Page 119 of Heavy Crown

Forty-eight hours after Rory blew back into my carefully reordered life, I’m sitting at a dinner table in Copenhagen surrounded by Simone’s family. The part of me that’s been royally trained is able to maintain a façade of politeness and interest in the conversations of others. My mask is firmly in place. Beneath it, the expression on Rory’s face as she pleaded with me to make a different choice is torturing me. The conversation has been playing on repeat since she left my room.

God help me. When I asked, she said no. When I gave her three plans, she didn’t hear me.

She didn’t fucking hear me.

If she had, we’d be gone. I wouldn’t be sitting at this table. My sham of an engagement wouldn’t have gone ahead. I’d be holed up in some midscale apartment or house in another country with Rory, and I’d be happy. Or happier, anyway. I think.

But my father.

My father.

He’s dying, and his decline is already becoming more evident. Word finding is an ongoing issue. The other day, he couldn’t remember how to button his suit jacket. Soon, I won’t be able to pretend or ignore what’s happening right in front of me. Memories are trickling out, fading away, and if I’m gone from the island, I may miss the last of his lucid days.

Simone’s hand squeezes my thigh, drawing me into the conversation happening around me.

I fall back into polite conversation while we finish dessert and drink a nightcap. As people take their leave from the table, Simone and I stay seated.

Once everyone is gone, and the staff have cleared everything but the drinks we’re still sipping, an edge of discomfort lodges in my chest. During her stay in Bellerive, she didn’t push for more than I was prepared to give, and yesterday she was attentive but not demanding. I have no idea how long she’ll be content to be together and not together at the same time.

“Desmond gave you the itinerary for tomorrow?” she asks.

“Yes, I’ve got a copy on my phone.” With the referendum result pending, my week was busier than normal, so Simone communicated the final agenda to Desmond. “Sorry I wasn’t more available to you last week.”

“I do understand you lead a busy life.” Her lips twitch. “Sometimes dealing with your secretary instead of you is unavoidable. I’m sure once we’re married, there will be times like this as well.”

The casual mention of our marriage, our future, twists my stomach into knots. At the edge of my consciousness is Rory with her tear-stained face telling me I’m not married yet.

“Your family must be pleased with the referendum result.” She fiddles with her coffee mug.

Pleased doesn’t feel like quite the right word, but it’s such a complicated vein of feelings that any word she used wouldn’t have suited. “Bit closer than I expected.”

“Not sure anyone can understand what might lead someone down the assisted-suicide path until they’re staring it down themselves.” She shrugs. “If we’re lucky, most of us remain ignorant.”

Ignorance about a few things would be great right about now. I flick my watch around to check the time. It’s not overly late, but I’m going to claim jet lag anyway. My excuse for retiring early last night was travel fatigue. Tonight will be another bullshit reason to keep my distance.

“Looked like a full day tomorrow. I should get some sleep.”

Simone rises when I do. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

I’d prefer she didn’t, but it’s not something I can say to my host and definitely not something I should say to my fiancée, even though it’s more of a paper arrangement than an actuality. We haven’t even kissed, and I’m not keen to change that.

Her suite of rooms is on the second floor, and she leads the way to my bedroom, making small talk about tomorrow’s agenda while we wander. When we get there, she leans against the wall as I turn the handle.

“My room is just”—she points across the hall—“there, if you wanted to come for one more drink.”

I lean against the other side of the doorway, and I scan her features. She’s pretty, and maybe, had I never met Rory, she would have been enough for me. But I understand how big love can feel now, how completely someone can consume me. My first glimpse of Rory through a smashed car window was a sucker punch I’ve never recovered from. Will I ever?

“Not tonight,” I say.

She closes the distance between us, and I fight the urge to step back. This path might not have been my first choice, but it’s the one I’ve taken.

“It’s been three weeks, Alex. I’ve tried to be patient. Part of me was pleased you weren’t like your brothers, bed-hopping from hers to mine.” She searches my face. “But now I’m starting to wonder whether you’ll ever climb into mine.”

I wince and break eye contact to stare over her shoulder. Could I sleep with her? I rub my cheek with my palm. Sex was always just that before Rory—a physical act. No need to attach emotion to something that could be mutually pleasurable. But with her, it was... so much more.

“I have enough vanity that I’m not willing to cajole you into sleeping with me.” She gives a little laugh, but it’s devoid of humor. “We’re getting married, and I think it’s important we’re compatible in every way. That’s where I stand. When you’re ready, I’m yours.”

She presses herself against me, and she kisses my cheek. Her action doesn’t inspire even the tiniest twinge of desire. Instead, the brush of her lips against my cheek reminds me of when Rory did it, and I long for so much more.