Page 92 of Heavy Crown

“If I must choose, I will choose.” He comes close to me and slides his palms along my cheeks. “Once I tell them I’m leaving, it’s done. It’s a slip of legal paper and an official announcement. But I cannot change my mind.”

“This is a really big decision to be making when you’re drunk,” I whisper, and my words are garbled with unshed tears. I love him. God, I love him so much, but to be the reason he gives up everything else—his country, his family—I don’t want that responsibility.

“I’m not sure I could have said it otherwise,” Alex admits.

“But doesn’t that tell you something?” His T-shirt is clenched in my fists.

“It tells me I have two things I want most in the world—you and Bellerive. I cannot have both. It’s impossible. Believe me, I have scoured every royal document I could find.”

My stomach rolls with a sudden bout of queasiness, and I step back from him. I shake my head. “We can’t talk about this when you’re drunk. If you can’t say it to me when you’re sober...” Do I want him to be able to say it to me sober? Won’t he resent me, eventually? What if he gives up the monarchy and six months from now we fizzle out? This is not a spur-of-the-moment choice.

Whatever he decides, the decision is permanent. Whatever I tell him will change the course of Bellerivian history, will alter Alex’s life forever. Julia’s advice to me weeks ago when I went on my date with Derrick resurfaces. When you love someone, you protect their happiness.

thirty-three

Alex

Rory looks like a startled deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming lorry. I never intended to spring this on her tonight while I’d been drinking, but when she said we had an expiration date, the truth settled over me with more certainty than I expected. If I have to choose, I choose her.

“Just because I’m drunk doesn’t mean I’m not serious,” I say.

“What would our...” She shakes her head. “What would our life even look like?”

Truthfully, I haven’t gotten that far in my exit plan. Although it’s an idea that’s been floating around in the back of my head since the night I told her I couldn’t be with her, I haven’t put serious thought into it. Now I’ve left it too late to formulate a good strategy for my removal, for the termination of my contract with Simone, for putting Nick on the throne.

“Those are details we can figure out as we go along. I’m entitled to some money, so we won’t be poor.” I tip my head while I do some math. “We won’t be nearly this rich, though. But we can live modestly anywhere. Do anything.”

“It doesn’t...”

Her stilted sentences are starting to get to me. But I’ve sprung this on her, as far as she knows, out of the blue. While I’ve considered this possibility, I didn’t tell her.

“It doesn’t sound like you have a plan,” Rory says. “You’re the type of person who would have a plan if this was what you really wanted.” There’s so much sadness in her voice.

I press my fingers into my temples. “You want me to talk to you about this tomorrow when I’m sober?”

“I don’t know how to answer you when you’re drunk. This is sudden and rash and…” She stares at me. “Not like you.”

“I’ve never said anything to you I didn’t mean.” I close the distance that’s crept between us. She turns her face up to examine me. “This question won’t be any different in the morning.”

She bites her lip, and she smooths her thumb across my cheekbone. “Have you talked to anyone else about this?”

I shake my head. “I don’t need anyone else’s council to know my own mind.” Others are aware this route is a possibility, but I doubt anyone thinks I’ll take it. God, if anyone asked me even a few days ago, I wouldn’t have been sure this choice was possible.

“We’re under a time crunch, but I think both of us really need to be sure we understand what we’re doing,” she says.

“I understand what I’m doing.” Don’t I? “I can’t give you up.” I plant a light kiss on her lips. “I won’t give you up.” I deepen the kiss. Her nails dig into my hair, and she angles her mouth over mine. Just as long as I don’t dwell on what leaving Bellerive will do to me, I’ll be fine.

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” she murmurs against my neck. “I just want to be close to you.”

So I give her what she wants—me as close as I can get. We’re going to have a lifetime together. We don’t have to talk right now.

Rory woke at the crack of dawn to head to the palace kitchen. We agreed to talk tonight when I’m done work. She seemed distracted when she left, and I hope she’s getting her head around the idea of us leaving Bellerive together. When I consider my life in that context, my stomach doesn’t clench so hard with uncertainty. Maybe I’m not one hundred percent sure about leaving the monarchy, but I’m sure about her.

I’ve summoned Nick and Jules to my office again on a Sunday. They’re probably both hungover and wanting to murder me. But I need to give Nick the heads-up before I contact the law firm we use. Leaving is a relatively simple process, at least legally. By Monday night, I could be out of the line of succession.

My stomach clenches.

But I’ll have Rory.