Page 44 of Fallen Crown

Two hours later, I watch him say his goodbyes and take his leave out the front door. From across the room, I lose sight of him, and then my phone vibrates in my clutch. I don’t need to check it to know it’s him.

A familiar fire lights in my belly, and I make my excuses to head for the door. My biggest concern isn’t that I’ve given in so easily to training with him again. It’s what else I’ll find it easy to say yes to.

The longer I’m around him, the more dangerous the situation becomes. Feelings don’t understand they can’t grow unchecked in forbidden places.

But when our gazes were locked, something stirred in me that had been buried for a week, and instead of being surprised by its return, I was relieved.

In Boston, I didn’t train, and I didn’t talk to Brice. The edges of misery had snuck into my peripheral vision, and I’d wondered whether the happiness that had started to push out those low feelings over the last few months had been in my imagination. Thankfully, it wasn’t.

Happiness can still grow in me; I just have to figure out what it looks like and tend it well.

Chapter Nineteen

Brice

The conference table is full. Two days from now, my father is set to die, and today, everyone on the business side of the royal empire is meeting to go over press releases, public relations strategies, funeral arrangements, and a discussion of the king’s will. We’ve reviewed a lot of this too many times to count, but no one wants a royal mistake on something this high profile.

The thing about being royal, the part I’ve never liked, is the thin line between the Summersets as a business or political entity and us as a family. We’re never wholly in either category no matter what we’re doing. Nick and I couldn’t go to Vegas and completely ignore the implications of our actions. We weren’t just two idiots going viral on a social media platform. We were representatives of the royal family, diplomats for an entire country. Where Nick and I sometimes rebelled against the weight of that, Alex mostly accepted it.

Prior to his relationship with Rory, I used to have issues with how detached and unemotional Alex was about everything. Meeting Rory and having Grace seems to have softened him in ways that were needed. Throughout my father’s brief reign, he made the tough calls as a leader and a politician, but he tried to weigh the consequences with empathy.

I used to think my father was making the tough but right call in establishing the assisted suicide law. With the reality of it staring me in the face, I’m keenly aware of how hard it is to let go of anyone you love.

Everyone is talking around me. Across the table, Julia has her hand on Nick’s shoulder. He drags his palms down his face, and his exhaustion is palpable. At the head of the table is Alex, and to his right is Rory. While they don’t appear to be touching, they check in with each other frequently, leaning in to confer on one thing or another. Even my mother has her sister sitting next to her, clutching her hand while my mother periodically wipes away tears.

Then there’s me. My friends and acquaintances dot the island and expand across the world, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask to have someone in this room. Brent or Posey would have shown up for me if I’d asked, but the royal PR machine frowns on having people in the room who aren’t directly related to the family. Confidentiality issues, according to those in charge of such things.

Still, as I examine my family, I think it might be nice to have someone beside me, holding my hand.

Since Tucker returned from Boston a few weeks ago, we’ve kept a polite distance. Still training together regularly, but I keep my hands to myself. She didn’t want whatever was building between us, and I value her place in my life too much to push for more than she can give. Eventually, she’d hate me for it, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, I enjoy Maren Tucker much more when she doesn’t dislike me.

We’d been planning to climb tonight for almost a week to take my mind off what’s happening tomorrow. I’ve missed a few of the group trainings lately because of other royal obligations and spending time with my father. I’ve been trying to soak up as much as I can—we all have—but that’s made it harder in some ways. He’s had a lot of good days this last week, and we’ve spent a lot of time reminiscing. He speaks about me, Nick, and Alex with so much love and affection that it’s hard to imagine those pieces of my history vanishing with him tomorrow.

When the door to the barn opens and Tucker steps in, I’m glad I didn’t cancel. I almost did. Wallowing in a bottle of tequila and staring at the ceiling had a distinct appeal to it. I suspect I’ll definitely be doing those things tomorrow.

But for tonight, the sight of her fit frame coming through the door releases the tension in my chest enough that I can breathe. She stops for a beat to examine me, and then she sets her water bottle on a table near the door before she closes the distance between us. Her cool hands slide across my cheeks, and it’s the first time I can remember her touching me first, with no connection to training or critique of my form involved. She rises on her toes, and she presses her forehead to mine. I close my eyes, breathing in her faint peach scent, and I slide my hands around her waist while she loops hers around my neck. We hold each other in silence, breathing almost in sync. Neither of us moves, and I lose track of how long we stand like that, but it’s a level of comfort I didn’t even know I could get from a simple hug. She knew exactly what I needed, and we didn’t exchange a single word.

“How did you know?” I murmur.

“Because it’s what I would have needed,” she says.

My heart softens and expands, and I wonder who held her when she needed it after her accident, but I can’t bring myself to ask. I suspect I already know the answer, and it’ll make me angry, and her sad.

I bury my face in her neck, and I give her an extra squeeze, drawing her tight against me. She sighs into my ear, and it’s the loveliest sound I’ve ever heard. So much satisfaction and understanding in one tiny noise.

The barn door opens, and Jag and Gary wander in. Even though I don’t want to, I release her. She steps away, and her normally pale cheeks are pink. I brush a strand of her hair back with my thumb, and I realize we’ve cracked the window between us again. Whereas I’ve been careful not to touch her, that long hug is going to be tough to recover from. My desire to be close to her will have to be consciously reigned in.

Maintenance changed out all the hand and footholds yesterday, and she retrieves her water bottle before going to stand in front of the wall. Unsure of what to do with myself, I sweep my own bottle off the floor.

“Where are you starting?” she asks.

I gesture to the far side as I squirt water into my mouth. There’s something weird happening in my chest, and I can’t decide if I like it or if it’s fucking scary. But every time I glance at Tucker, a flood of warmth rushes over me. It’s not the sexual kind of temperature shift—I’m very familiar with that. Instead, it’s something bigger, as though I could part the seas to give safe passage only to her. This roaring protectiveness is coupled with an overwhelming tenderness that I’ve managed to keep in check up until now, but it won’t be contained for much longer if we return to any sort of physical contact. Being close to her is fine, but there seems to be something primal awakened in me the minute we touch.

Perhaps it’s a good thing we’ll never have sex. This surge of intimacy even without sex can’t be normal. People don’t feel this way about others without the involvement of an orgasm, and not just the kind you give yourself while thinking about said person.

At least my preoccupation with her makes it easier to forget about everything else. When she’s in a room, there doesn’t feel like there is anything else.

She’s at the far side of the wall, and she glances over her shoulder at me. I’m rooted to the spot where our overly long hug occurred, as though I can somehow reverse time.