Chap­ter 40: Brid­get

DON’T LOOK AT HIM.

If I looked at him, I would lose it, and I was already half out of my mind. The stress, guilt, and exhaus­tion of the past four days had seeped into my bones, turn­ing me into a walk­ing zom­bie. But I couldn’t help myself. I looked. And my heart prompt­ly splin­tered into even more pieces than it already had.

Rhys stared at me, so still he could’ve passed for a stat­ue had it not been for the pain flick­er­ing in his eyes.

“Had?” That calm, even tone nev­er bod­ed well.

“It was fun while it last­ed.” The words tast­ed bit­ter on my tongue, like poi­son pills of lies I fed myself to get through the next hour and pos­si­bly the rest of my life. “But peo­ple know. Everyone’s watch­ing us. We can’t con­tin­ue whatever…this is.”

“Fun.” Still in that dan­ger­ous­ly calm voice.

“Rhys.” I wrapped my arms tighter around myself. The hos­pi­tal staff had set the tem­per­a­ture to a com­fort­able sev­en­ty-three degrees, but my skin felt like ice beneath my palms. “Please don’t make this any hard­er than it has to be.”

Please let my heart break in peace.

“The hell I won’t.” His gray eyes had dark­ened to a near black, and a vein throbbed in his tem­ple. “Tell me some­thing, princess. Are you doing this because you want to, or because you feel like you have to?”

“I don’t feel like I have to. I do have to!” Frus­tra­tion seared through me, sharp and hot. Didn’t he get it? “It’s only a mat­ter of time before the press con­firms the alle­ga­tions. Elin and Markus and my fam­i­ly already know. What do you think is going to hap­pen once it’s all out in the open?”

“Your Majesty!”

“Grand­fa­ther!”

Niko­lai, Markus, and Elin rushed to Edvard’s side while I stood there, unable to move.

I should join them. Make sure he was okay.

But of course, he wasn’t okay. He’d just collapsed…because of me and what I said. Because I thought, for one sec­ond, I could have a sem­blance of con­trol over my life.

If he died, the last con­ver­sa­tion we had would have been an argu­ment.

“You will end the rela­tion­ship and nev­er see Mr. Larsen again.”

“No.”

Some­thing inside me shriv­eled into a husk.

“Brid­get…”

The sound of my name, deep and raw, scraped against my willpow­er, leav­ing dents in some­thing that had nev­er been strong to begin with. Not when it came to him.

I closed my eyes, try­ing to find the cool, unshak­able ver­sion of myself I pre­sent­ed to the pub­lic. The one who’d smiled through hours of stand­ing and wav­ing while my feet bled through my heels. The one who’d walked behind my father’s cas­ket and held back tears until I crum­pled into a ball in the bath­room dur­ing the wake.

But I couldn’t. I’d nev­er been able to hide who I tru­ly was from Rhys.

I heard him walk toward me. Smelled that clean, mas­cu­line scent that had become my com­fort scent over the years because it meant he was near and I was safe. Felt him rub away a tear I hadn’t even noticed had escaped with his thumb.

Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.

“Princess, look at me.”

I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut tighter. My emo­tions formed a tight knot in my throat, mak­ing it near impos­si­ble to breathe.

“Brid­get.” Firmer this time, more com­mand­ing. “Look at me.”

I resist­ed for anoth­er minute, but the need to save myself from fur­ther heartache paled com­pared to my need to soak in every last bit of Rhys Larsen I could.

I looked at him.

Gray thun­der­storms stared back at me, crack­ling with tur­moil.

“The mess with the pic­tures, we’ll fig­ure it out.” He grasped my chin and rubbed his thumb over my bot­tom lip, his expres­sion fierce. “I told you, you’re mine, and I’m not let­ting you go. I don’t care if the entire Eldor­ran mil­i­tary tries to drag me away.”

I wished it were that easy and I could sink into his faith, let­ting it sweep me away.

But our prob­lems went way beyond the pic­tures now.

“You don’t get it. There is no hap­pi­ly ever after for us.” We weren’t a fairy­tale. We were a for­bid­den love let­ter, tucked into the back of a draw­er and retrieved only in the dark­ness of night. We were the chap­ter of bliss before the cli­max hit and every­thing crum­bled into ash. We were a sto­ry that was always meant to end. “This is it.”

My moth­er died giv­ing birth to me.

My father died on his way back from buy­ing some­thing I’d asked him to get.

My grand­fa­ther almost died because I’d refused to give up the one thing that ever made me hap­py.

That was what I got for being self­ish, for want­i­ng some­thing for me. Future queens didn’t live for them­selves, they lived for their coun­try. That was the price of pow­er.

No mat­ter how much I tried to change real­i­ty, it remained the truth, and it was time I grew up and faced it.

Rhys’s grip on my chin tight­ened. “I don’t need a hap­pi­ly ever after. I need to be by your side. I need you hap­py and healthy and safe. God­dammit Brid­get, I need you. In any way I can have you.”

His voice broke for the first time in all my years with him, and my heart cracked in response. “If you think I’m leav­ing you to deal with this bull­shit alone, you don’t know me at all.”

Trou­ble was, I did know him, and I knew the one thing that would make him snap, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it right now.

One last self­ish thing.

“Kiss me,” I whis­pered.

Rhys didn’t ques­tion the sud­den shift in my tone. Instead, he curled his hand around the back of my neck and crushed his lips to mine. Deep, hard, and pos­ses­sive, like noth­ing had changed between us.

He always knew what I need­ed with­out me say­ing it.

I drank up every drop of him I could. His taste, his touch, his scent…I wished I could bot­tle it all up so I had some­thing to keep me warm in the nights and years to come.

Rhys picked me up and car­ried me to the couch, where he pulled my skirt up and my panties down and sank into me with exquis­ite, delib­er­ate slow­ness. Stretch­ing me. Fill­ing me. Break­ing me into a thou­sand pieces and putting me back togeth­er, over and over again.

Even if my heart ached, my body respond­ed to him the way it always had: eager, will­ing, and des­per­ate for more.

Rhys palmed my breast and swiped his thumb over my nip­ple, play­ing with the sen­si­tized nub until a fresh wave of heat crest­ed in my stom­ach. All the while he pumped into me, the slow, leisure­ly slides of his cock hit­ting a spot that made me see stars.

“Rhys, please.”

“What do you want, princess?” He pinched my nip­ple, the sud­den rough­ness of the action caus­ing my mouth to fall open with a gasp.

You. For­ev­er.

Since I couldn’t say that, I set­tled for a pant­ed, “Faster. Hard­er.”

He low­ered his head and replaced his hand with his mouth, swirling and lick­ing while he picked up the pace. My nails dug into his back, and just as I teetered over the precipice, he slowed down again.

I near­ly screamed with frus­tra­tion.

Faster. Slow­er. Faster. Slow­er.

Rhys seemed to intu­it the pre­cise sec­ond I was about to come, and he var­ied his speed, edg­ing me until I was a drip­ping, whim­per­ing mess. Final­ly, after what felt like an eter­ni­ty, he groaned and slammed into me, his mouth claim­ing mine in a bruis­ing kiss as he fucked into me so hard the couch inched across the floor with a squeak.

Lights explod­ed behind my eyes. I arched up, my cry swal­lowed by his kiss as anoth­er orgasm tore through me and left me drained.

Rhys came right after me with a silent shud­der, and we sank into each other’s arms, our heavy breaths min­gling as one.

I loved sex with him, but I loved the qui­et moments after­ward even more.

“Again.” I wrapped my limbs around him, not ready to break free of our cocoon yet. Just a lit­tle more time.

“Insa­tiable,” he whis­pered, run­ning the tip of his nose up my neck and along my jaw­line.

I smiled at the reminder of our after­noon at the hotel. Our last tru­ly hap­py time togeth­er before every­thing went to hell.

“You love it,” I said.

“Yeah princess, I do.”

We spent the next hour like that, climb­ing high and crash­ing down togeth­er.

It was per­fect, as were all our stolen moments togeth­er. We fucked hard and fast and made love sweet and slow. We pre­tend­ed this was our life, not just a snap­shot in time, and I pre­tend­ed like my heart still beat in my chest when the pieces lay scat­tered at our feet.

“There’s no oth­er way, Your High­ness.” Elin’s eyes flick­ered with sym­pa­thy for a sec­ond before it van­ished and her expres­sion hard­ened again. “It has to be done.”

“No.” I shook my head, denial dig­ging its claws deep into my skin. “It’s too soon. He’s fine. The doc­tors said—”

“The doc­tors said he’ll recover…this time. The fact is, His Majesty was hos­pi­tal­ized twice in one year. We can’t risk a third hos­pi­tal­iza­tion.”

“We can cut back on his work­load,” I said des­per­ate­ly. “Have his aides han­dle the more stren­u­ous paper­work and meet­ings. He can still be king.”

Elin glanced at Markus, who stood in the cor­ner look­ing grim­mer than I’d ever seen him.

“We’d dis­cussed this with His Majesty after his first hos­pi­tal­iza­tion,” he said. “He express­ly said that if he col­laps­es a sec­ond time, he would step down.”

I vague­ly remem­bered my grand­fa­ther say­ing some­thing like that in the weeks after his first col­lapse, but I’d been so focused on Nikolai’s abdi­ca­tion that the impli­ca­tions of it had gone right over my head.

“I real­ize this is per­haps not the best time to dis­cuss this,” Elin said with anoth­er flick­er of sym­pa­thy. “But His Majesty’s con­di­tion is sta­ble, and we need to start prepa­ra­tions right away.”

“Prepa­ra­tions.” Some­thing ter­ri­ble took root in my stom­ach and spread. It seeped into my chest, my neck, my arms and my legs, numb­ing me from inside out.

Elin and Markus exchanged glances again.

“Yes,” Elin said. “Prepa­ra­tions for your coro­na­tion as queen.”

I’d thought I had more time, both with Rhys and to con­vince Par­lia­ment to repeal the Roy­al Mar­riages Law, but I didn’t. Time was up.

“Do you remem­ber Cos­ta Rica?” Rhys’s lips brushed against mine as he spoke. He lay on top of me, his pow­er­ful body swal­low­ing me up, but he’d propped a fore­arm on the couch so he didn’t crush me with his weight.

“How could I for­get?” It was one of the hap­pi­est mem­o­ries of my life.

“You asked me if I’d ever been in love. I said no.” He pressed a soft kiss to my mouth. “Ask me again, princess.”

My lungs con­strict­ed. Breathe.

But that was hard when every­thing hurt to the point where I couldn’t remem­ber what it felt like not to hurt. My heart, my head, my soul.

“I can’t.” I forced myself to push Rhys away.

My skin imme­di­ate­ly chilled at the absence of his heat, and small shiv­ers wracked me as I got off the couch and walked to the bath­room. I cleaned myself and straight­ened my clothes with shaky hands while his gaze burned a hole in my back through the open door.

“Why not?”

“Because.” Tell him. Just tell him. “I’m going to be queen.”

“We already knew that.”

“You don’t under­stand.” I washed my hands and returned to the room, where I final­ly looked at him again. Ten­sion lined his face and notched a deep groove between his brows. “I don’t mean some­day. I mean I’m going to be queen in nine months.”

Rhys froze.

“That’s not all.” I could bare­ly speak past the lump in my throat. “Because of the Roy­al Mar­riages Law, I have to—”

“Don’t say it.” His voice was so qui­et I almost didn’t hear him.

“I have to mar­ry or at least get engaged before my coro­na­tion.”

There would already be back­lash against me tak­ing the throne so soon. You need all the polit­i­cal good­will you can get, Markus had said. I hat­ed it, but he was right. “I—”

“Don’t. Fuck­ing. Say it.”

“I’m mar­ry­ing Stef­fan. He already agreed.”

It wasn’t a mar­riage of love. It was a polit­i­cal con­tract. Noth­ing more, noth­ing less. Markus had reached out to the Hol­steins yes­ter­day and made them sign an NDA before mak­ing the propo­si­tion. They’d agreed a few hours lat­er. It’d all hap­pened so quick­ly it made my head spin.

Just like that, I had a fiancé, at least in the­o­ry. Per the agree­ment, Stef­fan would offi­cial­ly pro­pose next month, after the furor over my grandfather’s hos­pi­tal­iza­tion died down. As a bonus, the engage­ment would dri­ve the alle­ga­tions about me and Rhys out of the head­lines, as Elin had not so sub­tly point­ed out.

Rhys unfold­ed him­self from the couch. He’d already fixed his clothes. All black. Black shirt, black pants, black boots, black expres­sion.

“The fuck you are.”

“Rhys, it’s done.”

“No,” he said flat­ly. “What did I tell you in the gaze­bo, princess? I said from that point on, no oth­er man touch­es you, and I meant it. You sure as fuck aren’t mar­ry­ing some­one else. We have nine months. We will fig­ure. It. Out.”

I want­ed to agree. I want­ed to be self­ish and steal more time with him, but that wouldn’t be fair to either of us.

I’d already had Rhys for three years. It was time to let him go.

No more being self­ish.

“What if I want to mar­ry some­one else?”

Rhys’s nos­trils flared. “Don’t lie to me. You bare­ly know Stef­fan. You went on three fuck­ing dates with the guy.”

“Roy­al mar­riage isn’t about know­ing some­one. It’s about suit­abil­i­ty, and the fact is, he’s suit­able and you’re not.” I hoped Rhys didn’t notice the wob­ble in my voice. “Plus, Stef­fan and I have the rest of our lives to get to know each oth­er.”

A shud­der rip­pled through his body, and hurt slashed across his face, so raw and vis­cer­al it cut through my soul.

“I’m the crown princess, and I need to act like one,” I said, hat­ing myself more with every sec­ond. “In all areas of my life. I can’t be with a body­guard. I…” Tears clogged my throat, but I pushed past them. “I’m meant to be with a duke. We both know that.”

Rhys flinched. One tiny move­ment, but it would haunt me for­ev­er.

“So we’re over. Just like that.” It came out low and dan­ger­ous, edged with pain.

No, not just like that. You’ll nev­er know how much my heart is break­ing right now.

“I’m sor­ry,” I whis­pered.

I wished I could tell him I’d nev­er been hap­pi­er than when I was with him.

I wished I could tell him it wasn’t about the throne or pow­er, and that if I could, I would give up a king­dom for him.

But I’m sor­ry were the only words I was allowed to say.

The emo­tion wiped clean from Rhys’s eyes until I was star­ing at steel walls, hard­er and more guard­ed even than when we’d first met.

“No, Your High­ness,” he said. “I’m sor­ry.”

He walked out.

One minute, he was there. The next, he was gone.

I crum­pled, my knees giv­ing out beneath me as I sank onto the floor and hot tears scald­ed my cheeks and dripped off my chin. My chest heaved so hard I couldn’t draw enough oxy­gen into my lungs, and I was sure I would die right there on the hos­pi­tal floor, just a few feet away from the best doc­tors and nurs­es in the coun­try. But even they wouldn’t be able to fix what I’d just bro­ken.

“You have to move.”

“I beg your par­don?”

“Your house. It’s a secu­ri­ty night­mare. I don’t know who signed off on this loca­tion, but you have to move.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“No. But I hope to be one day.”

“Good night, princess.”

“Good night, Mr. Larsen.”

Snip­pets of mem­o­ries crowd­ed my brain, and I pressed my face into the blan­ket draped over the couch, muf­fling my sobs.

“Your High­ness?” Elin’s voice float­ed through the door, fol­lowed by a knock. “Can I come in?”

No. I would be hap­py if I nev­er talked to you again.

But I had respon­si­bil­i­ties to ful­fill, and an engage­ment to plan.

I forced my sobs to slow until they tapered off.

Deep, con­trolled breaths. Head tilt­ed up. Tensed mus­cles. It was a trick I’d learned that had come in handy quite a few times over the years.