Margo’s in fine form at physio today, barking orders at me as I try to make it through all of my exercises with a pounding headache. I really did a number on myself last night with the drinking. I’m so hungover, I can barely hold myself up straight.

Yet, I’m here to make myself better. For dinner with Cat tonight and for the future. I had to do this. Except, the commitment is lost on Margo.

“Come on, Henry,” she growls at me as I labor on the exercise bike. “You’re not going to let a hangover keep you from your goals, are you?”

I hadn’t told her that I had gone to the bar last night, so I really must look even shittier than normal for her to call me out.

I keep thinking about my conversation with Cat this morning. I don’t know if she’ll take the job here, and I don’t want to influence her decision—I don’t expect her to move here for me, but I would hope she’d do right by the baby.

I keep running through different scenarios in my mind. Cat and I dating, and we realize that we aren’t right for each other and she raises my child a continent away. Or I piss her off enough that she takes the baby and I never get to see it. Or, and this is the future that I’m most frightened about: Cat falls in love with me and I can’t be the man that she needs.

Fuck, don’t think that way.

“Henry!” Margo snaps. I swear, she’s like a fucking drill sergeant. “Keep your mind here, sir!”

I refrain from telling her to piss off, that I’m doing the best I can, because I know that won’t go over very well. So I keep my eyes straight and I bite my tongue.

I’m going to be a better dad than that piece of shit that fathered Ferdinand and me.

I grit my teeth, thinking about it. It’s hard not to be better than him—Dad was the ultimate, “Hey, I’m going out for a milk run,” except it was more of a, “Hey, I’m going to the casino.”

And then he left my mother and two young children for a cigarette girl at the casino, and he’s somewhere off the coast of Costa Rica, enjoying his family’s billions. I probably have half-brothers and sisters I’ve never met before. The thought is strange, but that shows how little my father has been in my life.

And my mother, while she had servants and nannies to help raise us, she never recovered emotionally until she died of cancer.

He’s persona non grata in Dubreva, so unless I make the effort to see him, I just don’t. Queen Victoria, my aunt, never forgave him for breaking her younger sister’s heart. He also broke mine.

Fuck him.

I refuse to be anything like him. Cat just has to see that I’m an upstanding guy. Even though I can’t stand without help right now.

“All right.” Margo gives me a small smile, but it’s enough to tell me that she’s proud. “Let’s ice your leg. No electrodes today.”

I barely halt my sigh of relief. She would have used the electrodes as punishment in that case, I imagine.

* * *

After physio, my driver takes me back to the palace. I think about stopping by Hanover Palace, the old estate where I grew up. I haven’t been there since I got back from Australia before the wreck, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Too many memories, many of them bad as I watched my mother deteriorate before my very eyes.

I get nostalgic at points in my life, but then I’m able to shake it off. I guess Cat’s revelation that she’s pregnant stirred up the need to see my childhood home.

I can’t. Not with my resolve as fragile as it is at the moment and I have dinner with her in a few hours.

I take my time getting ready, as we’re not meeting until five, but between icing my leg again, nursing my headache, and doing my exercises, I’m running out of time.

I shower in the en suite attached to my bedroom, washing off the grime from the bar last night and all the sweat from today’s physio session. It feels good to shower—after going through so many surgeries, I’d stopped showering as frequently, since I had such a high risk of infection.

Sponge baths could never cut it.

I’ve been in a fog ever since the wreck. And it seems like just now I’m able to keep my head above water.

That’s going to change today, though. I’m going to call Cat up, take her to dinner, woo her, and we’ll continue where we should have been two months ago.

Lofty goals.

But I’ve got to try.

I dress myself in a three-piece suit, the first one I’ve put on since before my wreck. The attendants at the palace try to help, but I turn them away. That’s one thing I never understood about royals—servants think we can’t dress ourselves. Not only am I going to dress myself, I’m going to do it to prove to everyone—and myself—that I can. I have to gingerly put my legs through my trousers, but at least I can.

As I look at myself in the mirror, I frown at my tattoos that wrap around my torso. A few of them are from my Dubrevian heritage, from my family’s coat of arms, to the swirls and lions that are symbolic of my country. Others, however, are from my time in Australia, picking up symbols and art that have a deep meaning. I went with shades of black, as I know it’ll age better than color. Also, I wanted a unifying theme for all my tattoos.

The cringe-worthy part to me, though: I have a few scars crisscrossing my body from the wreck, marring the inked artwork and breaking up my skin. I’m no longer as muscular and ripped as I was before the accident—being bedridden will do that.

My cheeks are a little more gaunt than I’d have liked. I shaved earlier, so my strong chin is clean. I muss my hair a bit, trying to get the coarse hairs to look less deranged.

I guess that will have to do.

I finish buttoning up my shirt and waistcoat, and then I slip into my jacket. I feel more human now, like I’m actually someone worth saving. Someone who could possibly be a father.

I let out a breath, begrudgingly grab my cane—Margo made me swear within an inch of my life to use it—and I head out of my room, down the hallway to the elevator.

The servants stare at me as I pass them—I guess I’ve been dressing like a bum long enough that they barely recognize me.

Hell, I don’t even recognize myself right now, and I consider that to be a good thing. When had I spiraled so far out of control that I was someone else? Henry Spencer di’Vale is a man who doesn’t take no for an answer. Who doesn’t shy away from danger.

Now, I’m aware of my mortality. And I have to assimilate that with the man I once was.

I sigh and step into the elevator, hitting the button. An impeccably-cuffed hand catches the door, and I frown as Eric steps inside, grinning at me wildly. He’s dressed in a suit, like me, except he looks like he was born in it. He may not have been the crown prince for most of his life, but he’s been wearing it like a badge lately.

“Going out?” he asks.

I nod and clear my throat. “I’m taking Cat out to dinner.”

Eric raises an eyebrow appreciatively. “Really? Isn’t she Jessica’s old personal assistant?”

“She’s more than that,” I snap, the retort leaving my mouth before I can catch it. He looks at me, confused at my vehement response, so I sigh. “She was Jessica’s right hand.”

Eric frowns at my reaction.

“Sorry,” I mutter, facing the doorway.

“No worries,” Eric murmurs, amusedly. “By the way, I think the last time I saw you in a suit was at the ball for the Grand Prix.”

“I’ve worn a suit since then,” I lie.

“If you mean your birthday suit, then yes,” he snickers. “So, this is an important date?”

“Yes,” I say. I contemplate telling him, and then decide I should. “She’s pregnant. And it’s mine.”

It takes Eric a moment to process this, and then he sucks in a deep breath when the doors open. “When did that happen?”

I huff as we step out. “The banquet.” To my chagrin, I’m using the cane to walk this afternoon even more heavily than normal as I’m sore from physio this morning.

Eric walks with me in silence, as if turning it over in his head, doing the math, putting two and two together to come up with this. “Wow,” he murmurs. “I know you two hit it off, but…”

“I pissed her off the next morning, too. She left after flicking me off, so I didn’t know about it until she came back to Dubreva this week.”

I feel the tension in my chest ease. The weight that’s being lifted off my shoulders feels nice. It’s good to talk to someone about it.

“And what are you going to do now?” Eric asks.

I flash a grin at him. “Well, that’s why I’m taking her to dinner. To see if we can actually mesh together.”

“And if you two don’t hit it off?”

We will hit it off.

There’s no question that we will. But I still have to face the possibility that maybe that heat we felt for each other that night wasn’t anything more than that—heat. And I’d be forever relegated to the sidelines in my child’s life.

“We’ll figure something out.”

“I mean, I know how your father—”

I shake my head. “Don’t,” I warn him.

Eric, like a good politician, knows when to shut his damn mouth.

We near the front entrance of the palace. I don’t know where Eric was originally intending to go, but he hasn’t made any indication that he’s going anywhere other than walking with me. The servants open the double front doors to reveal my Tesla Model S parked by the curb. The servants all stare up at me, their mouths agape, as if they’re not believing that I’m going to try to get behind the wheel again.

I can’t believe it, either. My hands are already sweating in anticipation of the panic attack about to hit me.

Eric senses my thoughts as well. “You sure you’re up for this?”

I give him a fake smile. “What kind of race car driver would I be if I can’t drive a car?” I ask, echoing my sentiment from the first time I got into a car after the wreck.

“You’d be a guy who’s still recovering,” he tells me.

Fuck that. I need to prove that I can not only drive a car, but I can be more than that. More than Henry Spencer di’Vale has ever been in his life.

I shrug. “We’ll see how well I’m recovering. And don’t tell me to talk to Ferdinand about it. I get that enough from Margo.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know how fucked up it is to talk to your brother about your deepest fears,” I add tiredly.

Eric’s mouth twists into a grimace. “All right then. You know to call me if you need me.” He signals to the servants waiting for me and they move out of the way, except for the valet who hands over my keys.

I put my cane in the boot and crouch into the driver’s seat, trying not to think about the wreck. Or the screeching of tires. Or that zero-g feeling my stomach had mid-flight.

I chose to drive my electric car, as I won’t have the sound of the engine running, and it drives very differently compared to a Formula 1 car. I’m hoping that the difference is enough for me to get through this. It’ll be a total of fifteen kilometers, so a good test run.

I grip the steering wheel, looking down at the dash. My heart is racing, and I feel my pulse in my throat again, thrumming like a wild guitar solo.

You can do this, I tell myself. You can do this.

I’m conscious of everyone watching me as I put the car into drive—already a success—and I pull away from the curb. I’m not being my usual daredevil self, as I’m going about half a kilometer per hour, but…I’m doing it.

Nothing’s going to happen. You’re doing what you were meant to be doing.

A slow smile comes to my face. And in the rearview mirror, I see Eric grinning smugly. Or is it proudly? I don’t care too much as the end result is the same.

I’m driving again.

I pull out onto the road and head off towards the Palais Dubrevs. Just stay calm. That’s all I need. I stay in the slow lane, watching as cars speed by me, and my GPS alerts me that I’m going ten under, but I can’t bring myself to go faster.

Baby steps.

I let out a sigh of relief when the shining hotel comes into view. I never understood why the owners felt the need to keep spotlights on it at all hours of the day, but this evening, it shines like a beacon just for me.

Doorman McDoorman is there when I pull up, looking at me suspiciously. I guess you don’t easily forget bringing an unconscious prince up to a woman’s room.

But he’s not the one I’m looking at.

Cat comes outside, wearing a violet strapless dress that glitters in the fading light. It’s tight, revealing a tiny waist. If she hadn’t told me that she’s pregnant, I never would have thought anything of her weight. She’s over eight weeks along. How long would it take for it to be noticeable?

Her dark curls are pulled up, revealing her long, kissable neck, and I have to shift myself in my seat to make myself more comfortable as she nears the car.

Doorman McDoorman opens the door for her, and she peers in with a grin. “Hey, you.”

Hey, you. My heart is still racing, and I don’t think it’s just from me driving. I smile at her. “You look beautiful tonight, my lady.”

She casts her gaze down in shyness—shy even though I’ve already seen her naked and been all around her curves. She ducks into the car. “Where’s your driver?”

I swallow back the lump in my throat. “He has the night off. I figured I’ll drive.”

I watch her buckle in—make sure that both she and the baby are safe with me driving—and I pull away.