Page 93 of Fallen Crown

“Did I say that?” Sounds like something I’d have said a year ago. Advice that appears helpful. Mostly bullshit, or maybe not bullshit so much as careless. Now I understand those feelings don’t play by any rules. Falling in love isn’t a choice. It’s a free fall off a cliff with no safety net and no idea how far away the water is or whether you’ll hit the rocky face on the way down. Chaos. The best and worst feeling in the world. “I didn’t go looking for this.”

“Isn’t she married?”

“Getting a divorce. Separated.”

“That’s not an issue in your country?”

“If it is, Alex will change it.” My certainty is absolute. After what he went through with Rory, I know he won’t make me suffer needlessly.

“I never asked for this arrangement between us,” Freja says, “and if Simone had asked me, I would have said no. When you showed up that first time, I was horrified.” She turns to check her appearance in the mirror again. “But she was right, in the end. You’re so good with people and so easy to be around. Having you beside me at all these functions was a comfort when I needed it most.” She gazes at me for a beat and seems to be weighing what she wants to say next. “My doctor found a medication that works for me a few months ago, and I’m feeling much better. This summit will be the real test.”

“You don’t need me anymore.”

“Not really, no. I would have kept you.” A small smile tugs at the edges of her lips, and there’s a fondness around her eyes that makes me wonder whether I was right to give her the warning when we first met. “One last hurrah this week?”

“I’ll stay. I’m not leaving. If you do need me, just give me the signal.” Even though I’d really like to walk out and return home right now. If everyone is going to let me out of this arrangement without a fuss, there’s no reason to create one. “But I think it would be better if we kept our distance in public. With the photos out of me and Maren…”

“You want to protect her and her image.”

“In any way I can. I wouldn’t want to embarrass her.”

“Look at you,” she says with good humor lighting her eyes, “becoming the romantic lead in someone’s story.”

I hope so, and when I get back to Bellerive, I intend to do everything I can to prove to Maren that, despite my numerous mistakes, no one will ever love her more or better than me. For the first time in my life, the idea of forever with someone isn’t scary. It’s exhilarating.

Chapter Forty

Maren

Since I returned from Fiji a few days ago, I’ve been sleeping a lot. The kind of deep, dreamless sleeps I had when I came home from Chile and sank into my depression. In an effort to be proactive, I asked for my medication to be returned to pretraining levels. My body feels like it’s being dragged under, and I’m worried my spirit will be next.

I can’t get a handle on Brice’s request and the race being over and him being gone.

Maybe I need to get back out on a bike or have my feet pound the road, but I’ve just been so tired. Impossibly tired.

On top of that, pictures of me and Brice from the after-party broke over social media, and I haven’t been able to face anyone. None of my friends or family because I don’t know what to say about those photos. We aren’t a couple, and we’ll never be a couple.

That hasn’t stopped my mother from calling me at regular intervals to find out whether we should be “getting the families together” as though Brice and I are a foregone conclusion based on a few scandalous photos.

He’s in Denmark with Freja—though I haven’t seen a single snap of them together—and I’m here in Bellerive sad and angry that I found another man who wants a baby more than he wants me.

While I unpack, I can’t seem to figure out the temperature in my apartment. One minute I’m sweating and the next I’m shivering. It’s taken me days to have enough energy to get organized, so as I’m sorting laundry and putting things away, I’m constantly increasing layers of clothes or taking them off.

My final pieces from the trip are in the washing machine when a dull throbbing begins behind my forehead. I’ve been living off aspirin for my aches and pains from the race and now this headache too.

In my pocket, my phone rings, and when I take it out to see who it is, the name is a little blurry. I blink to refocus. Brice?

My initial instinct is to answer, but I have no idea what I’d say. Pretend he didn’t ask me to have his baby? Pretend we’re totally fine? Ask how his trip is going? Pretend I don’t wish I’d asked about Denmark? There’s a good chance I’m not capable of faking anything anymore where he’s concerned. I’ve gotten so used to having him around that I’m likely to beg him to come back from Denmark, and where will that land us? I can’t give him what he wants physically or emotionally. Pursuing anything with him would be a mistake when we won’t last.

Over the last year, I’ve had enough heartbreak for a lifetime.

I send him to voicemail knowing he’ll call back. If there’s one thing I can say with certainty—Brice has perseverance down to a science. At some point, he’ll force me to talk to him, but I’m hoping I’ll be ready when it happens. Full of steel and certainty rather than this soft confusion that’s been clouding my thoughts for days.

When my phone starts buzzing again, I brace myself to see his name. Instead, it’s Caitlin, and I answer the call hoping she’s heard from Enzo, who has gone MIA since the papers were filed.

“What have you heard?” I ask once we go through the regular pleasantries.

“He’s been contacting divorce lawyers on the island, and a few acquaintances in Boston contacted me to say he visited them too. He hasn’t signed the papers yet, though.”