I remember everything so clearly now.
There is no Phillip. Phillip is Braxton. Braxton is Phillip. Braxton is my fiancé.
I look up at the tragedy that is the prince. My prince. My Braxton.
“Braxton,” I breathe his name like my own personal tragedy. “What did you do?”
28
Braxton
Iwanttoturnback time and erase the last 30 minutes. I’m an idiot for thinking she wouldn’t snoop, and an even bigger imbecile for convincing myself she didn’t see me look at the trunk before I left to change. Even still, I never thought she’d be able to open it, or that she would have the skeleton key. I briefly ponder how I didn’t find it when I turned her room upside down, but the curiosity is fleeting as it doesn’t really matter now.
I should have known better. Her curiosity has been higher than I’ve ever seen it, and I swear with each year that passes she gets more and more clever. I didn’t think she’d be able to work so fast though.Stupid.
I glance back at Azalea. Her long, thin fingers are pressing into her temples as she gently rocks back and forth. Great. This time I’ve actually driven her to the brink of insanity.
I watch her luscious curls sway back and forth against her shoulders as she continues rocking, and I try to formulate my next words carefully.
“These are your journals—”
“Yeah, no shit!” she snaps at me. Dropping her hands away from her temples, she bounds to her feet and begins pacing back and forth, kicking some of the journals out of her way in the process.
I contemplate how much I should let her figure out for herself, and how much I should tell her.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” she all but whines.
I only continue to watch her as I’m not certain she’s talking to me. When she gives me a pointed glare, I realize she’s waiting for me to say something in response.
“It’s a complicated situation.”
“Can you uncomplicate it?”
I swallow heavily, trying to search for those right words again.
“You know, I find the truth is typically the least complicated path to take.” Her exasperation is evident in her words.
The laugh that rumbles out of me is humorless. “Funny enough, the truth is actually the most complicated of all.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, rubbing her palms up and down them.
“Braxton, please.” When I look at her, I can see the slightest hint of a mist coating her eyes. “I need to know. I feel like I’m going crazy.”
I wonder if I could coax her to the truth, without outright saying it. Maybe if I do that, and neither of us says it out loud we won’t have to start over again.
“Braxton,” she presses.
“What do you remember?”
She shakes her head. “Bits and pieces. But none of it makes sense. It’s like there’s a painful block, and I—” Her forehead scrunches as she closes her eyes tightly and concentrates. “I can’t work past it.”
My chest aches. I hate this part. The part before she figures it out. This part always seems to break her the most, and in breaking her, it shatters me.
“Braxton, what’s happening to me?”
“You’ve been here for a long time, and over that time, some of your memories have been pushed behind a wall inside your mind. Those memories are leaking through, and my best guess is they aren’t doing it in any kind of chronological order.”
“Did… did I love you?” Her words are hesitant.
