility. Nonetheless, I can ruin them financially. He works with American politicians. And believe me, if I offer the right incentives, I can decimate his patient base, his reputation. Because far better to have an alliance with a prince than continue to support a specific physician.”
Ice settled in her stomach. She believed him. Believed he would do that. Harm her parents. And if she allowed that...what sort of daughter would she be? They had protected her all her life. The least she could do was protect them in kind.
He smiled, and something in that smile made it impossible for her to doubt him. And then his expression shifted, and he returned to being that charming-looking man she had seen on the street in New York. “Now, you can’t possibly meet my people in that hospital gown. Rest for tonight. Tomorrow... Tomorrow we shall set about fashioning you into a queen.”
* * *
Felipe walked into his father’s room. It was dark, the curtains drawn, none of the lights on.
“Good evening, Father,” he said, sweeping toward the bed.
“Your jacket is crooked,” his father said by way of greeting.
Felipe lifted his arm, tugging his sleeves down, hating the reflex. “It is not,” he returned. “And you’re very nearly blind, so even if it was, there would be no way for you to tell.”
It was a strange thing, seeing this man in this state. He had always been fearful to Felipe when he’d been a child. And now, here he was, drained, shrunken. And still, something twisted with something sour whenever he looked at him.
This man, who had abused and tortured him and his mother for years. A slap across her face when Felipe was “in disarray.”
He could remember well his mother being hit so hard it left an instant bruise beneath her eye. And then her makeup artist had been charged with making it invisible before they went to present themselves in the ballroom as the perfect royal family.
A facade of perfection. Something his father excelled at. He had convinced his country of the perfection of his family and the perfection of his rule. The citizens of Santa Milagro slowly and effectively stripped of their freedom. Of art, education and hope.
All things Felipe would see restored. Though he would never be able to fix what had become of his mother, at least he could restore Santa Milagro itself.
There had always been the temptation to try and claim the country by force, but that would only entail more loss of life.
There was enough blood shed already. Blood that felt as if it stained his hands.
“Is that any way to talk to your dying father?”
“Probably not. But since when have I cared? I only wanted you to know something.”
“What is that?”
“I found her. The princess.”
His father stirred. “My princess?”
A smile curved Felipe’s lips. “No. She’s mine now. I’m going to make her my wife. There is nothing you can do about it. Not from your deathbed.”
“You’re a bastard,” his father said, his voice thin, reedy and as full of venom as it had ever been. But he had no power now.
“Don’t I wish that were true,” Felipe said, twisting his voice into the cruelest version of itself he could manage. Projecting the sort of cruelty that he had learned from the man lying before him. “If only I were a bastard, rather than your flesh and blood. You have no idea how much I would pay to make that so.”
“The feeling,” his father said, the words broken by a ragged cough, “is mutual.” He wiped a shaking hand over his brow. “I never was able to break you.”
“Not for lack of trying,” Felipe said. “But I do hope that I will go down in history as one of your greatest failures. The only truly sad thing is that you will not be here to see it.”
He turned to leave his father’s room. Then paused. “However, if you’re still alive by the time the wedding rolls around I will be sure to send you an invitation. I’ll understand that you won’t be feeling up to attending.”
He continued out of his father’s room then, striding down the hall and on to the opposite wing of the palace where his rooms were. It was only then that he acknowledged the slight tremor in his own hand.
He flung open the doors to his chamber, crossing the length of the space, and took a large bottle of whiskey from the bar that was installed at the back wall. He looked at the glass that he kept positioned there—always, for easy access—and decided it was not needed. He took the cap off the bottle and lifted it to his lips, tilting it back and trying to focus on the burn as the alcohol slid down his throat.
It took so much more for him to feel it now. So much more for him to feel anything.
He slammed the bottle back down onto the bar. And he waited. Waited for something to make that feeling of being tainted go away. It was because he had gone into his father’s room. Or maybe it was because of the princess who resided down the hall against her will.
Or maybe it was just because his father’s blood ran through his veins.
Felipe roared, turning toward the wall and striking it with his forearm, his fist closed. He repeated the motion. Over and over and over again as pain shot up to his shoulder, and all the way down to his tightly closed fingers.
Then he lowered his arm, shaking it out. He took a deep breath, the silence in the room settling over him. He looked down, and he noticed a trail of blood leaking out from beneath his now crooked shirtsleeves.
He frowned. Then reached down and grabbed hold of the fabric, straightening his cuffs. And took another drink.
* * *
When Briar awoke the next morning she was greeted by three stylists. A man dressed in a shocking green coat, wielding a pair of golden scissors. A woman in a skintight fuchsia dress, and another wearing a pale blue top and a navy-colored skirt.
“The prince has ordered that we help prepare you for your public debut,” the woman in pink said, her features seeming to grow sharper as she examined Briar.
“I don’t normally wear hospital gowns,” she said, her voice stiff. “But I kind of left home without a chance to gather any of my clothes.”
The woman waved a hand, the shocking neon fingernails a blur against her brown skin. “None of them would have been acceptable anyway. I’m confident in that fact.”
After that, she found herself being plucked from bed and herded into the bathroom where she was instructed to get into the shower, where she would find acceptable soaps. She bristled at the idea that somehow what she had used before wasn’t acceptable, but gladly walked into the massive tiled facility and stood beneath the hot spray for longer than was strictly necessary.
Then she began to scrub her skin with the toiletries provided and had to concede the fact that it was essentially like cleansing herself with silk. Perhaps, she also had to concede that as nice as the items in her childhood home were, they weren’t palace material.
Then she got defensive again when she was seated in front of a vanity and that man with the golden scissors began to paw at her hair.
“Don’t cut too much off,” she all but snarled.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “where did you go to school for hair?”
“I didn’t. But it’s grown out of my head for the past twenty-two years, so I have to say I’m pretty well educated on that situation.”
He appraised her reflection in the mirror, squinting his eyes. “No. Not more than I am. You should not have straight hair.”
“Well, clearly I disagree with you,” she said, feeling defensive.
“Your bone structure agrees with me.”
There was no argument after that. And she had to admit that when he was finished she appreciated the curls in her hair in a way she didn’t normally. He had managed to find a nice middle ground between the tightly wound natural curl and the board-straight style she normally aimed for. The fact that she didn’t hate it was a little bit annoying.
She had a similar interaction with the stylist who was intent on choosing silhouettes that Briar normally avoided. She was averse to things that clung too tightly to her curves, but the woman in bright pink seemed to think that Briar needed to show off a bit more.
The makeup artist didn’t believe in subtlety, either, and by the end of it Briar barely recognized the woman in the mirror. Or rather, she almost did. Because the tall, slim creature with her eye-catching curls and slim figure wrapped tightly in a blaze-orange dress, bright pink blush on her cheeks and gold on her lips, looked more like Queen Amaani than she did herself.
It was becoming more and more difficult to deny the reality of the situation.
Although, resemblance didn’t confirm genetics, but her parents had told her it was true. And even if they hadn’t...it would be very difficult to push it aside now.
“Beautiful,” the man in green said.
She felt complimented, but at the same time didn’t really want the compliment as she was being made beautiful for a man she didn’t really want to feel beautiful for.
She said nothing, but her beauty team didn’t seem to care. Instead, they packed up their things and left as quickly and efficiently as they had arrived.
Briar wobbled on the high heels she was wearing then sat quickly on the edge of the bed. She put her hand to her chest and looked at the mirror that hung across the room, looked at the wide-eyed, undeniably beautiful woman staring back at her.
She was a princess. Really and truly. And she was supposed to marry a prince who was quite possibly the maddest bastard on the planet.
The door to her room opened again and a man she hadn’t seen before appeared. “His Majesty would appreciate it if you would join him for breakfast. Provided you are dressed suitably.”
“Does that mean he didn’t want me to show up in a hospital gown?”
The servant didn’t react, his expression carefully blank. “He did not specify.”
“Well, I imagine I’m suitable.” She stood, following him out of her bedroom. She had been tempted, if only for a moment, to deem herself unsuitable and stay in her bedroom. But she had been in there for two days and eventually she was going to have to face her adversary. Face the man who claimed he was going to marry her whether she wanted him to or not.
And she was going to have to try to get out of it.
She walked silently with the servant, the only sound in the corridor the clicking of her high heels on the flagstone. The man opened the door to what she presumed was the dining room and stood to the side. “This way.”
He didn’t enter with her. Instead, she heard the doors close firmly behind her and found herself standing alone in a cavernous room with Prince Felipe. He was seated at the opposite end of the table from her, a newspaper to his left, a cup of coffee to his right.
“Good morning,” he said.
Then, from behind the paper, he produced a velvet ring box. He set it firmly in front of him then said nothing more about it. “Have a seat,” he said.
“As you wish,” she returned, taking her seat in the farthest possible place from him, nearest the door.
“That is not what I meant,” he said.
“But it is what you said.”
He chuckled and folded the paper then retrieved the ring box and picked up his cup. He stood then, and she was reminded of how tall he was. How imposing. He walked across the room and sat down next to her. If he was fazed at all, he didn’t show it.
“You seem to have woken up in a good mood, Briar.”
“That’s the first time you’ve called me that,” she said. “Apart from when you were pretending to be José.”
“I suppose it doesn’t benefit me to be at odds with you,” he said, tilting his head to the side, a dent appearing between his brows. As though he was truly considering this for the first time. “If you are more comfortable being called Briar in conversation, then I will call you that. However, in public I will refer to you by your given name.”
“A given name I don’t remember being given.”
“Do any of us really remember being given our names? I know I certainly don’t.” He placed his index finger firmly against the top of the ring box and slid it toward her. “See if this is to your satisfaction.”
“It won’t be,” she said, not making any move toward the box.
“I doubt that. The diamond is practically large enough to eradicate world hunger.”
“Then eradicate world hunger. Don’t put it on my finger.”
“I will make a donation to charity that matches the value. Put it on your finger.”
“No,” she responded. “I have been given no real compelling reason why I have to actually marry you. It’s only because you’re choosing to consider me payment for a debt, which I think we can both agree is a bit archaic. You say that your father is a monster, so I don’t understand why you want to be monstrous, as well.”
“Because I will be a better monster,” he said. “Anyway, I have explained my terms, and they will not change.”
“Well I don’t—”
“Do you want to meet your parents? King Behrendt and Queen Amaani?”
A strange, yawning void opened up inside her chest. One that she hadn’t realized was there until that moment. And she flashed back to earlier when she had seen her reflection in the mirror and realized how much she favored the queen. Realized that there was most certainly truth in the stories she had been told about her lineage.
She loved the mother and father she knew, and nothing could ever replace them. But she had other parents. Parents who hadn’t actually wanted to give her up. Parents who had done it for her protection.
A king and queen who had lived halfway across the world from her for almost her entire life. A king and queen that she could meet.
That longing was an ache, so acute, so intense, that it stole her breath.
But she refused to respond to him. Apparently, she didn’t need to, because only a moment later it became clear that her longing must have been written across her features.
“Excellent,” he said. “If you ever want to meet your parents, if you want to see the palace again... We can always attend the annual ball they throw every year in October. I hear you loved it when you were a little girl. There is always spiced cider, which I’m told was your favorite.”
It hit her in the chest with the force of a brick. That feeling. That nostalgia. That hook she felt in her gut whenever the air began to chill and the leaves started to fall.
It was what she remembered. Oh, she didn’t remember it in pictures. Didn’t remember it as an actual event. But it lived somewhere inside her. Resided in her bones. It transcended specific moments and images and existed in the realm of feeling. Deep and powerful. It was a root; she couldn’t deny it. It always had been. A part of her that connected her to the earth, that ran beneath the surface of all that she was. That had formed her into who she was now.
She wanted to see it. She wanted to connect that with something real. With something more than a feeling.
“You remember,” he said, the amusement in his voice almost enraging. “And you do want it. More than anything. You have very expressive eyes, querida. All the better for me.”
All the better for him to manipulate her, he meant. And he was doing it. Doing it with all the skill of a master. She suddenly felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Like someone who had been restrained all her life, who was left standing there with an endless array of choice.
Her parents weren’t here. She didn’t like Felipe, and he needed her. Which meant she was under no pressure at all to behave a certain way. As long as she was here, she was doing his bidding and he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—lash out at her so long as she didn’t bring her behavior into the public eye.
She didn’t have to behave. She didn’t have to do anything for anyone.
She didn’t have to be perfect.
“Of course I want to meet my parents,” she said, not bothering to soften her tone. “Who wouldn’t want to understand where they came from?”
“It will be impossible for you to meet your family, of course, should you fail them in the way that you are suggesting you might.”
“They sent me across the world, pretended I was dead, in order to avoid this fate for me.”
“No, they wished for you to avoid my father. However, a marriage of convenience is not uncommon between royals. And I am not my father. Believe me. It matters. That is not just an incidental. Had the marriage been set between you and I from the moment you were born...they would have happily handed you over. What I can offer them, what I can offer your country, and what yours can offer mine, is no small thing. Conversely, what I can do if you disappoint me on this score is no small thing. Do you honestly think that your mother and father would be content to allow you to marry a doctor on the Upper East Side?”
“They sent me to be raised by one. I’m not entirely certain why one wouldn’t be good enough for me to marry.”
“But you were never intended to live there forever. You were always meant to come back and assume your place. Tell me... What did you expect to do with your life?”
“I was an art major.”
He made a dismissive sound. “So you’re poised to become an incredibly useful member of society. I’m terribly sad to have interrupted that trajectory.”
Anger fired through her veins, and since she wasn’t worried about making friends with him, she let it show. “Art is important.”
“Of course. It’s the thing that people worry about after all of their necessities are met.”
“It’s one of the things that makes the world beautiful. It gives people hope. It’s part of moving from surviving to living.”
A smile curved his lips. “I seem to have found a bit of passion in you. That is encouraging. I would put you in charge of the art program. For all the schools in my country. You will have the opportunity to change the face of education in this country. My father has kept things quite austere, it may not surprise you to learn. When I say he has been something of an evil dictator I am not exaggerating. That is not the kind of job offer you’re going to get in Manhattan. What else are you going to do with that degree? You going to marry someone successful and plan all his parties for him? I grant you that often princesses can be quite decorative, but my queen will not be. I will use you in whatever capacity you see fit, whatever way you can find to improve my country.”
He spoke with...well, sincerity, which was the most surprising thing. That he seemed to so easily hand this to her. The chance to reconnect with her parents, with her heritage, and the chance to make a difference. All by using the subject that she was most passionate about.
“And you should see the art collection we have in the palace. Just sitting in the basement waiting to be curated. Our museums need to be opened. We have been in the dark ages. It is time that we come into the light. And if—as you say—art is a part of living and not surviving, then help my people live.”
It was strange, because she could actually see that he cared about this. About his country. That of all the things in the entire world, this might be the only thing that mattered to him. She might be at a disadvantage here, but so was he. Because he cared about this. And he needed her. Needed her to cooperate. Needed her to help insulate his image.
“And if I get up in front of the entire world when you try to announce our engagement and tell them that you kidnapped me?” She had to ask.
“If I go down, Princess, we are going down in flames together. I promise you that. I’m not a man to make idle threats. I have been lying in wait for years, waiting for the moment when I might liberate my kingdom, when I might save my people. Believe me when I tell you I will not be stopped now. I would not say that I am a man consumed with serving the greater good. I don’t really care about whether it’s good or not. I care about serving my goal. My goal is to make this country great. My goal is to liberate the people in it. Whatever I have to do.”
He slid the ring closer to her again. “Now. Put it on.”
She hesitated for a moment before reaching out and curling her fingers around the box. Then she opened it slowly. Her breath caught in her throat. It truly was beautiful. A stunning diamond set into an ornate platinum setting. Definitely designed to tempt a woman on the fence about accepting a marriage proposal.
If it was a show of love it would be personal.
It hit her then, with the speed and impact of a freight train, what it would mean to marry him. It would mean never having a real boyfriend. It would mean never falling in love. And it would mean...
She looked up at him, her heart slamming against her breastbone. Images flashed through her mind. Him touching her. Kissing her. She had never kissed a man before, unless you counted that time he had kissed her when she was unconscious. And she didn’t really. Except, it was difficult not to. Because it had most certainly been the first time another person’s lips had touched hers. And thinking of it now made them burn.
“Did you have questions?” he asked.
“I don’t have another choice. Do I?”
“We always have choices. It’s just that the results of those choices are going to be better or worse. You have one choice that doesn’t ruin a great many lives. That isn’t having no choices.”
“One requires me to be completely selfish, though.” And if she decided to walk away from him, she supposed that she could go back to life as she had always known it. She would simply ruin an entire nation that she hadn’t known much about until this week. Would never meet her parents. But she could go back to how things were. Could pretend that none of this had happened.
“And if I were you, that is perhaps the choice I would make.”
His dark eyes glittered, and she had a feeling that his comment had been calculated. Because the moment he had said that, she had known that her decision was made. She wasn’t him. She wasn’t, and she never would be. Her parents had always instilled in her the fact that having money as they did didn’t make her better, didn’t make them better. That she had been given a great many advantages and was responsible for making the best of those advantages.
She had been intent on doing that. As soon as she had finished school she had planned on getting involved in inner-city art programs, in establishing funds and foundations. She was being given the opportunity to do that here. And more.
The influence she would have as a queen was inestimable.
She wrapped her hand around the ring box. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. No, he reacted in a completely different way to what she had imagined he might do. His handsome face set an expression of grim determination. “Good. And it is done. The announcement will be made tomorrow. And we are going to have a ball celebrating our engagement. I have already sent out invitations.”
“Ahead of my acceptance?”
“I never doubted you.”
The words hit her strangely, bounced around inside her chest, ricocheting off her heart. They made her angry, but they made her feel something else, too. Something she couldn’t quite put a finger on. Something she didn’t want to put a finger—or anything else—on.
“Perhaps you should. Someday I might surprise you.”
He shook his head. “Good people are rarely surprising, Briar. It’s bad people you have to watch out for.” He stood then. “You should order yourself a coffee.” He turned to walk out of the room.
“Are you a bad person?”
His expression turned grave, deadly serious, which was strange. “I am... Whatever I am, I am beyond help. If I were you, I wouldn’t try.”
Then he left, leaving her alone with her fear, her doubt and a diamond.