WHAT A FUCKING NIGHT! An awful disaster of a night. On a boat. In a storm. With a food-poisoned, seasick puking woman, begging me to hold her hair and make it stop the whole damn time.
Move over, Stephen King—I’m the master of horror now.
As we drive up through the gate, all I can think about is a hot shower and that bloody perfect big bed, with Sarah, warm and naked, tucked up tight against me.
I help Laura from the car and into the castle; she’s weak-kneed and weary. But inside the castle door, it’s chaos. Crew members bustling and shouting, and . . . Willard.
Why in the hell is Willard here?
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Vanessa Steele, motioning to a cameraman to pick up start filming. Before I can say a word, little Penelope Von Titebottum advances, and then she takes a damn swing at me.
“Arsehole!”
I step back out of reach, but just barely.
Sarah comes down the stairs then, looking small and frail. And across her shoulder is her old satchel . . . filled with her books.
“Sarah . . . what’s happening?”
Her skin is so pale, her eyes huge and dark as she looks me up and down. “You’re back. Are you all right? Was anyone hurt? I was worried about the storm.”
“No, we’re fine. We’re all fine.”
Something shifts in her features then. “You said you weren’t going to go. You said you would quit, Henry. And instead, you were gone all night—I think I deserve an explanation.”
I rub my forehead. “I was going to quit, but . . . this way is easier. It’s only a few more days, Sarah. It’s better this way—trust me.”
“Better for whom, Henry?” Tears well in her eyes and I want to die. And her tone drips with betrayal. “I waited for you. I believed you, like a fool. And you were off with Laura all night, doing—”
“Doing nothing!” I shout, because—fuck me. “Nothing happened between me and Laura.”
Of course, there’s a lull in the ruckus, just enough for Laura’s voice to carry as she tells Cordelia, “Henry was wonderful. He held me all night.”
Sarah blanches, then accusation resumes its place in her expression.
“While she vomited her intestines up!” I yell. “All over me! Here—smell me—I reek of puke, not pussy.”
There’s a loud gasp and a squeak, and both Sarah and I turn in time to see Laura’s head loll, her eyes close, and her knees give out as she faints dead away. Luckily, it’s Willard to the rescue—he moves quickly and catches her before she hits the ground. Slowly, he lowers down to his knees and after a moment, Laura opens her eyes, blinking up at him.
“You caught me.”
“I did,” Willard replies gently.
“I’m Laura.”
“I’m Willard. Feel free to fall into my arms anytime.”
Laure covers her mouth with her hand. “I smell terribly.”
He gazes down at her—already totally enamored.
“I don’t mind.”
Penelope breaks the tender scene when she comes up beside Sarah, hands on her hips. “Well? Did he quit?”
Sarah’s voice has the ring of a death knell. “No.”
Sparks practically shoot out of Penny’s eyes—right at my fucking forehead.
“And he’s not going to? He’s going to continue to take up with the other girls?”
“I’m not fucking taking up with them,” I object. “It’s not like that.”
Only Sarah seems to think it is. “Yes.”
“I knew it.” Penny shakes her head. “I’m glad I called Willard beforehand. We’ll send the staff for our things. Let’s go, Sarah.”
I grab Sarah’s arm. “It’s not like it sounds, I swear. I can explain.”
She makes a visible effort to control her breathing. “No, I think . . . I think Penny’s right. Some perspective will be good for me. It’s all so much at once. I won’t stay here if you’re going to . . .” She looks away, choking on the words. “I need some space away from all this.”
She means space away from me. And space is just another word for banishment.
And for a moment I lose my mind.
“Fucking hell!” I kick the table at the bottom of the staircase—sending a crystal vase tumbling over and crashing to the floor, emitting the sound of a gun blast as it shatters into a thousand pieces.
And Sarah’s lovely face pales to stark white. Her eyes glaze over and her body goes still as death.
And it feels like my ribs crumble into dust.
Because she’s gone, lost in a hell of her father’s making . . .
And I’m the one who sent her there.
Anguished words are torn from my lungs. “Sarah . . . no . . .”
Before I can pull her into my arms, Penny’s there, wrenching her away and screaming.
“Get away from her! You stay away!”
Penelope’s eyes are wild, and her mouth is drawn back in a feral snarl, ready to tear to pieces anyone who gets near the sister she loves so much.
We’re frozen in our places for only a few moments, but it feels much longer. And then that horrific rasping sound comes from Sarah’s throat as she comes to, gasping and panicked, grasping at Penny. Then she lifts her head and looks at me.
I move forward again, but Sarah falls back, away, dragging Penelope with her. She holds up her hand to me. “Stop.”
And it’s all so fucking awful. How is it possible for things to go from perfect—the most perfect moments of my life—to ruins?
I keep my voice calm and steady. “Sarah, please, just . . . please.”
I’m not even sure what I’m begging for.
“Stay . . . stay away from me.”
And with one last agonized look, she turns around and, with Penny, walks out the door.
I move forward, but my steps turn to stumbles, and before I know it I’m on my knees. Maybe it’s the exhaustion or maybe it’s the knowledge that the one relationship in my life that I thought I’d finally gotten right, the only woman I’ve ever loved, who I would cut my fucking heart out for . . . doesn’t want to be anywhere near me.
Laura’s on her feet now, standing off to the side, and I watch as Willard turns to follow Sarah out the door.
“Willard!” I call. “Wait.”
Soft brown eyes swimming with pity look down on me. “I’m sorry, mate. She’s my best friend. Maybe . . . just let her catch her breath, you know?”
And then he leaves too.
I don’t know how long I stay there on my knees, with my head in my hands. I feel people moving around, hear their whispers, but then there’s a rush of cold air from the door, and one clear, furious voice that I know all too well slices through my haze.
“What in the name of all that is holy is going on here?”
Granny’s home.
Fuck.
I lift my head and watch her walk toward me, like a god of thunder and lightning and destruction. Halfway across the foyer, Vanessa Steele intercepts her.
“Queen Lenora, I was hoping we would cross paths. It’s an honor to meet you.”
And she holds out her hand.
Big, big, big mistake.
The Queen lifts her chin and looks down at Vanessa’s outstretched hand with eyes so sharp it’s a wonder it’s not sliced clean off her arm.
“Do you know who I am, girl?”
“Ah . . . yes . . . you’re the Queen of Wessco.”
Her words are crisply enunciated and dripping with venom.
“You do not offer us your hand. You bow.”
And like many a stronger person before her, the producer buckles . . . and bows. My grandmother steps passed her dismissively. Coming straight for me.
But the strange thing is . . . I don’t feel any guilt or shame or intimidation. It’s like there’s a small pellet of steel in my stomach, snowballing and spinning, growing thicker and larger. And even though I’ve screwed up massively, I have no compulsion to explain myself—not now. Not even to the Queen.
All I feel is the resolve to go somewhere alone and figure out how to fix this mess.
And that means Granny’s just going to have to wait.
“Henry, what in the—”
I get to my feet and lift my hand.
“I’ll speak with you shortly, Your Majesty.”
Her eyes widen and her chest puffs up as she inhales, like a dragon about to breathe fire.
“Shortly?! You will explain—”
I look into her eyes and say in a tone that brooks no argument—one that I’ve never used with her in my life, “Not. Now.”
It’s possible I’ve stunned her into muteness, or caused a stroke. Either way her mouth snaps shut. And I turn on my heel, walk to the library, and close the door behind me.
For the next hour, maybe two, I sit in the chair facing the fireplace, watching the flames dance and lick at the stone that holds it.
And I contemplate. Consider. For the first time in my life.
It’s helpful.
I see it all so clearly, like reading a map—every mistake and wrong turn. But I don’t get bogged down by the errors. I refuse to sink into self-pity and loathing, doubt and regret. Not this time—not ever again.
That was the old Henry. And I’m really not him anymore.
Rock bottom changes you. Glimpsing heaven changes you more.
I’ve touched perfection, I’ve felt its arms around me and though she’s slipped away, she’s out there, just beyond my reach. Waiting for me to get off my arse and get my shit together. To prove myself. To become the man . . . and the king . . . she deserves.
And staring at that fire, I swear to myself and my parents, to God and—fuck it—the devil too, that I will not let her down.
“Henry.”
I didn’t hear my grandmother come in. She stands beside my chair, gazing at me, not with anger or disappointment in her stormy gray eyes—but something else. Concern, maybe. Curiosity?
“We must discuss what went on here. What have you done, my boy?”
I give her the truth. Without deflection or excuse.
“I’ve made a mess of things, Granny. But . . . I’m not going to do that anymore.”
She regards me for several moments and then softly says, “All right.”
“I’m marrying Lady Sarah Mirabelle Zinnia Von Titebottum.”
The words come out quiet and true. The earth is round. The sky is blue. I’m marrying Sarah.
She doesn’t know it yet, but . . . one step at a time.
“From what I know of her, she’s a bit shy, but we can work on that. She’s a lovely girl.”
“Yes, she is.” I look back toward the fire. “She was a virgin when she met me. She’s not anymore.”
My grandmother folds her hands at her waist. “I see. There are ways to get around that part of the law. A physician’s sworn statement should do it.”
My voice is soft but steady. “I don’t want to get around it. I want to change the law. We won’t marry until it’s done.”
“But why does it matter?”
“It matters to Sarah . . . so it matters to me. And when I put Mum’s ring on her finger, I want the world to know it’s because I’ve chosen her. Not because she fits the bill or checks the boxes, but because she’s magnificent. And I’m lucky enough that she’s willing to put up with me.”
My grandmother snorts. “Changing the law will take time. And it requires a vote in Parliament. That means . . . politicking.”
“I know. I was hoping you could show me how to be good at that. Will you help me, Granny?”
She blinks down at me. Like she’s never seen me before, as if she’s relieved and grateful for what her eyes behold. “Yes. Yes, I can do that, Henry.”
I put my hand over hers and give it a little squeeze. It’s not a hug, but it’s a start.
“Thank you.”
Not long after that, after I’ve explained the entire situation to the Queen, it’s time to clean house. I find Vanessa in the library, for the first time looking frazzled, shuffling papers.
My voice is soft but with a hint of lethal.
“What did you say to her?”
She lifts her pointy chin. “Nothing that wasn’t true.”
I straighten my shoulders and look down at her, demanding, “What did you say?”
“Come on, Henry. You know how this goes. Drama sells. And your tryst with the sister? That’s some high-flying drama right there.”
“Do you think this is a game? Just a show? This is my life.”
She folds her arms and tightens her stance. “You’re a prince. Your whole life is a show.”
“Not anymore.” I shake my head. “I’m done. We’re done. This is all finished. You take your footage and do whatever you like. You want to eviscerate me on television? Have at me.” Then I lean over her. “But I’m warning you now, and it’ll be the only warning you get—if you go after Sarah, if you disparage her in any way, I will ruin you. I will use every resource at my disposal—and I have a fucking country behind me—to destroy you and everything you touch. Are we clear, Ms. Steele?”
Her eyes dart across my face, gauging my resolve and my sincerity. Vanessa may not be particularly pleasant, but she’s not stupid.
“I want an exclusive.”
“What?”
“If things pan out between you and the bookworm, it’ll be the story of the century, and I want it. I’ll sit on the footage and when you announce your engagement, I’ll put together a documentary.” Her eyes rise, seeing the headlines. “It’ll be like a goddamn fairy tale. How the prince was tamed by the quiet girl. How, after going through a dozen mattresses, he found his perfect pea. I want an interview to go with that story—with you and Sarah.”
I turn the offer over in my head, weighing the options.
“I’ll give you an interview, but I won’t speak for Sarah. If she wants to participate, fine—if not, you settle for me.”
“Agreed.”
“And I want final approval.” I point my finger at her. “You don’t air a second of footage until I see it in its entirety and approve.”
She thinks it over and then she holds out her hand.
“Deal.”
We shake on it.
And it looks like I’m not so shit at politicking after all.
An hour later, she brings me the new contracts. I sign on the dotted line and hand them back. “Now, get your equipment and get the fuck out of my castle.”
Later, after Fergus closes the castle door firmly behind him, my grandmother stands beside me in the foyer, brushing her palms like she’s scuffing off dust.
“Well . . . I’m glad that’s over. Will you join me in the library for a glass of sherry?”
“Yes. There’s more we need to discuss.” I look her in the eye. “You’re not going to like it.”
She just nods, stalwart and unshakable as she’s always been. “I’ll tell Fergus to bring the extra-large glasses.”