Jessica isn’t a delicate flower. She’s handled things in her life, and I know it. I don’t need all the details about her time with Michael to know that it was hard for her to get away from him and then even harder to take a risk on getting involved with someone like me.

She can handle a heated argument or two.

It’s not even that I want to test her. I don’t. I don’t want it to come to that. I don’t need it to come to that.

I’m exhausted.

Physically and mentally.

I’m stretched thin, so thin that I’m about to snap. My older brother is dead. I’m replacing him as the crown prince, even though I never wanted that role—not really, anyway, aside from childish envy when I was young. Now that I understand what comes with the title, I don’t want it.

I also can’t let my father down. I’m the only real family he has left. We don’t always get to choose how we’re going to spend our lives. It might seem like I’m unbelievably lucky to be a prince, but it’s a heavy burden. Heavier than anyone can imagine.

That’s what I’m thinking about during the pause in our tiff as Jessica’s jaw moves up and down. She’s talking, but I’m not even aware of what she’s saying.

It’s not a much lighter burden to be with someone like me.

To have your life planned for you because you happen to love someone in the public eye.

Jessica didn’t know that when we first met. We were playing that stupid, reckless, no-strings-attached game. We should have realized it could only backfire. I should have known that the moment I saw her and my heart practically stopped. One look was all it took. I went ahead with it anyway. I couldn’t have resisted if I had wanted to.

I’ve spent too long being childish, being aggressive, being selfish.

Of course, in typical fashion, I’ve only been trying to fix it in one area of my life.

I must be a letdown to Jessica every single day. She’s essentially alone here, and I’ve done nothing to mitigate the loss of her friends.

At the beginning of all this, my commitment was to her above all else, and Marcus’s death changed that. When my brother died, my eyes were forced open to all the responsibility that would become mine.

When my brother died, I set aside my childish hopes of getting married for love, spending weekends away with one another, sharing plenty of private time by myself with a woman—with Jessica.

How can I ask her to give up her own life for the one I’m leading now?

That’s the dilemma. Now that I’m not such a selfish bastard, it’s clear to me that I’m asking too much of Jessica. The situation is demanding too much of Jessica. She didn’t have all the information when she agreed to be with me. It doesn’t make it less unfair that I didn’t have all the information, either.

My pulse races as I sit up against the pillows.

To be with me, she’ll have to give up most, if not all, of her freedom and privacy. That’s the way of things. Jessica thrives on her freedom. She blossoms in the world knowing that whenever she needs to make a change, she can do that.

It wouldn’t be like that living with me at Sainthall Palace.

Everything in our lives will be tracked, planned, double-checked, monitored.

It’s the price of being part of royalty.

Before she can speak again, I say the words I swore I’d never say. I say them even though saying them batters my heart, breaks it.

“Maybe it would be best if you went back to New York for a while. So we could sort this out without so much bickering.”

Her mouth falls open as if I’ve slapped her, and she draws in a sharp little breath. “You don’t mean that.” Her voice is so soft I almost can’t hear her speak.

My mind turns over each of the times I asked her to come with me, asked her to be with me, asked her to stay. But I don’t back down. I can’t.

“I do mean it. It’s not even about—fighting happens with every couple. But this isn’t the place for you, Jessica. You need to be able to make your own decisions. You have to be able to leave when you want to, work when you want to, do what you want to.”

I’m trying to be honest, but it’s so difficult to say those things to her that my tone is harsh, unyielding.

Her wide blue eyes fill with tears, but she doesn’t allow a single one to drop. “Wonderful,” she says bitterly. “I only wish you’d thought of this before I hopped on a plane with you to come across the ocean. I wish you’d thought of that before I lost my job. I wish you’d thought of that before you decided to break—.” She stops abruptly, looking away. “It would have been nice to have been given an ounce of consideration, your highness.”

Something inside me snaps.

She’s right, of course, but it’s not my fault that I was born to my mother and father. It’s not my fault that I was a prince of Saintland. And it’s not my fault that my brother died. This isn’t fair to either of us, but I am not the only one to blame for this situation. Maybe I should have thought this through before we got on that plane, but Jessica didn’t either.

I don’t need this from her.

I don’t need this from anyone.

“That’s fine, Jessica,” I say, my top lip curling in what I’m sure is an ugly caricature of a smile. “I know women like you have a need to be waited on hand and foot.” I saunter around the bed, throw my shirt over my shoulders, and step into my pants as she watches me, her mouth open, her hand over her heart as if I’m driving a knife into it, slowly, point first. “If that’s the case, then I’m not the man for you. I’m sure you’ll find someone who is perfect for you back in New York.”

As I put my hand on the door handle and pull it open to leave, I hear a strangled sob escape her lips.

In a move I will regret forever, I leave the room, leave her alone, without another look.