Page 56 of Fallen Crown

When I climb into the SUV with Jag, he shakes his head.

“What?” My tone brims with annoyance.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on. You’ve got something to say. You saw the way she just treated me. It’s like we’re back to square fucking one.”

“You been on your social media accounts today?”

“No, not really. Didn’t need all that noise on top of what’s already going on in my head.” I dig my phone out of my bag, and I scroll through the notifications. As I do, I start to see Jag’s point. The photos Rochelle posted have me in the background of some of them either looking drunk, smoking a cigar, or with women plastered across me. All of them are platonic friends, but Tucker might not know that. “You think she’s disappointed in me?”

Jag doesn’t say anything. He just glances at me in the rearview mirror. My gut clenches, and my immediate instinct is to tell him to take me to her apartment. But what am I going to say? I did what I did.

And Rory’s words are still tumbling around in my mind. I don’t know what Tucker wants, and I’m not ready to hear Enzo might be her first choice.

Maybe it’s better if she doesn’t like me again, at least for a little while.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Maren

I’m riffling through my racks of dresses, trying to decide what to wear for the funeral today. Bellerive Blue seems most appropriate, but I don’t want to blend in too much with the family or to appear as though I’m in the family. I should have just asked Desmond for a color scheme when he called yesterday. But the last few days have been a hazy blur.

After leaving Caitlin’s office the other day, I had a long soak in the bath and forced myself to consider what I want. If I can save my marriage, that’s my first priority. Yesterday, before training, I worked up the nerve to call Enzo and deliver my terms. We can’t work on our relationship when we’re in separate places. I told him that if he’s not back in Bellerive by the time I return from the adventure race, he should know that I’ll be filing official paperwork to divorce him.

That conversation didn’t go well.

Ultimatums are no way to run a relationship, and under normal circumstances, I understand that. But there comes a time when softly-softly and gently-gently don’t get the results you need. He isn’t here, and he has no concrete plans to return. He can’t keep living off my family’s dime in Boston while avoiding the hard work that has to be done between us. Either he wants to be married or he doesn’t. I still want it.

Even though that’s the choice I made—to try to save my marriage—I was shaken to the core when I opened my social media and found Brice plastered across it drinking, smoking cigars, and flirting with women. It made my heart squeeze so hard in my chest I wasn’t sure I could get a real breath in.

Then the royal PR machine clearly tried to counteract what appears to be Brice’s insensitivity about his father’s death by posting a clickbait photo of him with Grace. A lovely photo, but the tender way he was gazing at her, as though he’s never loved anyone more, made my breath really, really hard to catch.

Even if he was someone I could take seriously, we’d never work. I can’t give him the one thing he wants above all else.

By the time I finished crying, I knew I was going to be late for practice.

I should have felt powerful after finally calling Enzo out on his behavior and giving him a firm timeline for his return. Instead, I sat on my couch in tears over Brice Summerset.

What is wrong with me?

He is exactly as Caitlin warned me. A walking sin. The guy no one can ever tame. Not that taming him would even be what I wanted—just channel that wildness elsewhere—maybe into more racing.

None of it matters. He’s probably mediocre in bed because everyone loves him no matter what he does or how he behaves.

Such a bitchy thought, but I can’t find my feet with him right now. The two versions of Brice I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to reconcile are staring me in the face. The playboy and the caring family man. He’s both, and he’s neither. Best to keep both versions out of my head and away from my heart.

Frustrated, I yank a black dress off the hanger. The neckline is slanted and off-center, but the three-quarter sleeves and fitted style will work for today. On the dresser is a Bellerive Royals pin that Desmond sent to me and the rest of the team, a silent signal to the guards that we’re invited guests.

Instead of feeling honored, I’m wondering if I’m a fraud. Brice and I are further apart than ever. Seeing those photos sliced and diced the closeness between us, and while I’m fairly certain it’s for the best, I can’t help mourning the loss. He was rapidly becoming one of my best friends, so perhaps it’s okay to be a bit sad that’s come to an end. It doesn’t have to mean anything else.

There’s a knock on my door, and I check the clock. My hair and makeup are done, but I should be dressed by now. I’ve wasted too much time thinking about Brice and Enzo. I slide into my dress, and I’m zipping it up as I head to the door.

I open it without checking who it is, and I immediately regret it.

“You’ve been invited to the funeral as a special guest.” My mother’s outrage is clear as she elbows past me into the apartment. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“It was a last-minute choice. The whole team is invited.”