Page 125 of Heavy Crown

“Well aware. Tell them.”

He calls the other car on speakerphone so I can hear their protests for myself. When he allows them to go on a little too long, I interject. “It’s what I want, and it’s what we’ll do.”

The line goes quiet. Guess they didn’t realize I could hear. Suppose I’m lucky they didn’t outright call me an idiot.

We round the corner that leads us to the front of the two-story house. To the right are the horses Rory told me about. The cows are out in the pasture, but I remember her saying they’re milked at regular intervals. This must not be one of them. There are a lot of cows.

I grab the flowers off the seat next to me. Rory’s favorite flower is a daffodil, which ended up being shockingly hard to locate. Out of season except at a greenhouse Desmond managed to locate. Kane opens my door, and I slide out.

“I’m coming to the door with you, Your Highness, and if you decide to go inside, I also need to be present,” Kane says as the gravel under our feet crunches.

There’s only so far I can push my security detail without appearing grossly incompetent. Are there likely to be kidnappers or murders in rural Ontario, Canada? No. But as we’re taught in one of a thousand courses during childhood, an unnecessary risk can easily lead to unexpected consequences.

At the entrance, I hit the doorbell. Almost immediately, the door swings back, and a tall, broad man whose scowl reminds me of Rory is eyeing me. Must be her father. He takes in my flowers, and then he glances over his shoulder toward someone I can’t see.

“Huh,” he says when he turns back to me. “Suspected she was lying. You brought flowers and everything.” He smirks.

“Mr. Wilson, I’m—”

He waves me off. “I know who you are.”

“Dad!” Rory calls from inside the house. “Dad, don’t.”

Something is going on here, and I’m not sure what. There’s an edge of panic in Rory’s voice that’s making me want to bulldoze my way past her father.

His gaze narrows, but he doesn’t turn toward Rory. “Maybe she was honest about that part. Did she tell you she was pregnant before she left Bellerive, or is that a surprise to hear?”

I clench the flowers in my hand. Rory appears at her father’s side. Instead of drinking in her appearance like I expected to, I’m dumbfounded, searching her expression for whatever truth might exist there.

“You’re pregnant?” My tone brims with the stunned confusion I feel.

Her green eyes tear up, and her chin trembles. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m pregnant. I’m so sorry.”

forty-six

Rory

My father put the situation together faster than I expected. As soon as I noticed the two-car convoy coming along the long gravel drive, I knew it was either Alex or someone from the royal family. The mere thought of seeing Alex caused my stomach to riot. When Alex arrived at the door, I was in the bathroom puking, and then I wasted precious seconds rinsing my mouth with mouthwash before I arrived at my father’s side. Alex’s expression when he asked me if I was pregnant will haunt me for a long time. Shocked betrayal.

Now we’re in the milk barn to “sort out what the hell you’re going to do,” according to my father. He didn’t invite Alex in, and he didn’t even offer to shake his hand. Does that mean he’s on my side or just dislikes what he perceives to have happened? He made a grumbled comment about a man knowing better. My overconfidence led us here.

For Alex’s part, he hasn’t said a word since we left the doorstep. He’s sitting on an ornamental hay bale in the barn, and my daffodils are perched beside him. His head is in his hands.

Since I have no idea what to say, I’m leaned against the cool cement wall with my arms crossed, praying that another rush of vomiting doesn’t seize me.

He runs his hands down his face, and he meets my gaze. His expression is weary. “Because of who I am and what this means, I have to ask. I’m not judging you, but is the baby mine?”

“Yes,” I say.

We were together for three weeks, apart for three, and some version of friends before we ever had sex. I understand enough about Alex’s life to realize he can’t assume. Still stings to have him ask.

When I’m brave enough to make eye contact with him again, there’s a glassy sheen to his eyes, and my heart sinks. I expected his anger, but he looks as though I’ve ripped his heart out of his chest and left him to die.

“You weren’t going to tell me?” His voice cracks. “You had so little faith in me you weren’t even going to tell me?” He runs his hands through his hair. “You’re having my baby and you didn’t think you could tell me? Jesus, Rory. How did we get here?”

“I wanted to tell you.” I’m on the cusp of crying again, and I’m so tired of being weepy.

“No.” Alex shakes his head. “No. If you wanted to tell me, you’d have told me. Or you’d have stayed. You didn’t want me to know. Whether to punish me or if it’s some indictment on my character...”