“Do I?”My voice rose, raw.“Because right now I feel like I’ve been used.Like I gave you everything, and the second it became hard, you’re ready to toss me aside.”
His eyes widened, horrified.“How can you think that?How can you believe I don’t—” He stopped, choking on the words.His hand lifted as though to reach for me, then fell uselessly back into his lap.
The silence was unbearable.My chest heaved as I forced the question past my lips, quieter now, desperate: “Did you ever truly love me?”
Tears glistened on his face.His lips parted, but no sound came.And then Bryce stood up abruptly, as if staying seated might break him in half.
He crossed to the door with quick, unsteady steps.His hand fumbled with his coat.Damn it, he wouldn’t even look at me.
“Bryce,” I pleaded, my voice shaking, but he didn’t turn.Instead, he opened the door, and slipped into the hall.
I sat rooted to the sofa, the echo of his sobs trailing behind him.The flat felt cavernous, gutted.
And the only thought hammering in my head was a question I couldn’t silence:
Had I just lost Bryce forever?
ChapterTwenty-Three
Bryce
The hum of the engines had become a kind of torture.A low, endless vibration that pressed into my skull and made every thought rattle louder than it should.
We were on the official jet—not Air Force One, but one of the smaller planes in the fleet, outfitted for senior staff and ambassadors.It was a flying conference room: leather seats, polished walnut tables bolted down, little lamps that looked like they’d been lifted from a hotel lobby.Everything screamed luxury, but to me it felt sterile, like a stage set.
Around me, staffers murmured in low voices, bent over laptops, tapping out notes, whispering about what this meant for NATO, for Brussels, for the headlines.My deputy, Paula, sat beside me, professional as always, her laptop centred in front of her.
We were flying back from Brussels, and I should have felt relief.President Harding had stunned everyone by pivoting—deciding the United States would commit forces to NATO’s defence after Russia’s invasion of Albania.
The moment Air Force One had landed in Brussels, the Russians pulled out.Just like that.Moscow claimed its “objectives were achieved,” a fiction so thin you could see daylight through it.The truth was simpler: they hadn’t expected the Americans to actually show up.Once Harding did, they lost their nerve.
The Western press was calling it a victory.A triumph of deterrence.A turning point.
But I felt nothing.
Not pride, not vindication.Just… nothing.
The entire time we were in Brussels, Secretary of State Kirk never once looked me in the eye.Not in the motorcade, not at the receptions, not even when we were lined up in that cavernous hall of the European Parliament while Harding delivered his speech.He went out of his way to speak with every other ambassador, shaking hands, leaning in close for those little jokes that make people feel chosen.Me?I may as well have been invisible.
So did the others.The French ambassador, who once traded bourbon recommendations with me over late-night receptions.The German envoy who’d texted me memes during interminable summits.Even the Canadians, who were usually impossible to offend.They all kept a careful distance, as if my scandal were contagious.
I knew why.
My credibility was gone.I wasn’t Bryce Lewis, an experienced diplomat.I was the ambassador who’d been splashed across front pages wrapped around a royal prince.
I had a sinking feeling it would never come back.Not with time, not with distance.Not with anything.
And yet, even knowing that, even feeling the humiliation of it in every stiff smile and averted glance, I regretted my decision to put my career first.
It had been a week since I told Arthur we needed to cool things off, and not an hour went by without him invading my thoughts.The way he’d looked at me across that sofa in Eddie’s flat, his voice trembling as he said he’d give up everything—his business, his status, his entire life—for me.And I was too cowardly, too tethered to this career I wasn’t sure I even wanted anymore.
I loved Arthur.God help me, I loved him so much it hurt to breathe.And I’d probably ruined us forever.
The engines droned.I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep, because I couldn’t face the weight of my thoughts.
After a while, Paula’s voice broke the monotony.Low, careful.“Bryce… may I speak with you?About something personal.”
I opened my eyes.Her expression was unreadable, professional as ever, but her tone carried something gentler.I sighed, leaning my head back against the seat.“Why not?The rest of the world seems to love talking about my personal life.”The sarcasm landed heavier than I had intended.
