Page 92 of Scarred Crown

“That’s a risk in any marriage, isn’t it? No matter the intention, desires can change.” His tone is blithe, easy, as though breaking up a royal marriage is as simple as ordering a second dessert off the menu.

I take a deep breath because this next question is going to hurt, but I have to ask. Depending on his answer, there’s no point in trying to make us work. “What happens if you get tired of me?”

No matter what my mother believes, that’s how sixteen-year-old me interpreted that night in the barn. He kissed me, deemed me unworthy, and then traded me in for a series of other people who amused him more.

In the end, he didn’t drop me for Vicky, he dropped me for everyone—from the soccer team to his younger brother and anyone in between. In college, when I thought things might finally get better between us, they only got worse. I couldn’t draw him back, but I couldn’t figure out how to cut the threads of our friendship either.

I missed him. Longed for him. Spent hours pining for something I understood I’d never have again, but I couldn’t help wishing for anyway.

My first sixteen years were colored with the miracle of Nick’s unyielding friendship, and the last fourteen were tainted by the stain of his indifference. The only thing that’s changed is that he’s decided to notice me again. Or was forced to since King George sent me to Tanzania, and we had to share a tent.

Nick sucks in a deep breath. “Oh, Jules. I never grew tired of you.” His hazel depths are marred with pain. “Not sure I ever could.”

I climb off his lap and go back to my chair. I bring my knees into my chest. Now that sounds like a line. “You kissed me, and then you cut me out of your life, one step at a time. How do you explain that if it wasn’t because you got tired of me?”

He puts his head in his hands and takes a few unsteady breaths. “God, I’ve avoided this conversation for years. I’ve never wanted to have it.”

“Whatever happened was a long time ago.” His agonized words make me think I don’t want to hear his explanation. Maybe it’ll be more hurtful than what I already believe. “Forget I brought it up.” Losing his friendship was like having my axis removed, but maybe we can move beyond the past without dissecting what was lost.

Silence settles between us, and I try to decipher why he’d want to stay married to me. The drunken marriage is in line with an ill-advised prank, but to stick with it instead of doing the obvious mea culpa to the public is surprising.

“We’re not in love with each other.” The words are tart on my tongue. “If you think we can make a marriage work, I guess I need to understand why you think that?”

“You don’t think we could?” He leans back in his chair and eyes me.

“We couldn’t even make a friendship work.”

“Our friendship didn’t work because we started keeping secrets from each other.” He stares across the room, and a muscle in his jaw tenses. “A marriage probably wouldn’t survive that either.”

“Keeping secrets?” I cock my head, my mind grappling for what he’s talking about.

He turns to me, and resignation settles over his features. “Why didn’t you tell me about Alex?”

“What?” All the blood rushes around my body in a flurry of confusion, and I press a hand to my forehead to steady myself. Oh, my God. Alex.

“I followed you that night, Jules. I saw you with him.” His voice cracks. “I saw you, and it broke my fucking heart.”

Nicholas

We’re on the cusp of the confrontation I’ve never wanted to have, the one I’ve avoided at all costs, and instead of feeling queasy, a weight is lifting off my shoulders. The wedge I’ve allowed to sit between us will either be rooted out or widened beyond repair. We’re either meant to be together, or we’ll go our separate ways forever. Our hasty marriage is forcing us to get real with each other in a way we haven’t been in years.

Tears fill Julia’s eyes while she stares at me, shock registering on her face. “You saw me with Alex?” The words are garbled as though her throat is closing up.

“Imagine my surprise.” I grimace and lean my elbows on my knees and then I focus on the colorful rug under my feet. Watching her cry prompts an answering surge in me. She’s the only person on Earth whose tears inspire my own. But I’m not going to cry my way through this conversation. I did it once, years ago, and I vowed I’d never shed another tear.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispers. “I can’t believe this never occurred to me.”

“How long?” My voice is thick, and I glance at her. “How long were you with him?”

“Whatever you think—” She shakes her head.

“I’ve thought a lot of things.” I give a harsh laugh. “Too many things. There’s nothing you can tell me that I haven’t already considered.”

“We were together a few weeks that summer. Just a few weeks.” She sniffs and wipes a stray tear. “Is this why you—is this why you froze me out?”

A few weeks? That’s impossible. All sense of sadness dries up in me, replaced by a wave of frustration. “It was a long time ago, Julia. You don’t need to lie about it to spare my feelings anymore.”

“Lie about it?” She gives me a bewildered look. “I’m not lying.”