American Royals
“I know.” She, too, was bound by a sacred oath.
“Your family would never allow it,” he added. As if she needed another reminder.
It struck Beatrice that none of them were the masters of their own fates. Not Connor or Teddy and especially not her. Any decisions she had made in her life were an illusion—the choice of what gown to wear, what charity to sponsor—a selection between two equally limited options.
She had never, ever chosen for herself before. Not when it came to anything that mattered.
“Let’s just put all this behind us,” Connor said, very formally. “As soon as we get back to the capital, I’ll request my reassignment.”
“No.”
Beatrice was surprised by the vehemence of her own response.
“You can’t leave,” she said hoarsely. “Please, Connor. You have no idea how important you are to me. You’re the only one in my life who makes me feel like a real person.”
At his confused look, she fumbled for the words to explain. “Until I met you, I never knew what it felt like, for someone to look at me because of who I am, not what I am. I can’t bear to lose you,” she said baldly.
Connor swallowed. “I would never do anything to hurt you. But, Beatrice, I can’t promise that you won’t come to any harm. That you won’t get hurt, if you get involved with me.”
“I’m already hurt.” She felt tears pricking at her eyes. “I never get to make my own choices. I have always put my family first—my country first—and it costs me, every single day of my life. But losing you … that’s not a cost I’m willing to pay.”
Connor brushed back a loose strand of her hair. Before he could lower his hand, Beatrice had reached up to cover it, cupping his fingers around her cheek. His skin felt rough and callused.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said again.
“We aren’t doing anything yet.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “If you’re going to break the rules, Connor, then go ahead and break them.”
He gave a familiar half smile at her words, then bent down to claim her mouth with his own.
Beatrice rose on tiptoe, her lips parted. Connor’s hands slid from her face to settle gently around her waist. She tipped back against the stone island in the center of the kitchen, and Connor leaned forward in response, the warmth of him settling against her. He kissed her slowly, with a hushed sense of wonder that bordered on awe. As if he didn’t fully believe this was happening either.
Kissing Connor felt terrifying and familiar all at once, like returning home after a lifetime of being lost.
At some point the stone counter was digging into her hips, and Beatrice shifted. Connor seemed to take that as a signal to pause. “We should probably … um …,” he said, in a questioning tone.
Beatrice’s eyes darted instinctively toward the couch. No way was she ready to take this into the bedroom.
Seeing that look, and knowing what it meant, Connor turned off the stovetop—at least one of them was remembering not to burn this place down—and scooped Beatrice into his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. He carried her toward the couch and set her delicately back on the cushions, never breaking the kiss the entire time.
Outside, the snow tumbled ever faster toward the ground; a fringe of icicles hung along the top of the windowsill. Beatrice felt like she had stepped inside a snow globe that someone had shaken. She prayed that the little white flakes never settled, that she could stay here forever, outside time itself.
“I’m scared.” Connor whispered it so softly that she thought she’d misheard.
“You? I thought you were too arrogant to be scared.”
“There’s the Beatrice I know.” He gave a wry smile, then let out a breath. “But I am scared. I’m scared of losing you, of somehow hurting you. Most of all I’m afraid of failing you.”
Beatrice shifted her weight so that she could look into his eyes. “I’m scared, too,” she admitted. “At least we can be scared together.”
The fire burned on before them, untended.
SAMANTHA
Samantha was at the chairlift’s loading station with Teddy and Jeff, humming a disjointed melody under her breath, when Jeff’s phone fell out of his pocket.
“Sorry!” he exclaimed, ducking off to one side to collect it. Before Sam could react, the chair had whirled around the central rotary toward them—leaving her no choice but to ride up with Teddy.
He turned toward her as if to say something, but Sam angled deliberately away from him. It wasn’t her job to entertain him just because his real date hadn’t yet arrived. She kept staring out at the mountain, onto which she couldn’t wait to be set loose.
Sam had woken that morning to a world of drifting white: white clouds shivering into snow, white wind whipping everything around them. She’d hurried into her snow gear and headed downstairs, where a few family members were already gathered.
Jeff jumped to his feet at her arrival. “We’ve gone interlodge! Both highways are closed, 145 and the pass from Red Mountain.”
“Which means that Beatrice is still stuck in Montrose.” The queen’s eyes drifted uncomfortably to Teddy, who was at the kitchen table, eating a homemade breakfast sandwich on a bagel. “If the roads aren’t open again by the afternoon, she’ll miss the party.”