Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 22425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 112(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
I raise my hand to touch her—I want so much to touch her right now. To brush her hair back, caress her face, take her in my arms and kiss her until all her wounds and worries are far, far away.
But I can’t.
Because there are rules, you see.
So I lower my hand slowly to my side. And whatever longing or pain Lenora reads in my expression, it gives her the courage to ask me something for the very first time.
“What are you?”
I gaze down into the silver eyes that haunt me.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. What are you? Are you a spirit? An angel? Are you a demon sent to torment me for my sins? A figment of my imagination? I’ve been afraid to ask, but I need to know, once and for all.”
I angle my head and soften my voice.
“What do you think I am?”
“I think I went mad when you died. That my mind fractured. I think you are my psyche’s attempt to hold me together and keep me sane, at least in part.”
I laugh. A deep chuckling rumbles from my chest that makes her eyes narrow and her pretty lips purse with displeasure.
Because of all the answers she could have given, all the thoughts that stream through her shrewd, calculating, beautiful little mind, I wasn’t expecting that one.
After all these decades, she still surprises me.
“Your faculties are in perfect working order, I assure you. Despite our grandsons’ most valiant efforts.”
“Then what are you?”
I stare into her eyes, my voice fervent with the simple, undeniable truth.
“I am your husband. I promised that I would never leave you, and I always—always—keep my promises to you.”
We stare at each other for several heartbeats and again, I yearn to kiss her. Possess her. Prove to her that what I am is still every bit the man she married—and that she is still mine, body and soul.
But Lenora’s eyes shimmer with emotion and her voice goes thin. And once again, she surprises me with words I don’t anticipate.
“Have you seen them?” she asks.
“Who?”
“Our children. Thomas and Evangeline, have you seen them?”
I swallow painfully, looking down, and the images and memories her question conjures make my voice go rough.
“No. I can sense them nearby, as if . . . as if they’re standing behind a heavy curtain. But I have not seen them.”
“Why not?”
I gaze back at my wife. “I will see them when their mother sees them.”
She seems comforted by my words, nodding. “Yes. I suppose we’ll see them together some day.”
“Yes. One day. Together.”
I sigh. “Now, back to the discussion of Nicholas and Olivia . . .”
Lenora folds her hands at her waist, a sure sign that she considers the discussion closed.
“She will be a temporary presence in his life and then he will move on. He will choose a woman suitable to his station and his future, and that, as they say, is that.”
“Nicholas may have other ideas, sweets.”
She waves her delicate hand at me. “Nonsense.”
“Even steel will snap if you bend it far enough. Don’t push him. If you make him choose between legacy or love, I don’t believe you’ll be happy with the results.”
My wife turns and steps toward the mirror on the wall, checking her lipstick and patting her hair.
“Nicholas would never turn his back on his responsibilities, Edward. On his upbringing, his duty. He is my grandson.”
“He’s also my grandson.”
I move up behind her, leaning nearer, close enough that she would feel my breath on the sensitive shell of her ear if the laws of the universe allowed it.
“And once I had you, I would’ve burned the whole fucking country down to keep you.”
I meet Lenora’s eyes in the mirror.
“If you think Nicholas is going to let a little thing like a crown take that girl away from him . . . you should prepare to be mistaken.”
(Royally Screwed, Chapter 25)
“I will marry Olivia Hammond . . . or I will never marry at all.”
~Prince Nicholas, Royally Screwed
Lenora
I PUSH THE BUTTON ON the remote control, turning the television off before placing it gently back on the desk. There’s no point in watching now anyway. Nicholas delivered his stirring speech, turned our entire world upside down . . . and has flown the coop.
Lovely.
I let out a long, weary sigh. Because grandchildren invented exhaustion—I’m sure of it.
I try ringing Nicholas’s mobile again, and again he sends me to voicemail.
Voicemail. The cheek!
It’s strange, but I’m not entirely surprised. I didn’t want to believe it was possible, but a part of me saw this coming right from the start.
Edward saw it too. As I’m sure he’ll remind me in three . . . two . . .
“I don’t want to say I told you so . . .”
My husband reclines casually on the sofa, his hands tucked behind his handsome head.