Fuck.
On my way. Sorry. Thanks.
In my mind I thank my little sister Lizzy for this, and immediately I feel a stab in my chest again. She lost her brother too, and I haven’t spared a single thought for her. I neglected her over the past few months, too, all because I’m a selfish jerk. Exhausted, I haul myself out of bed and actually manage to be standing outside my father’s study fifteen minutes later. Lizzy walks toward me, and I can’t help but feel sick.
My stomach churns as I see her red-rimmed eyes, the deep shadows beneath them, and the pain in her gaze. Without hesitation, I pull her into my arms and hold her tightly. Her small hands cling to my sweater, and her body shakes with silent sobs.
“Nic…” Her voice breaks, and I gently rub her back in comfort. Guilt crushes me, knowing that I was so absent the past two weeks. She had to face it all alone because I was too selfish.
Damn it.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here,” I try to soothe her, realizing how empty my voice sounds.
What good is it to Lizzy that I’m here now, when I wasn’t there when she needed me the most?
“He… Lia, she… Oh God.” My little sister pulls away from me, and in her eyes, I see so much sorrow but also fear.
“Lia?” I ask, unable to place the name. Only when a cautious expression creeps onto Lizzy’s face does it dawn on me who she means.
Lia. Amelia.
Immediately, a storm brews within me again. She’s still alive. She’s still here. Philipp is not.
Lizzy notices the shift in my posture and looks at me with alarm.
“Nic… it’s not her fault. Not in the slightest. She…” My sister doesn’t get to finish, because the heavy door behind me opens, and a deep, cold voice speaks.
“Elisabeth! Go, your mother needs you.” A clear warning not to continue. Lizzy lowers her gaze in sadness and despair, nods, and gives my hand a gentle squeeze before slipping away.
My anger grows and grows, twisting into a massive knot in my stomach. My hands clench into fists at my sides, and I breathe in and out through my nose, tense.
Don’t lose it.
Don’t lose it.
“You’re late. But given the unusual circumstances, I’ll be a bit more lenient today. Come in.”
I turn slowly to face my father, his face a rigid mask. No emotion can be seen, and even his voice gives nothing away. Cold, calculating, businesslike. As if it hadn’t been his eldest son who was buried yesterday.
“Father,” I force out with strained control, moving stiffly past him into his study, only to freeze.
Because the Duke of Perlington and his sister are already present.
The past few days have played out like a movie I’m watching from outside my body. My heart is surrounded by a thick wall that shields me from any feelings. Or maybe it’s just the shock. It seems like just a moment ago, I was in the car with Phil, on our way to our engagement party, and now—now I’m sitting on my bed with a pounding headache and a battered body, staring into nothing. Philipp is dead. He died in my arms.
I couldn’t help him.
And I got away with only a few scratches.
After the accident, the paramedics took me to the royal hospital, where I was examined, and then my brother picked me up with instructions that I needed a lot of rest. He didn’t say a word, just took me to my room and left. Now and then, he checked in to see if I was still breathing, only to disappear again soon after. But I don’t care.
That’s how I’ve spent the past two weeks. Alone or with Lizzy. Except for yesterday…
The funeral was cruel. So unbearably cruel.
Philipp’s mother collapsed, Lizzy was completely apathetic, and Nicolas… he couldn’t even walk straight.
Through the gray fog, the first emotion I’m ready to feel flashes: anger. Anger at that selfish jerk who can’t even pull himself together on the day of his brother’s funeral.
