Peach

By the time our wedding should’ve ended, there’s a news article creeping through social media about the King of Amoria’s attempt to kidnap two teenage women and carry them over the mountains in a hot air balloon so that he could start his own harem.

I wish I was making this up, but the internet is really sick sometimes.

Viktor’s been released from the hospital with strict orders to not touch his eyeballs. Papaya checked out with a clean bill of health, and I spent the afternoon playing mediator between Katrin and her parents.

I’m almost positive Katrin is headed for a convent, which is ridiculous, but hopefully tomorrow everyone will have their rational, supportive heads back on straight.

I’ve also offered to pay for paternity testing out of my own pocket if her boyfriend pulls a dick move. Joey would’ve offered to rearrange his face, and I actually put two palace guards on her to make sure she didn’t try to on principle.

We’re barely back at the palace before Leonie informs us Miss Fiona Aurora wishes to speak with us.

“No,” I tell Leonie. “She’s not family, she’s not getting a say in anything that goes on behind these doors. And that would apply even if she was goddess of the whole entire fucking universe.”

Not even Meemaw or Viktor’s family follow us into the private wing of the palace.

It’s just me, Viktor, and Papaya.

I look at my sister. “I know, I know. I’m grounded,” she grumbles.

“We’re leaving,” I reply. “Pack your bags.”

Both Papaya and Viktor stare at me.

“But—” Papaya starts.

“Pack. Your. Bags.”

My voice cracks despite my best intentions.

And all of my intentions here are for everyone’s best.

Papaya bursts into tears and runs out of the room.

Viktor looks at me, his eyes bloodshot and swollen, sand and dirt streaked across his official Amorian uniform that he was supposed to wear for our official wedding, and I almost buckle. And that’s before he asks, “Why?” so very quietly that I wonder if I’m imagining his question.

“We’re not what you need,” I tell him. “We’re trouble and distractions and bad publicity—”

“You’re no such thing.”

“Yes, we are. And you’re too polite and protective to ever say it, so I have to.”

“You do not—”

“I do. There is so much good you can do here, but me and Papaya? We’ll be trouble no matter where we go. So thank you. Thank you for giving her to me, but I can’t do this to you anymore. You deserve so much more.”

“Peach—” He reaches for me, but stops himself.

“It’s not you, Viktor. It’s never been you. It’s me. And you can’t fix me.”

He can’t fix me.

I can’t fix me.

And I can’t fix Papaya.

All I can do is keep her from destroying his country.

His jaw is ticking. “This is what you want.”

No.

No, leaving is not what I want.

But it’s what I have to do. It’s what I always have to do. “We’ll pay for any damages—”

“Not necessary.”

“It is so fucking necessary.” I don’t know why I’m shouting, but I am.

And he doesn’t even flinch.

I move toward him and stop myself, but my dress doesn’t get the message, and the damn poofy skirt keeps trailing in his direction. “I clean up my own messes. I made a mess, and I’m fixing it. It’s what I do. Every time. I fix my fucking messes.”

“Peach.”

“No. Stop. You don’t get to say my name like I’m being a crazy irrational person. I hate that some people get to be special just because they were born lucky. I hate that the only reason Papaya isn’t in jail right now is because you’re a king. She should be in jail. She stole a fucking balloon again. I tried to cover for her the first time, and this is what happened.” I gesture to the damn dress, swaying like a bell. “I’m jumping through hoops to try to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved because I couldn’t save myself when I was her age. And I know I can’t save her, but I have to try, and I don’t have room in my life for all this queen bullshit or for being a good business partner to Joey or even to letting myself fall in love with a really great guy, because that’s not the hand I was dealt. That’s not the family I was born into.”

I’m crying now, and I don’t care.

I’m mad.

I’m sad.

I’m just broken.

“You may deal yourself a new hand,” he says. “You have dealt yourself a new hand.”

“It’s what I do.”

“You run away, you mean.”

“You think I want to do this?”

“You ran from the trouble in Alabama to come here. Why not run from the trouble here to go back to Alabama?”

“I’m trying to do what’s best—”

“For your heart to stay safe and secure and unable to be damaged. And by whom, Peach? Who here would wish you harm?”

“You’re twisting this—”

“Am I? Or are you?”

He’s right.

Of course he’s right. He’s Viktor. He’s always right.

But he’s wrong too.

“You have duties and responsibilities to an entire country. I can’t—”

“You don’t want to, I believe you intended to say.” His mouth is so rigid, his bloodshot eyes hurt and betrayed, and I have to look away. “Were I a bookkeeper, or a carpenter, or a janitor, you would still be running. ‘Tis not your worry for Papaya. ‘Tis your worry for yourself.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You would merely find another excuse.” He turns. “If you wish to go, I shan’t keep you. You are free, my lady. Would that I could convince you to stay, but I wish your pity no more than you wish mine.”

He doesn’t head to the stairs and the bedrooms.

Not Viktor.

He leaves the apartment.

Because Amoria’s Love Laureate needs to know their king is brokenhearted over his wife’s refusal to love him the way he so very much deserves to be loved.

And his wife needs to get her priorities straightened out.

I’m spending too much time pretending to be a queen of a country, and not enough time being the guardian my sister still needs.