“You lied to me,” he repeated, his voice getting harder as he rose, creating distance between us. “So every conversation we’ve had. Every time I opened up to you. Every fucking moment between us has been built on a lie.”
“Not everything?—”
“No?” He whirled to face me. “When I told you about my parents working extra shifts to pay for my equipment, you sat there knowing you’re a fucking prince? When I talked about never seeing anything outside of Buffalo, you didn’t think to mention you grew up in actual palaces?”
“I wanted to?—”
“When?” His voice was rising now. “When did you want to tell me? Before or after I made a complete fool of myself?”
“You never made a fool of yourself.”
“Didn’t I? Because from where I’m standing, I’ve been spilling my guts to someone who’s been laughing at me the whole time.”
“I never laughed at you. Never.” I stood too, needing him to understand. “Everything between us has been real?—”
“Real?” He let out a harsh laugh. “How can any of it be real when you’ve been pretending to be someone else?”
“I haven’t been pretending. I’m still me. The same person who’s been coaching you, who built furniture with you, who?—”
“Who lied to me every single day.” He stepped closer, getting in my face.
I wanted to step back from his anger, but I forced myself to hold my ground. “I know I should have told you sooner?—”
“Sooner? You shouldn’t have lied in the first place!” He was close enough that I could see the hurt beneath the anger in his eyes. “Was any of it real? Or was it all part of the experiment? See how the common people live?”
“Don’t.” Now I did step forward. “Don’t diminish what we have like that.”
“What we have?” He shook his head. “What exactly do we have, Nils? Or should I say, Your Highness?”
The title on his lips felt like a slap. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? That’s who you are, isn’t it? Who you’ve been this whole time while I’ve been falling for a lie?”
“You’ve been falling for me. The real me.”
“The real you?” His voice went deadly quiet. “I don’t even know who that is. Is Nils Anders the hockey coach real? Or is he just a character you’ve been playing?”
“He’s real. Everything I’ve shown you is real.”
“Except for the tiny detail of being ROYALTY!” The volume came back suddenly. “When were you planning to tell me? After you met my parents? After we’d been together a year? Never?”
The thought that he’d considered a future with me made it all hurt a thousand times worse. “I wanted to tell you so many times?—”
“But you didn’t. You looked me in the eye and chose to keep lying.” He ran his hands through his hair, pacing again. “What else are you lying about? What else don’t I know?”
“Nothing else?—”
“How can I believe that? How can I believe anything you say now?” He spun to face me again. “Is anything you told me true? The hockey injury? Living in Canada? Or was that all part of your cover story?”
“The hockey was real. University was real. My injury was real.”
“At Rideau University. Which I’m guessing knew exactly who you were.”
I couldn’t deny it. “Yes, they knew.”
“Of course they did.” He laughed again, that same bitter sound. “But you let me believe we had something in common.”
“We do have things in common?—”
